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MRS. WINFIELD KENNEDY SHIRAS

THE

AUTO-BIOGRAPHY

EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.,

ILLUSTRATED FROM HIS LETTERS, WITH OCCASIONAL
fJOTES AND NARRATIVES.

BY JOHN, LORD SHEFFIELD.

COMPLfiXB IN ONE VOLUME.

NEW YORK:
BUCKLAND & SUMNER,
NO. 79 JOHN STREET.
Bennet & Warner, Printers, No. 143 Nansau etreef .
1846

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

The melancholy duty of examining the papers of my
deceased friend devolved upon me at a time "when I was
depressed by severe afflictions.
In that state of mind, I hesitated to undertake the task
of selecting and preparing his manuscripts for the press.
The vparmth of my early and long attachment to Mr
Gibbon made me conscious of a partiality, which it was
not proper to indulge, especially in revising many of his
juvenile and unfinished compositions. I had to guard,
not only against a sentiment like my own, which I found
extensively diffused, but also against the eagerness occa
sioned by a very general curiosity to see in print every
literary relic, however imperfect, of so distinguished a
writer. Being aware how disgracefully authors of eminence
have been often treated, by an indiscreet posthumous
publication of fragments and careless effusions ; when I
had selected those papers which to myself appeared the

INTRODUCTORY RE.MARKS.

fittest for the public eye, I consulted some of our common
friends, whom I knew to be equally anxious with myself
for Mr. Gibbon's fame, and fully competent, from their
judgment, to protect it.
Under such a sanction it is, that, no longer suspecting
myself to view through too favorable a medium the com-
posi* ¦ ns of my friend, I now venture to publish them ;
and it may here be proper to give some information to
the reader, respecting the Memoirs of Mr. Gibbon's life
and writings, a work which he seems to have projected
with peculiar solicitude and attention, and of which he
left six different sketches, all in his own hand-writing.
One of these sketches, the most diffuse and circumstantial,
so far as it proceeds, ends at the time when he quitted
Oxford. Another at the year 1764, when he travelled to
Italy. A third, at his father's death, in 1770. A fourth,
which he continued to a short time after his return to
Lausanne in 1788, appears in the form of Annals, much
less detailed than the others. The two remaining sketches
are still more imperfect. It is difficult to discover the
order in which these several pieces were written, but
there is reason to believe that the most copious was the
last. From all these the following Memoirs have been
carefully selected, and put together.
My hesitation in giving these Memoirs to the world,
arose principally from the circumstance of Mr. Gibbon's
appearing, in some respect, not to have been satisfied
with them, as he had so frequently varied their form :
yet, notwithstanding this diffidence, the compositions,
though unfinished, are so excellent, that they may justly
entitle my friend to appear as his own biographer, rather

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.

than to have that task undertaken by any other person
less qualified for it. (
This opinion has rendered me anxious to publish the
present Memoirs, without any unnecessary delay ; for I
am persuaded that the author of them cannot be made to
appear in a truer light than he does in the following
pages. In them, and in his different Letters which I
have added, will be found a complete picture o. ' his
talents, his disposition, his studies, and his attainments.
Those slight variations of character, which naturally
arose in the progress of his life, will be unfolded in a
series of Letters, selected from a correspondence between
him and myself, which continued full thirty years, and
ended with his death.
It is to be lamented, that the sketches of the Memoirs,
except that composed in the form of Annals, and which
seems rather designed as heads for a future work, cease
about twenty years before Mr. Gibbon's death ; and
consequently, that we have the least detailed account of
the most interesting part of his life. His correspondence
during that period, will, in great measure, supply the de
ficiency. By many, the Letters will be found a very
interesting . part of the present publication. They will
prove how pleasant, friendly, and amiable Mr. Gibbon
was in private life ; and if, in publishing letters so flat
tering to myself, I incur the imputation of vanity, I shall
meet the charge with a frank confession that I am indeed
highly vain of having enjoyed, for so many years, the
esteem, the confidence, and the affection of a man, whose
social qualities endeared him to the most accomplished
society, and whose talents, great as they were, must be

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.

acknowledged to have been , fully equalled by the sin
cerity of his friendship.
Whatever censure may be pointed against the editor,
the public will set a due value on the Letters for their
intrinsic merit. I must, indeed, be blinded, either by
vanity or affection, if they do not display the heart and
mind of their author, in such a manner as justly to in
crease the number of his admirers.
I have not been solicitous to garble or expunge pas
sages which, to some, may appear trifling. Such pas
sages will often, in the opinion of the deserving reader,
mark the character of the writer, and the omission oi
them would materially take from the ease and familiarity
of authentic letters.
Few men, I believe, have ever so fully unveiled their
own character, by a minute narrative of their sentiments
and pursuits, as Mr. Gibbon will here be found to have
done ; not with study and labor — not with an affected
frankness, but with a genuine confession of his little
foibles and peculiarities, and a good-humored and natural
display of his own conduct and opinions.
I will close all I mean to say, as the editor of these
Memoirs, by assuring the reader, that, although I have in
some measure newly arranged those interesting papers,
by forming one regular narrative from the six difierent
sketches, I have nevertheless adhered with scrupulous
fidelity to the very words of their author ; and I use the
letter S. to mark such notes of my own, as it seemed
necessary to add.
It remains only to express a wish, that in discharging
this latest office of affection, my regard to the memory of

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.

my friend may appear, as I trust it will do, proportioned
to the high satisfaction which I enjoyed for many years
in possessing his entire confidence, and very partial
attachment.
SHEFFIELD.
Sheffield Place, dth Aug., 1795.

COITEITS

The Author's Introduction, - - » - - 1
CHAPTER I. •
Account and Anecdotes of his Family, - - - 6
CHAPTER II.
The South Sea Scheme, - - - - - 15
CHAPTER III.
Character of Mr. William Law, - - - - 20
CHAPTER IV.
Mr. Gibbon's Birth, &c., - - - - - 24
CHAPTER V.
The Author is sent to Dr. Wooddeson's School, - - 31
CHAPTER VI.
Mr. Gibbon is entered at Westminster School, - - 36
CHAPTER VII.
The Author enters Magdalen College, Oxford, - - 40
CHAPTER VIII.
The Author's first attempt at writing History, - - 55
CHAPTER IX.
The Author removes to Lausanne, - - - 71
CHAPTER X.
The Author's account of the Books he read, - - - 61
CHAPTER XI.
The Author's Tour in Switzerland, - - . 91

CONTENTS.
CHAPTER Xli.
Mademoiselle Cmehod— afterwards Madame Necker, - - 98
CHAPTER XIII
Mr. Gibbon publishes his first Work, - - - US
CHAPTER XIV.
The Author in the Hampshire Militia, . - - 125
CHAPTER XV.
The Author resumes his Studies, - . - - 136
CHAPTER XVI.
Mr. Gibbon at Paris, -  146
CHAPTER XVII.
Mr. Gibbon prepares for his Italian Journey, - - -162
CHAPTER XVIII.
Mr. Gibbon's Tour in Italy, - - - - - 165
CHAPTER XIX.
Mr. Gibbon commences a Periodical, - - - - 177
CHAPTER XX.
Mr. Gibbon settles in London, - - - - 168
CHAPTER XXI.^
Mr. Gibbon engages in Politics, . . - . 204
CHAPTER XXII.
The Author proceeds with his History, ... 212
CHAPTER XXIII.
The Author visits Sheffield, - - - - 224
CHAPTER XXIV.
Mr. Gibbon publishes the remainder of his History, ¦* - 227
CHAPTER XXV.
Death of Mr. Deyverdun, - - . . 235
CHAPTER XXVI.
Observations on the French Revolution, ... 237
Narrative continued by Lord Sheffield, - - 245
Letters from Edward Gibbon, E.^rj. to Lord Sheffield and others, 2517

AUT 0-BIO GRAPHY

EDWARD GIBBOI, ESQ

MEMOIRS OF
MY LIFE AND WRITINGS.

THE AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION.
In the fifty-second year of my age, after the comple
tion of an arduous and successful work, I now propose to
employ some moments of my leisure in reviewing the
simple transactions of a private and literary life. Truth,
naked, unblushing truth, the first virtue of more serious
history, must be the sole recommendation of this personal
narrative. The style shall be simple and familiar ; but
style is the image of character ; and the habits of correct
writing may produce, without labor or design, the ap
pearance of art and study. My own amusement is my
motive, and will be my reward ; and if these sheets are
communicated to some discreet and indulgent friends, they
will be secreted from the public eye till the author shall
be removed beyond the reach of criticism or ridicule.*
* This passage ia found in one only of the six sketches, aud in that which
seems to have been the first written, and which was laid aside among looaa

MEMOIRS OF MY LIFE AND WRITINGS.

A lively desire of knowing and of recording our ances
tors so generally prevails, that it must depend on the influ
ence of some common principle in the minds of men. We
seem to have lived in the persons of our forefathers ; it is
the labor and reward of vanity to extend the term of this
ideal longevity. Our imagination is always active to
enlarge the narrow circle in which nature has confined
us. Fifty or a hundred years may be allotted to an indi
vidual, but we step forwards beyond death with such
hopes as religion and philosophy will suggest ; and we
fill up the silent vacancy that precedes our birth, by asso
ciating ourselves to the authors of our existence. Our
calmer judgment will rather tend to moderate, than to
suppress, the pride of an ancient and worthy race. The
satirist may laugh, the philosopher may preach; but
Reason herself will respect the prejudices and habits,
which have been consecrated by the experience of
mankind. Wherever the distinction of birth is allowed to form a
superior order in the stfite, education and example should
always, and will often, produce among them a dignity of
papers. Mr. Gibbon, in his commnnications with me on the subject of his
Memoirs, a subject which he had never mentioned to any other person, ex
pressed a determination of publishing them in his lifetime; and never ap
pears to have departed from that resolution, excepting in one of his letters
annexed, in which he intimates a doubt, though rather carelessly, whether
inhis time, or at any time, they would meet the eye of the public. In a
conversation, however, not long before his death, it was suggested to him,
that, if he should make them a full image of his mind, he would not havo
nerves to publish them in his lifetime, and therefore that they should bo
posthumous. He answered, rather eagerly, tbit he was determined to
publish them in his lifetime  B.

MEMOIRS OF MY LIFE AND WRITINGS. 3
sentiment, and propriety of conduct, which is guarded
from dishonour by their own and the public esteem. If
we read of some illustrious line so ancient that it has no
beginning, so worthy that it ought to have no end, we sym
pathise in its various fortunes ; nor can we blame the
generous enthusiasm, or even the harmless vanity, of
those who are aUied to the honours of its name. For my
own part, could I draw my pedigree from a general, a
statesman, or a celebrated author, I should study their
lives with the diligence of filial love. In the investiga
tion of past events, our curiosity is stimulated by the im
mediate or indirect reference to ourselves; but in the
estimate of honour we should learn to value the gifts of
Nature above those of Fortune ; to esteem in our ances
tors the qualities that best promote the interests of so
ciety ; and to pronounce the descendant of a king less
truly noble than the offspring of a man of genius, whose
writings will instruct or delight the latest posterity. The '
family of Confucius is, in my opinion, the most illustrious
in the world. After a painful ascent of eight or ten cen
turies, our barons and princes of Europe are lost in the
darkness of the middle ages ; but, in the vast equality of
the empire of China, the posterity of Confucius have
maintained, above two thousand two hundred years, their
peaceful honours and perpetual succession. The chief of
the family is still revered, by the sovereign and the peo
ple, as the lively image of the wispst of mankind. The
nobility of the Spencers has been illustrated and enriched
by the trophies of Marlborough ; but I exhort them to
consider the Fairy Queen as the most precious jewel of
their coronet. I have exposed my private feelings, as I

4 MEMOIRS OF MY LIFE AND WRITINGS.
shall always do, without scruple or reserve. That these
sentiments are just, or at least natural, I am inclined to
believe, since I do not feel myself interested in the cause ;
for I can derive from my ancestors neither glory nor
shame. Yet a sincere and simple narrative of my own life may
amuse some of my leisure hours ; but it will subject me,
and perhaps with justice, to the imputation of vanity. I
may judge, however, from the experience both of past
and of the present times, that the public are always
curious to know the men, who have left behind them any
image of their minds : the most scanty accounts of such
men are compiled with diligence, and perused with eager
ness ; and the student of every class may derive a lesson,
or an example, from the lives most similar to his own.
My name may hereafter be placed among the thousand
articles of a Biographia Britannica ; and I must be con
scious, that no one is so well qualified, as myself, to
describe the series of my thoughts and actions. The
authority of my masters, of the grave Thaunus, and the
philosophic Hume, might be sufficient to justify my de
sign ; but it would not be difficult to produce a long list
of ancients and moderns, who, in various forms, have ex
hibited their own portraits. Such portraits are often the
most interesting, a;nd sometimes the only interesting parts
of their writings ; and, if they be sincere, we seldom com
plain of the minuteness or proximity bf these personal
memorials. The lives of the younger Phny, of Petrarch,
and of Erasmus, are expressed in the epistles, which they
themselves have given to the world. The essays of
Montaigne and Sir William Temple brings us home to

MEMOIRS OF MY LIFE AND WRITINGS.

the houses and bosoms of the authors : we smile without
contempt at the headstrong passions of Benevenuto Cil-
lini, and the gay follies of Colley Gibber. The confessions
of St. Austin and Rousseau disclose the secrets of the hu
man heart : the commentaries of the learned Huet have
survived his evangelical demonstration ; and the memoirs
of Goldoni are more truly dramatic than his Italian com
edies. The heretic and the churchman are strongly
marked in the characters and fortunes of Whiston and
Bishop Newton; and even the dulness of Michael de
Marolles and Anthony Wood acquires some value from
the faithful representation of men and manners. That I
am equal or superior to some of these, the effects of mo
desty or affectation cannot force me to dissemble.

CHAP. I.
ACCOUNT AND ANECDOTES OP HIS FAMILY.
My family is originally derived from the county of
Kent. The southern district, which borders on Sussex
and the sea, was formerly overspread with the great fo
rest Anderida, and even now retains the denomination of
the Weald, or Woodland. In this district, and in the
hundred and parish of Rolvenden, the Gibbons were pos
sessed of lands in the year one thousand three hundred
and twenty-six ; and the elder branch of the family, with
out much increase or diminution of property, still adheres
to its native soil. Fourteen years after the first appear
ance of his name, John Gibbon is recorded as the Mar-
morarius or architect of King Edward the Third : the
strong and stately castle of Queensborough, which
guarded the entrance of the Medway, was a monument
of his skill ; and the grant of an hereditary toll on the
passage from Sandwich to Stonar, in the Isle of Thanet,
is the r';ward of no vulgar artist. In the visitations of
the heralds, the Gibbons are frequently mentioned ; they
held the rank of esquire in an age, when that title was
less promiscuously assumed : one of them, under the reign
of Queen Elizabeth, was captain of the militia of Kent ;
and a free school, in the neighboring town of Benenden,
proclaims the charity and opulence of its founder. But

ACCOUNT AND ANECDOTES OF IIIS FAMILY. 7
time, or their own obscurity, has cast a veil of oblivion
over the virtues and vices of my Kentsh ancestors; their
character or station confined them to the labours and
pleasures of a rural life : nor is it in my power to follow
the advice of the poet, in an enquiry after a name —
" Go search it there, where to be born, and die,
Of rich and poor makes all the history."
So recent is the institution of our parish registers. In
the beginning of the seventeenth century, a younger
branch of the Gibbons, of Rolvenden, migrated from the
country to the city ; and from this branch I do not blush
to descend. The law requires some abilities ; the church
imposes some restraints ; and before our army and navy,
our civil establishments, and Indian empire, had opened so
many paths to fortune, the mercantile profession was
more frequently chosen by youth of a liberal race and
education, who aspired to create their own independence.
Our most respectable families have not disdained the
counting-house, or even the shop ; their names are
enrolled in the livery and companies of London ; and in
England, as well as in the Italian commonwealths, heralds
have been compelled to declare, that gentility is not de
graded by the exercise of trade.
The armorial ensigns which, in the times of chivalry,
adorned the crest and shield of the soldier, are now be
come an empty decoration, which every man, who has
money to build a carriage, may paint according to his
fancy on the panels. My family arms are the same which
were borne by the Gibbons of Kent in an age, when the
College of Heralds religiously guarded tho distinctions of

8 ACCOUNT AND ANECDOTES OF HIS FAMILY.
blood and name : a lion rampant gardant, between three
scallop-shells argent, on a field azure.* I should not how
ever have been tempted to blazon my coat of arms, were
it not connected with a whimsical anecdote. — About the
reign of James the First, the three harmless scallop-shells
were changed by Edmund Gibbon, Esq., into three ogreses,
or female cannibals, with a design of stigmatizing three
ladies, his kinswomen, who had provoked him by an un
just lawsuit. But this singular mode of revenge, for which
he obtained the sanction of Sir William Seager, king-at-
arms, soon expired with its author; and, on his own
monument in the Temple Church, the monsters vanish,
and the three scallop-shells resume their proper and
hereditary place.
Our alliances by marriage it is not disgraceful to men
tion. The chief honour of my ancestry is James Fiens,
Baron Say and Seale, and Lord High Treasurer of Eng
land, in the reign of Henry the Sixth ; from whom by the
Phelips, the Whetnalls, and the Cromers, I am lineally
descended in the eleventh degree. His dismission and
imprisonment in the Tower were insufficient to appease
the popular clamor ; and the treasurer, with his son-in-law
Cromer, was beheaded (1450), after a mock trial by the
Kentish insurgents. The black list of his offences, as it
is exhibited in Shakespeare, displays the ignorance and
envy of a plebian tyrant. Besides the vague reproaches
of selling Maine and Normandy to the Dauphin, the trea-
* The father of Lord Chancellor Hardwicke married an heiress of this
family of Gibbon. The chancellor's escutcheon in the Temple Hall, quar
ters the arms of Gibbon, as does also that in Lincoln's Inn Hall, of Charles
York, Chancellor in 1770.— S.

ACCOUNT AND ANECDOTES OF HIS FAMILY. 9
surer is specially accused of luxury, for riding on a foot-
cloth ; and of treason, for speaking French, the language
of our enemies : — " Thou hast most traitorously corrupted
the youth of the realm," says Jack Cade to the unfortu
nate lord, " in erecting a grammar-school ; and whereas
before our forefathers had no other books than the score
and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used ; and,
contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, thou hast
built a paper-mill. It will be proved in thy face, that
thou hast men about thee who usually talk of a noun
and a verb, and such abominable words, as no christian
ear can endure to hear." Our dramatic poet is generally
more attentive to character than to history ; and I much
fear that the art of printing was not introduced into Eng
land till several years after Lord Say's death; but of
some of these meritorious crimes I should hope to find my
ancestor guilty ; and a man of letters may be proud of his
descent from a patron and martyr of learning.
In the beginning of the last century, Robert Gibbon,
Esq., of Rolvenden, in Kent, (who died in 1618,) had
a son of the same name of Robert, who settled in
London, and became a member of the Cloth-workers'
Company. His wife was a daughter of the Edgars, who
flourished about four hundred years in the county of Suf
folk, and produced an eminent and wealthy sergeant-at-
law. Sir Gregory Edgar, in the reign of Henry the Sev
enth. Ofthe sons of Robert Gibbon, (whodied in 1643,)
Matthew did not aspire above the station of a linen-
draper in Leadenhall-street ; but John has given to the
public some curious memorials of his existence, his cha
racter, and his family. He was born on the 3d of Novem-

10 ACCOUNT AND ANECDOTES OF HIS FAMILY.
ber in the year 1629 ; his education was liberal, at a
grammar school, and afterwards in Jesus College at Cam
bridge ; and he celebrates the retired content which he
enjoyed at Allesborough in Worcestershire, in the house
of Thomas Lord Coventry, where John Gibbon was em
ployed as a domestic tutor, the same office which Mr.
Hobbes exercised in the Devonshire family. But the
spirit of my kinsman soon immerged into more active
life ; he visited foreign countries as a soldier and a tra
veller, acquired the knowledge of the French and Spanish
languages, passed some time in the Isle of Jersey, crossed
the Atlantic, and resided upwards of a twelvemonth
(1659) in tbe rising colony of Virginia. In this remote
province, his taste, or rather passion, for heraldry, found
a singular gratification at a war-dance of the native In
dians. As they moved in measured steps, brandishing
their tomahawks, his curious eye contemplated their little
shields of bark, and their naked bodies, which were
painted with the colours and symbols ofhis favourite sci
ence. "At which I exceedingly wondered; and con
cluded that heraldry was ingrafted naturally into the
sense of human race. If so, it deserves a greater esteem
than now-a-days is put upon it." His return to England
after the Restoration was soon followed by his marriage
— his settlement in a house in St. Catharine's Cloister,
near the Tower, which devolved to my grandfather — and
his introduction into tho Heralds' College (in 1671) bythe
style and title of Blue-mantle Pursuivant at Arms. In this
office he enjoyed near fifty years the rare felicity of
uniting, in the same pursuit, his study and inclination : hig
name is remembered in the College, and many of his let-

ACCOUNT AND ANECDOTES OF HIS FAMILY. 11
ters are still preserved. Several of the most respectable
characters ofthe age. Sir William Dugdale, Mr. Ashmole,
Dr. John Betts, and Dr. Nehemiah Grew, were his friends ;
and in the society of such men, John Gibbon may be
recorded without disgrace as the member of an astrologi
cal club. Thc study of hereditary honours is favourable
to the royal prerogative ; and my kinsman, like most of
his family, was a high Tory both in church and state.
In the latter end of the reign of Charles the Second, his
pen was exercised in the cause of the Duke of York : the
Republican faction he most cordially detested ; and as
each animal is conscious of its proper arms, the heralds'
revenge was emblazoned on a most diabolical escutcheon.
Bat the triumph of the Whig government checked the
preferment of Blue-mantle ; and he was even suspended
from his office till his tongue could learn to pronounce the
oath of abjuration. His life was prolonged to the age of
ninety ; and, in the expectation of the inevitable though
uncertain hour, he wished to preserve the blessings of
health, competence, and virtue. In the year 1682 he
published at London his Introductio ad Latinam Blaso-
niam, an original attempt, which Camden had desiderated,
to define, in a Roman idiom, the terms and attributes of a
Gothic institution. It is not two years since I acquired
in a foreign land, some domestic intelligence of my own
family ; and this inteUigence was conveyed to Switzer
land from the heart of Germany. I had formed ' an ac
quaintance with Mr. Langer, a lively and ingenious
scholar, while he resided at Lausanne as preceptor to the
hereditary Prince of Brunswick. On his return to his
proper station of librarian to the ducal library of Wolfen-

la ACCOUNT AND ANECDOTES OF HIS FAMILY.
buttel, he accidentally found among some literary rubbish
a small old English volume of heraldry, inscribed with
the name of John Gibbon. From the title only Mr,
Langer judged that it might be an acceptable present to
• his friend ; and he judged rightly. His manner is quaint
and affected ; his order is confused : but he displays
some wit, more reading, and still more enthusiasm; and
if an enthusiast be often absurd, he is never languid. An
English text is perpetually interspersed with Latin sen
tences in prose and verse ; but in his own poetry he
claims an exemption from the laws of prosedy. Amidst
a profusion of geneological knowledge, my kinsman
could not be forgetful of his own name ; and to him I am
indebted for almost the whole of my information concern
ing the Gibbon family. From this small work (a duo
decimo of one hundred and sixty-five pages) the author
expected immortal fame : and at the conclusion of his
labour he sings, in a strain of self-exultation :
" Usque hue corrigitur Romana Blasonia per me
Verborumque dehinc barbara forma cadat.
Hie liber, in meritum si forsitan incidet usum,
Testis rite meae sedulitatis erit.
Quicquid agat Zoilus, ventura fatebitur, aetas
Artis quod fueram non Clypearis inops."
Such are the hopes of authors ! In the failure of those
hopes John Gibbon has not been the first of his profession,
and very possib y may not be the last of his name. His
brother Matthew Gibbon, the draper, had one daughter
and two sons — my grandfather Edward, who was born
in the year 1666, and Thomas, afterwards Dean of
Cariisle. According -to the mercantile creed, that the

ACCOUNT AND ANECDOTES OF HIS FAMILY. 13
best book is a profitable ledger, the writings of John tbe
herald would be much less precious than than those of
his nephew Edward : but an author professes at least to
write for the public benefit ; and the slow balance of trade
can be pleasing to those persons only, to whom it is
advantageous. The successful industry of my granfather
raised him above the level of his immediate ancestors ;
he appears to have launched into various and extensive
dealings : even his opinions were subordinate to his in- v^
terest ; and I find him in Flanders clothing King Wil
liam's troops, while he would have contracted with more
pleasure, though not perhaps at a cheaper rate, for the
service of King James. During his residence abroad,
his concerns at home were managed by his mother
Hester, an active and notable woman. Her second
husband was a widower, of the name of Acton: they
united the children of their first nuptials. After his mar
riage with the daughter of Richard Acton, goldsmith in
Leadenhall-street, he gave his own sister to Sir Whitmore
Acton, of Aldenham ; and I am thus connected, by a tri
ple alliance, with that ancient and loyal family of Shrop
shire baronets. It consisted about that time of seven
brothers, all of gigantic stature ; one of whom, a pigmy
of six feet two inches, confessed himself the last and least
of the seven ; adding, in the true spirit of party, that such
men were not bom since the Revolution. Under the
Tory administration of the four last years of Queen Ann
(1710 — 1714), Mr; Edward Gibbon was appointed oneof
the Commissioners of the Customs ; he sat at that board
with Prior : but the merchant was better qualified for his
station than the poet ; since Lord Bolingbrofce has been

14 ACCOUNT AND ANECDOTES OF HIS FAMILY.
heard to declare, that he had never conversed with a man,
who more clearly understood the commerce and finances
of England. In the year 1716 he was elected one ofthe
directors of the South Sea Company ; and his books ex
hibited the proof that, before his acceptance of this fatal
office, he had acquired an independent fortune of sixty
thousand pounds.

CHAP. II.
THE SOUTH SEA SCHEME.
But his fortune was overwhelmed in the shipwreck of
the year twenty, and the labours of thirty years were
blasted in a single day. Of the use or abuse of the South
Sea scheme, ofthe guilt or innocence of my grandfather and
his brother directors, I am neither a competent nor a dis
interested judge. Yet the equity of modern times must
condemn the violent and arbitrary proceedings, which
would have disgraced the cause of justice, and would
render injustice still more odious. No sooner had the
nation awakened from its golden dream, than a popular
and even a parliamentary clamour demanded their vic
tims: but it was acknowledged on all sides that the South
Sea directors, however guilty, could not be touched by
any known laws of the land. The speech of Lord Moles-
worth, the author of the State of Denmark, may show the
temper, or rather the intemperance, of the House of Com
mons. "Extraordinary crimes," exclaimed that ardent
Whig, "call aloud for extraordinary remedies. The
Roman lawgivers had not foreseen the possible existence
of a parricide : but as soon as the first monster appeared,
he was sewn in a sack, and thrown headlong into the
river ; and I shall be content to inflict the same treatment
on the authors of our present ruin." His motion was not

16 THE SOUTH SEA SCHEME.
literally adopted ; but a bill of pains and penalties was intro-
duced, a retroactive statute, to punish the offences, which
did not exist at the time they were committed. Such a
pernicious violation of liberty and law can be excused
only by the most imperious necessity ; nor could it be
defended on this occasion by the plea of impending dan
ger or useful example. The legislature restrained the
persons of the directors, imposed an exorbitant security
for their appearance, and marked their characters with a
previous note of ignominy : they were compelled to deli
ver, upon oath, the strict value of their estates ; and were
disabled for making any transfer or alienation of any part
of their property. Against a bill of pains and penalties it
is the common right of every subject to be heard by his
counsel at the bar : they prayed to be heard ; their prayer
was refused; and their oppressors, who required no
evidence, would listen to no defence. It had been at first
proposed that one-eighth of their respective estates should
be allowed for the future support ofthe directors; but it was
specially urged, that in the various shades of opulence
and guilt such an unequal proportion would be too light
for some, and for some might possible be too heavy. The
character and conduct of each man were separately
weighed ; but instead of the calm solemnity of a judicial
inquiry, the fortune and honour of three ahd thirty Eng
lishmen were made the topic of hasty coversation, the
sport of a lawless majority ; and the basest member of
the committee, by a mahcious word or a^ilent vote, might
indulge his general spleen or personal animosity. Injury
was aggravated by insult, and insult was embittered by
pleasantry. Allowances of twenty pounds, or one sliil-

THE SOUTH SEA SCHEME. 17
ling, were facetiously moved. .Au^ vague report that a
director had formerly been concerned in another project,
by which some unknown persons had lost their money,
was admitted as a proof of his actual guilt. One man
was ruined because he had dropped a foolish speech, that
his horses should feed upon gold ; another because he
was grown so p^oud, that, one day at the Treasury, he
had refused a civil answer to persons much above him.
All were condemned, absent and unheard, in arbitrary
fines and forfeitures, which swept away the greatest part
of their substance. Such bold oppression can scarcely be
shielded by the omnipotence of parliament ; and yet it
may be seriously questioned, whether the judges of the
South Sea directors were the true and legal represen
tatives of the country. The first parliament of George the
First had been chosen (1715) for three years: the term
had elapsed, their trust was expired ; and the four addi
tional years (1718 — 1722), during which they continued to
sit, were derived not from the people, but from them
selves ; from the strong measures of the septennial bill,
which can only be paralleled by il serar di consiglio of
the Venetian history. Yet candor will own that to the
same parliament every Englishman, is deeply indebted :
the septennial act, so vicious in its origin, has been sanc
tioned by time, experience, and the national consent. Its
first - operation secured the House of Hanover on the
throne, and its permanent influence maintains the peace
and stability of government. As often as a repeal has
been moved in the House of Commons, I have given in
its defence a clear and conscientious vote.
My grandfather could not expect to be treated with

.8 THE SOUTH SEA SCHEME.
more lenity than his companions. His Tory principles
and connections rendered him obnoxious to the ruling
powers : his name is reported in a suspicious secret ; and
his well-known abilities could not plead the excuse of
ignorance or error. In the first proceedings against the
South Sea directors, Mr. Gibbon is one of the few who
were taken into custody ; and, in the &ial sentence, the
measures of his fine proclaims him eminently guilty
The total estimate which he delivered on oath to the
House of Commons amounted to one hundred and six
thousand five hundred and forty-three pounds five shil
lings and sixpence, exclusive of antecedent settlements.
Two different allowances of fifteen and of ten thousand
pounds were moved for Mr. Gibbon : but, on the question
being put, it Was carried without a division for the
smaller sum. On these ruins, with the skill and credit of
which parliament had not been able to despoil him, my
grandfather at a mature age erected the edifice of a new
fortune: the labours of sixteen years were amply re
warded ; and I have reason to believe that the second
structure was not much inferior to the first. He had
realized a very considerable property in Sussex, Hamp
shire, Buckinghamshire and the New River Company :
and had acquired a spacious house,* with gardens and
lands, at Putney, in Surrey, where he resided in decent
hospitality. He died in December, 1736. at the age of
seventy : and by his last will, at the expense of Edward,
his only son, (with whose marriage he was not perfectly
reconciled,) enriched his two daughters, Catharine and
* Since inhabited by Mr. Wood, Sir John Shelly, Duke of Norfolk, &c.

THE SOUTH SEA SCHEME. 19
Hester. The former became the wife of Mr. Edward
EUiston, an East India captain: their daughter and
heiress Catharine was married in the year 1756 to Ed
ward Elliot, Esq. (now Lord Elliot), of Port Elliot in the
county of Cornwall ; and their three sons are my nearest
male relations on the father's side.

CHAP. III.
CHARACTER OF MR. WILLIAM LAW.
A life of devotion and celibacy was the choice of my
aunt, Mrs. Hester Gibbon, who, at the age of eighty-five,
still resides at a hermitage at Cliffe, in Northamptonshire ;
having long survived her spiritual guide and faithful
companion, Mr. William Law, who at an advanced age,
about the year 1761, died in her house. In our family he
had left the reputation of a worthy and pious man, who ^
believed all that he professed, and practised all that he
enjoined. The character of a non-juror, which he main
tained to the last, is a sufficient evidence of his principles
in church and state ; and the sacrifice of interest to con
science will be always respectable. His theological
writings, which our domestic connexion has tempted me
to peruse, preserve an imperfect sort of life, and I can
pronounce with more confidence and knowledge on the
merits of the author. His last compositions are darkly
tinctured by the incomprehensible visions of Jacob
Behmen ; and his discourse on the absolute unlawfulness
of stage-entertainments is sometimes quoted for a ridi
culous intemperance of sentiment and language. — " The
actors and spectators must all be damned : the playhouse
is the porch of Hell, the place of the Devil's abode, where
he holds his filthy court of evil spirits; a play is the

CHARACTER OF MR. WILLIAM LAW- 21

Devil's triumph, a sacrifice perforined to his glory, as
much as in the heathen temples of Bachus or Venus, &c.
&c." But these sallies of religious frenzy must not ex
tinguish the praise which is due to Mr. William Law as
a wit and a scholar. His argument on topics of less absur
dity is specious and acute, his manner is lively, his style
forcible and clear; and, had not his vigorous mind''
been clouded by enthusiasm, he might be ranked with the
most agreeable and ingenious writers of the times. While
the Bangorian controversy was a fashionable theme, he
entered the lists on the subject of Christ's kingdom, and
the authority of the priesthood : against the plain account
ofthe sacrament of the Lord's Supper he resumed the
combat with Bishop Hoadley, the object of Whig idol
atry, and Tory abhorrence; and at every weapon of
attack and defence the non-juror, on the ground which is
common to both, approves himself at least equal to the
prelate. On the appearance ofthe Fable ofthe Bees, he
drew his pen against the licentious doctrine that private
vices are public benefits ; and morality as well as religion
must join in his applause. Mr. Law's master-work, the
'« Serious Call," is still read as a popular and powerful
book of devotion. His precepts are rigid, but they are
founded on the gospel : his satire is sharp, but it is drawn
from the knowledge of human life ; and many of his por
traits are not unworthy of the pen of La Bruyere. If he
finds a spark of piety in his reader's mind, he will soon
kindle it to a flame ; and a philosopher must allow that
he exposes, with equal severity and truth, the strange
contradiction between the faith and practice of the
Christian world. Under the names of Flavia and Mi-

22 CHARACTER OF MR. WILLIAM LAW.
randa he has admirably described my two aunts — the
heathen and the Christian sister.
My father, Edward Gibbon, was born in October,
1707: at the age of thirteen he could scarcely feel that
he was disinherited by act of parliament ; and, as he
advanced towards manhood, new prospects of fortune
opened to his view. A parent is most attentive to sup
ply in his children the deficiencies of which he is con
scious in himself: my grandfather's knowledge was de
rived from a strong understanding, and the experience of
the ways of men ; but my father enjoyed the benefits of
a liberal education as a scholar and a gentleman. At
Westminster School, and afterwards al Emanuel College
in Cambridge, he passed through a regular course of
academical discipline ; and the care of his learning and
morals was entrusted to his private tutor, the same Mr.
William Law. But the mind of a saint is above or be
low the present world ; and while the pupil proceeded on
his travels, the tutor remained at Putney, the much-
honoured friend and spiritual director of the whole
family. My father resided some time at Paris, to acquire
the fashionable exercises ; and as his temper was warm
and social, he indulged in those pleasures, for which the
strictness of his former education had given him a keener
relish. He afterwards visited several provinces of
France: but his excursions were neither long nor re
mote ; and the slender knowledge which he had gained
of the French language, was gradually obliterated. His
passage through Besangon is marked by a singular conse
quence in the chain of human events. In a dangerous
illness Mr. Gibbon was attended, at his own request by

CHARACTER OF MR. WILLIAM LAW. 23
one of his kinsmen of the name ^of Acton, the younger
brother of a younger brother, who had applied himself to
the study of physic. During the slow recovery of his
patient, the physician himself was attacked by the ma
lady of love : he married his mistress, renounced his coun
try and religion, settled at Besangon, and became the
father of three sons ; the eldest of whom, General Acton,
is conspicuous in Europe as the principal minister of the
King of the Two Sicilies. By an uncle whom another
stroke of fortune had transplanted to Leghorn, he was
educated in the naval service of the Emperor ; and his
valour and conduct in the command of the Tuscan fri
gates protected the retreat of the Spaniards from Algiers.
On my father's return to England he was chosen, in the
general election of 1734, to serve in parliament for the
borough of Petersfield ; a burgage tenure, of which my
grandfather possessed a weighty share, till he alienated
(I know not why) such important property. In the op
position to Sir Robert Walpole and the Pelhams, preju
dice and society connected his son with the Tories, —
shall I say Jacobites ? or as they were pleased to style
themselves, the country gentlemen ? With them he gave
many a vote ; with thera he drank many a bottle. With
out acquiring the fame of an orator or a statesman, he
eagerly joined in the great opp6sition which, after a
seven years' chase, hunted down Sir Robert Walpole:"
and in the pursuit of an unpopular minister, he gratified
a private revenge against the oppressor of his family in
the South Sea persecution.

CHAP. IV.
MR. GIBBON'S BIRTH, &o.
I was bom at Putney, in the county of Surrey, the
27th of April, O. S., in the year one thousand seven hun
dred and thirty-seven ; the first child of the marriage of
Edward Gibbon, Esq. and of Judith Porten.* My lot
might have been that of a slave, a savage, or a peasant:
nor can I reflect without pleasure on the bounty of Na
ture, which cast my birth in a free and civilised country,
in an age of science and philosophy, in a family of
honourable rank, and decently endowed with the gifts of
fortune. From my birth I have enjoyed the right of pri
mogeniture ; but I was succeeded by five brothers and
one sister, all of whom were snatched away in their
infancy. My five brothers, whose names may be found
in the parish register of Putney, I shall not pretend to
lament: but from my childhood to the present hour, I
have deeply and sincerely regretted my sister, whose life
* The union to which I owe my birth was a marriage of inclination and
esteem. Mr. James Porten, amerchant of London, resided with his family
at Putney, in a house adjoining to the bridge and churchyard, where I have
passed many happy hours of my childhood. He left one son (the late Sir
Stanier Porten) and three daughters ; Catharine, who preserved her maiden
name, and of whom I shall hereafter speak ; another daughter married Mr.
Darell of Richmond, and left two sons, Edward and Robert; the youngest
of the three sisters was Judith, my mother.

ME. GIBBON'S BIRTH, &c. 25
was somewhat prolonged, and whom I remember to have
seen an amiable infant. The relation of a brother and a
sister, especially if they do not marry, appears to me of
a very singular nature. It is a familiar and tender
friendship with a female, much about our own age ; an
affection perhaps softened by the secret influence of sex,
but pure from any mixture of sensual desire, the sole
species of Platonic love that can be indulged with truth
and without danger.
At the general election of 1741, Mr. Gibbon and Mr.
Delme sto(^d an expensive and successful contest at
Southampton, against Mr. Dummer and Mr. Henly, after
wards Lord Chancellor and Earl of Norlhington. The
Whig candidates had a majority of the resident voters ;
but the corporation was firm in the Tory interest : a sud
den creation of one hundred and seventy new freemen
turned the scale ; and a supply was readily obtained of
respectable volunteers, who flocked from all parts of
England to support the cause of their political friends.
The new parliament opened with the victory of an oppo
sition, which was fortified by strong clamor and strange
coalitions. From the event of the first divisions. Sir
Robert Walpole perceived that he could no longer lead a
majority in the House of Commons, and prudently re
signed (after a dominion of one and twenty years) the
guidance of the state (1742). But the fall of an unpo-V'
pular minister was not succeeded, according to general
expectation, by a millenium of happiness and virtue:
some courtiers lost their places, some patriots lost their
characters, Lord Orford's offences vanished with hia
power ; and after a short vibration, the Pelham govern-

S« MR. GIBBON'S BIRTH, &c.
ment was fixed on the jold basis of Whig aristocracy. In
the year 1745, the throne and the constitution were at
tacked by a rebellion, which does not inflict much honour
on the national spirit : since the English friends of the
Pretender wanted courage to join his standard, and his
enemies (the bulk of the people) allowed him to advance
into the heart of the kingdom. Without daring, perhajis
without desiring, to aid the rebels, my father invariably
adhered to the Tory opposition. In the most critical sea
son he accepted^ for the service of the party, the office of
alderman in the city of London : but the duties were so
repugnant to his inclination and habits, that he resigned
his gown at the end of a few months. The second par
liament in which he sat was prematurely dissolved
(1747) : and as he was unable or unwilling to maintain a
second contest for Southampton, the life of the senator
expired in that dissolution.
The death of a new-born child before that of its parents
may seem an unnatural, but it is strictly a probable,
event : since of any given number the greater part are
extinguished before their ninth year, before they possess
the faculties of the mind or body. Without accusing the
profuse waste or imperfect workmanship of Nature, I
shall only observe, that this unfavourable chance was
multiphed against my infant existence. So feeble was
my constitution, so precarious my life, that, in the baptism
of each of my brothers, my father's prudence successively
repeated my christian name of Edward, that, in case of
the departure of the eldest son, this patronymic appella
tion might be still perpetuated in the family.
 Uno avulso non deficit alter.

MR. GIBBON'S BIRTH, &c. 27
To preserve and to rear so frail a being, the mosft ten
der assiduity was scarcely sufficient ; and my mother's
attention was somewhat diverted by her frequent preg
nancies, by an exclusive passion for her husband, and by
the dissipation of the world, in which his taste and
authority obliged her to mingle. But the maternal office
was supplied by my aunt, Mrs. Catharine Porten; at
whose name I feel a tear of gratitude trickfing down my
cheek. A life of celibacy transferred her vacant affection
to her sister's first child : my weakness excited her pity ;
her attachment was fortified by labour and success : and
if there be any, as I ti'ust there are some, who rejoice that
I live, to that dear and excellent woman they must hold
themselves indebted. Many anxious and solitary days
did she consume in the patient trial of every mode of
refief and amusement. Many wakeful nights did she sit
by my bed-side in trembling expectation that each hour
would be my last. Of the various and frequent disorders
of my childhood my own recollection is dark ; nor do I
wish to expatiate on so disgusting a topic. Suffice it to
say, that while everj' practitioner, from Sloane and Ward
to the Chevalier Taylor, was successively summoned to
torture or relieve me, the care of my mind was too fre
quently neglected for that of my health: compassion
always suggested an excuse for the indulgence of the
master, or the idleness of the pupil ; and the chain of my
education was broken, as often as I was recalled from the
school of learning to the bed of sickness.
As soon as the use of speech had prepared my infant
reason for the admission of knowle'dge, I was taught the
arts of reading, writing, and arithmetic. So remote is

28 MR. GIBBON'S BIRTH, &c.

the date, so vague- is the memory of their origin in my
self, that, were not the error corrected by analogy, I
should be tempted to conceive them as innate. In my
childhood I was praised for the readiness with which I
could multiply and divide, by memory alone, two suras
of several figures : such praise encouraged my growing
talent ; and had I persevered in this line of application, I
might have acquired some fame in mathematical studies.
After this previous institution at home, or at a day*
school at Putney, I was delivered at the age of seven into
the hands of Mr. John Kirkby, who exercised about
eighteen months the office of my domestic tutor. His
own words, which I shall here transcribe, inspire in his
favour a sentiment of pity and esteem. — " During my
abode in my native county of Cumberland, in qualitj' of
an indigent curate, I used now and then in a summer,
when the pleasantness of the season invited, to take a so
litary walk to the sea-shore, which lies about two miles
from the town where I lived. Here I would amuse my
self, one while in viewing at large the agreeable prospect
which surrounded me, and another while (confining my
sight to nearer objects) in admiring the vast variety of
beautiful shells, thrown upon the beach; some of the
choicest of which I always picked up, to divert my httle
ones upon my return. One time among the rest, taking
such a journey in my head, I sat down upon the declivity
of the beach with my face to the sea, which was now
come up within a few yards of my feet ; when imme
diately the sad thought of the wretched condition of my
family, and the unsuccessfulness of all endeavours to
amend it, came crowding into my mind, which drove me

MR. GIBBON'S BIRTH, &c. S9
into a deep melancholy, and ever and anon forced tears
from my eyes." Distress at last forced him to leave the
country. His learning and virtue introduced him to my
father ; and at Putney he might have found at least a
temporary shelter, had not an act of indiscretion again
driven him into the world. One day reading prayers in j
the parish church, he most unluckily forgot the name of '
. King George: his patron,a loyal subject, dismissed him with
some reluctance, and a decent reward : and how the poor
man ended his days I have never been able to learn. Mr.
John Kirkby is the author of two small volumes ; the Life
of Automathes (London, 1745), and an English and Latin
Grammar (London, 1746) ; which, as a testimony of
gratitude, he dedicated (November 5th, 1745) to my
father. The books are before me : from them the pupil
may judge the preceptor ; and, upon the whole, his judg
ment will not be unfavourable. The grammar is exe
cuted with accuracy and skill, and I know not whether
any better existed at the time in our language : but the
life of Automathes aspires to the honours of a philoso
phical fiction. It is the story of a youth, the son of a
shipwrecked exile, who lives alone on a desert island from
infancy to the age of manhood. A hind is his nurse ; he
inherits a cottage, with many useful and curious instru
ments ; some ideas remain of the education of his two
first years ; some arts are borrowed from the beavers of
a neighboring lake ; some truths are revealed in superna
tural visions. With these helps, and his own industry,
Automathes becomes a self-taught though speechless
philosopher, who had investigated with success his own
mind, the natural world, the abstract sciences, and the

30 MR. GIBBON'S BIRTH, &c.
great principles of morahty and religion. The author is
not entitled to the merit of invention, since he has blended
the English story of Robinson Crusoe with the Arabian
romance of Hai Ebn Yokhdam, which he might have read
in the Latin version of Pocock. In the Automathes I
cannot praise either the depth of thought or elegance of
style ; but the book is not devoid of entertainment or
instruction; and among several interesting passages, I
would select the discovery of fire, which produces by ac
cidental mischief the discovery of conscience. A man
who had thought so much on the subjects of language and
education was surely no orduiary preceptor ; my childish
years, and his hasty departure, prevented me from enjoy-,
ing the full benefit of his lessons ; but they enlarged my
knowledge of arithmetic, and left me a clear impression
of the English and Latin rudiments.

CHAP. V.
THE AUTHOR IS SENT TO DR. WOODDESON'S SCHOOL.
In my ninth year (January, 1746), in a lucid interval
of comparative health, my father adopted the convenient
and customery mode of English education; and I was
sent to Kingston-upon-Thames, to a school of about
seventy boys, which was kept by Dr. Wooddeson and his
assistants. Every time I have since passed over Putney
Common, I have always noticed the spot where*my mo
ther, as we drove along in the coach, admonished me
that I was now going into the world, and must 'learn to
think and act for myself. The expression may appear
ludicrous : yet there is not, in the course of life, a more
rernarkable change than the removal of a child from the
luxury and freedom of a wealthy house, to the frugal diet
and strict subordination of a school ; from the tenderness
of parents, and the obsequiousness of servants, to the
rude familiarity of his equals, the insolent tyranny of his
seniors, and the rod, perhaps, of a cruel and capricious
pedagogue. Such hardships may steel the mind and
body against the injuries of fortune ; but my timid reserve
was astonished by the crowd and tumult of the school ;
the want of strength and activity disqualified me for the
sports of the play-field ; nor have I forgotten how often
in the year forty-six, I was reviled and buflfeted for the

THE AUTROR IS SENT TO

•-'sins of my Tory ancestors. By the common methods of
discipline, at the expense of many tears and some blood,'
I purchased the knowledge of the Latin syntax ; and not
long since, I was possessed of the dirty volumes of Phse-
drus and Cornelius Nepos, which I painfully construed
and darkly understood. The choice of these authors is
not injudicious.. The lives of Cornelius Nepos, the friend
of Attucus an^ Cicero, are composed in the style of the
purest age : his simplicity is elegant, his brevity copious :
he exhibits a series of men and manners ; and with such
illustrations, as every pedant is not indeed qualified to
give, this classic biographer may initiate a young student
in the history of Greece and Rome. The use of fables or
apologues has been approved in every age from ancient
India tc^modern Europe. They convey in familiar images
the truths of morality and prudence; and the most
childish understanding (I advert to the scruples of Rous
seau) will not suppose either that beasts do speak, or that
men may lie. A fable represents the genuine characters
of animals ; and a skilful master might extract from Pliny
and Buffon some pleasing lessons of natural history, a
science well adapted to the taste and capacity of children.
The Latinity of Ph^drus is not exempt from an alloy of
the silver age ; but his manner is concise, terse, and sen
tentious: the Thracian slave discreetly breathes the
spirit of a freeman ; and when the text is found, the style
is perspicuous. But his fables, after a long oblivion, were
first published by Peter PithoU, from a corrupt manu
script. The labours of fifty editors confess the defects of
the copy as well as the value of the original ; and the
,. school-boy may have been whipped for misapprehending

DR. WOODDESON'S SCHOOL. 33
a passage, which Bentley could not restore, and which
Burman could not explain.
My studies were too frequently interrupted by sickness;
and after a real or nominal residence at Kingston school
for near two years, I was finally recalled (December,
1747) by my mother's death, which was occasioned, in
her thirty-eighth year, by the consequences of her last
labour. I was too young to feel the importance of my
loss ; and the image of her person and conversation is
faintly imprinted in my memory. The affectionate heart
of my aunt, Catharine Porten, bewailed a sister and a
friend; but my poor father was inconsolable, and the
transport of grief seemed to threaten his life or his reason.
I can never forget the scene of our first interview, some
weeks after the fatal event ; the awful silence, the room
hung with blacky, the mid-day tapers, his sighs and tears ;
his praises of m^ mother, a saint in heaven ; his solemn
adjuration that I would cherish her memory and imitate
her virtues ; and the fervour with which he kissed and
blessed me as the sole surviving pledge of their loves.
The storm of passion insensibly subsided into calmer
melancholy. At a convivial meeting of his friends, Mr.
Gibbon might affect or enjoy a gleam of cheerfulness ;
but his plan of happiness was for ever destroyed : and
after the loss of his companion he was left alone in a
world, of which the business and pleasures were to him
irksome or insipid. After some unsuccessful trials he
renounced the tumult of London arid the hospitality of
Putney, and buried himself in the rural or rather rustic
solitude of Buriton ; from which, during several years, he
seldom emerged.

34 THE AUTHOR IS SENT TO
As far back as I can remember, the house, near Putney-
bridge and churchyard, of my maternal grandfather, ap
pears in the light of my proper and native home. It was
there that I was allowed to spend the greatest part of
my time, in sickness or in health, during my school vaca
tions and my parents' residence in London, and finally
after my mother's death. Three months after that event,
in the spring of 1748, the commercial ruin of her father,
Mr. James Porten, was accomplished and declared. He
suddenly absconded : but as his effects were not sold, nor
the house evacuated, till the Christmas following, I
enjoyed during the whole year the society of my aunt,
without much consciousness of her impending fate. I
feel a melancholy pleasure in repeating my obligations to
that excellent woman, Mrs. Catharine Porten, the true
mother of my mind as well as of my health. Her natu
ral good sense was improved by the perusal of the best
books in- the English language, and if her reason was
sometimes clouded by prejudice, her sentiments were
never disguised by hypocrisy or aflectation. Her in
dulgent tenderness, the frankness of her temper, and my
imiate rising curiosity, soon removed all distance between
us: Hljg friends of an equal age, we freely conversed on
every topic, familiar or abstruse ; and it was her delight
and reward to observe the first shoots of my young ideas.
Pain and languor were often soothed by the voice of
instruction and amusement; and to her kind lessons I
ascribe my early and invincible love of reading, which I
would not exchange for the treasures of India. I should
perhaps be astonished, were it possible to ascertain the
date, at which a favourite tale was engraved, by frequent

DR. WOODDESON'S SCHOOL. 35
repetition, in my memory : the Cavern of the Winds ;
the Palace of Felicity ; and the fatal moment, at the end
of three months or centuries, when Prince Adolphus is
overtaken by Time, who had worn out so many pair of
wings in the pursuit. Before I left Kingston school I
was well acquainted with Pope's Homer and the Arabian v
Nights Entertainments, two books which will always
please by the moving picture of human manners and
specious miracles : nor was I then capable of discerning
that Pope's translation is a portrait endowed with every
merit, excepting that of likeness to the original. The
verses of Pope accustomed my ear to the sound of poetic
harmony ; in the death of Hector, and the shipwreck of
Ulysses, I tasted the new emotions of terror and pity ;
and seriously disputed with my aunt on the vices and
virtues of the heroes of the Trojan war. From Pope's
Homer to Dryden's Virgil was an easy transition ; but I
know not I how, from some fault in the author, the trans
lator, or the reader, the pious iEneas did not so forcibly
seize on my imagination ; and I derived more pleasure
from Ovid's Metamorphoses, especially in the fall of
Phaeton and the speeches of Ajax and Ulysses. My
grandfather's flight unlocked the door of a tolerable
library ; and I turned over many English pages of poetry
and Romance, of history and travels. Where a title
attracted my eye, without fear or awe I snatched the
volume from the shelf; and Mrs. Porten, who indulged
herself in moral and religious speculations, was more
prone to encourage than to check a curiosity above the
strength of a boy. This year (1748), the twelfth of my
age, I shall note as the most propitious to the growth of
my intellectual stature.

CHAP. VL
MR. GIBBON IS ENTERED AT WESTMINSTER SCHOOL.
The relics of my grandfather's fortune afforded & bare
annuity for his own maintenance ; and his daughter, my
worthy aunt, who had already passed her fortieth year,
was left destitute. Her noble spirit scorned a life of
obligation and dependence ; and after revolving several
schemes, she preferred the humble industry of keeping a
boarding-house for Westminster School,* where she
laboriously earned a competence for her old age. This
singular opportunity of blending the advantages of pri
vate and public education decided my father. After the
Christmas holidays in January, 1749, 1 accompanied Mrs.
Porten to her new house in College-street ; and was im
mediately entered in the school, of which Dr. John Nicoll
was at that time head master. At first I was alone ; but
my aunt's resolution was praised ; her character was es
teemed ; her friends were numerous and active : in the
course of some years she became the mother of forty or
fifty boys, for the most part of family and fortune ; and as
her primitive habitation was too narrow, she built and
occupied a spacious mansion in Dean's Yard. I shall
* It is said in the family, that she was principally induced to this under-
taking by her aflfection for her nephew, whose weak constitution required
her constant and umemitted attention. — S.

MR. GIBBON IS ENTERED AT WESTMINSTER SCHOOL. 37
always be ready to join in the common opinion, that our
public schools, which have produced so many eminent
characters, are the best adapted to the genius and constitu
tion of the English people^ A boy of spirit may acquire a
previous and practical experience of the world ; and his
playfellows may be the future friends of his heart or his in
terest. In a free intercourse with his equals, the habits of
truth, fortitude, and prudence will insensibly be matured.
Birth and riches are measured by the standard of personal
merit ; and the mimic scene of a rebellion has displayed,
in their true colours, the ministers and patriots of the
rising generation. Our seminaries of learning do not ex
actly correspond with the precept of a Spartan king,
" that the child should be instructed in the arts, which
will be useful to the man ;" since a finished scholar may
emerge from the head of Westminster or Eton, in total
ignorance of the business and conversation of English gen
tlemen in the latter end of the eighteenth century. Bat
these schools may assume the merit of teaching all that
they pretend to teach, the Latin and Greek languages :
they deposit in the hands of a disciple the keys of two
valuable chests ; nor can he complain, if they are after
wards lost or neglected by his own fault. The neces
sity of leading in equal ranks so many unequal powers of
capacity and application, will ptolong to eight or ten
years the juvenile studies, which might be despatched in
half that time by the skilful master of a single pupil. Yet
even the repetition of exercise and discipline contributes
to fix in a vacant mind the verbal science of grammar
and prosody : and the private or voluntary student, who
possesses the sense and spirit of the classics, may offend,

38 MR. GIBBON IS ENTERED AT WESTMINSTER SCHOOL.
by a false quantity, the scrupulous ear of a well-flogged
critic. For myself, I must be content with a very small
share of the civil and literary fruits of a public school. In
the space of two years (1749, 1750), interrupted by dan
ger and debility, I painfully climbed into the third
form ; and my riper age was left to acquire the beauties
of the Latin and the rudiments of the Greek tongue.
Instead of audaciously mingling in the sports, the quar
rels, and the connexions of our little world, I was still
cherished at home under the maternal wing of my aunt ;
and my removal from Westminster long preceded the
approach of manhood.
The violence and variety of my complaints, which had
excused my frequent absence from Westminster School,
at length engaged Mrs. Porten, with the advice of phy
sicians, to conduct me to Bath: at the end of Michaelmas
vacation (1750) she quitted me with reluntance, and I
remained several months under the care of a trusty maid
servant. A strange nervous affection, which alternately
contracted my legs, and produced, without any visible
symptoms, the most excruciating pain, was ineffectually
opposed by the various methods of bathing and pumping.
From Bath I was transported to Winchester, to the house
of a physiciai; ; and after the failure of his medical skill,
we had again recourse lo the virtues of the Bath waters.
During the intervals of these fits, I moved with my father
to Buriton and Putney ; and a short unsuccessful trial was
attempted to renew my attendance at Westminster
School. But my infirmities could not be reconciled with
the hours and discipline of a public seminary : and instead
of a domestic tutor, who might have watched the favour-

MR. GIBBON IS ENTERED AT WESTMINSTER SCHOOL, 39
able moments, and gently advanced the progress of my
learning, my father was too easily content with such
occasional teachers as the different places of my resi
dence could supply. I was never forced, and seldom
was I persuaded, to admit these lessons : yet I read with
a clergyman at Bath some odes of Horace, and several
episodes of Virgil, which gave me an imperfect and tran
sient enjoyment of the Latin poets. It might now be ap
prehended that I should continue for life an illiterate
cripple : but, as I approached my sixteenth year, nature
displayed in my favour her mysterious energies; my
constitution was fortified and fixed ; and mj"- disorders,
instead of growing with my growth and strengthening
with my strength, most wonderfully vanished. I have
never possessed or abused the insolence of health ; but
since that time few persons have been more exempt from
real or imaginary ills ; and, till I am admonished by the
gout, the reader will no more be troubled with the history
of my bodily complaints. My unexpected recovery
again encouraged the hope of my education ; and I was
placed at Esher, in Surrey, in the house of the Reverend
Mr. Philip Francis, in a pleasant spot, which promised to
unite the various benefits of air, exercise, and study
(January, 1752). The translator of Hprace might have
taught me to relish the Latin poets, had not my friends
discovered in a few weeks, that he preferred the plea
sures of London to the instruction of his pupils.

CHAP, VII.
THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE,
OXFORD.
Mt father's perplexity at this time, rather than his pru
dence, was urged to embrace a singular and desperate
measure. Without preparation or delay he carried me
to Oxford ; and I was matriculated in the university as a
gentleman commoner of Magdalen College, before I had
accomphshed the fifteenth year of my age (April 3, 1752).
The curiosity, which had been implanted in my infant
mind, was still alive and active ; but my reason was not
sufficiently informed to understand the value, or to lament
the loss, of three precious years from my entrance at
Westminster to my admission at Oxford, Instead of
repining at my long and frequent confinement to the
chamber or the couch, I secretly rejoiced in those infir
mities, which delivered me from the exercises of the
school, and the society of my equals. As often as I was
tolerably exempt fi:om danger and pain, reading, free
desultory reading, was the employment and comfort of
my solitary hours. At Westminster, my aunt sought
only to amuse and indulge me ; in my stations at Bath
and Winchester, at Buriton and Putney, a false compas
sion respected my sufferings ; and I was allowed, without
control or advice, to gratify the wanderings of an unripe

THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD. 41

taste. My indiscriminate appetite subsided by degrees in
the historic line : and since philosophy has exploded all
innate ideas and pitural propensities, I must ascribe this
choice to the assiduous perusal of the Universal History,
as the octavo volumes successively appeared. This une
qual work, and a treatise of Hearne, the Ductor histori-
cus, referred and introduced me to the Greek and Roman
historians, to as many at least as were accessible to an
English reader. All that I could find were greedily
devout-ed, from Littlebury's lame Herodotus, and Spel-
man's valuable Xenophon, to the pompous folios of Gor
don's Tacitus, and a ragged Procopius of the beginning
of the last century. The cheap acquisition of so much
knowledge confirmed my dislike to the study of languages;
and I argued with Mrs, Porten, that, were I master of
Greek and Latin, I must interpret to myself in English
the thoughts of the original, and that such extemporary
versions must be inferior to the elaborate translations of
proifessed scholars ; a silly sophism, which could not
easily be confuted by a person ignorant of any other lan
guage than her own. From the ancient I leaped to the
modern world: many crude lumps of Speed, Rapin,
Mezeray, Davila, Machiavel, Father Paul, Bower, &c. I
devoured like so many novels ; and I swallowed with the
same voracious appetite the descriptions of India and
China, of Mexico and Peru.
My first introduction to the historic scenes, which have
since engaged so many years of my life, must be ascribed to
an accident. In the summer of 1751, 1 accompanied my
father on a visit to Mr. Hoare's, in Wiltshire ; but I was
less delighted with the beauties of Stourhead, than with

42 THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD.
discovering in the hbrary a common book, the continua
tion of Echard's Roman History, which is indeed exe
cuted with more skill and taste than t||e previous work.
To me the reigns of the successors of Constantine were
absolutely new ; and I was immersed in the passage of
the Goths over the Danube, when the summons of the
dinner-bell reluctantly dragged me from my intellectual
feast. This transient glance served rather to irritate than
to appease my curiosity ; and as soon as I returned to
Bath I procured the second and third volumes of Howell's
History of the World, which exhibit the Byzantine period
on a larger scale, Mahomet and his Saracens soon
fixed my attention ; and some instinct of criticism directed
me to the genuine sources. Simon Ockley, an original in
every sense, first opened my eyes; and I was led from
one book to another, till I had ranged round the circle of
oriental history. Before I was sixteen, I had exhausted
all that could be learned in English of the Arabs and
Persians, the Tartars and Turks ; and the same ardour
urged me to guess at the French of D'Herbelot, and to
construe the barbarous Latin of Pocock's Abulfaragius.
¦/Such vague and multifarious reading could not teach me
to think, to write, or to act ; and the only principle that
darted a ray of hght into the indigested chaos, was an
early and rational application to the order of time and
place. The maps of Cellarius and Wells imprinted in
my mind the picture of ancient geography : from Stran-
chius I imbibed the elements of chronology : the Tables
of Helvicus and Anderson, the Annals of Usher and
Prideaux, distinguished the connexion of events, and en
graved the multitude of names and dates in a clear and

THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD 43
indelible series. But in the discussion of the first ages I
overleaped the bounds of modesty and use. In my
childish balance I presumed to weigh the systems of
Scahger and Petavius, of Marsham and Newton, which I
could seldom study in the originals : and my sleep has
been disturbed by the difficulty of reconciling the Sep
tuagint with the Hebrew computation. I arrived at
Oxford with a stock of erudition that might have puzzled
a doctor, and a degree of ignorance, of which a school
boy might have been ashamed.
At the conclusion of this first period of my life, I am
tempted to enter a protest against the trite and lavish
praise of the happiness of our boyish years, which is
echoed with so much affectation in the world. That
happiness I have never known, that time I have never
regretted ; and were my poor aunt still alive, she would
bear testimony to the early and constant uniformity of
my sentiments. It will indeed be replied, that I am not
a competent judge; that pleasure is incompatible with
pain ; that joy is excluded from sickness ; and that the
felicity of a school-boy consists in the perpetual motion
of thoughtless and playful agility, in which I was never
qualified to excel. My name, it is most true, could never
be enrolled among the sprightly race, the idle progeny of
Eton or Westminster, " Who foremost may delight to cleave.
With phant arm the glassy wave,
Orm-gethe flying ball."
The poet may gayly describe the short hours of recre
ation ; but he forgets, the daily tedious labours of the

44 THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD.

school, which is approached each morning with anxious
and reluctant steps.
A traveller who visits Oxford or Cambridge, is sur
prised and edified by the apparent order and tranquillity
that prevail in the seats of the English muses. In the
most celebrated universities of Holland, Germany, and
Italy, the students, who swarm from different countries,
are loosely dispersed in private lodgings at the houses of
the burghers : they dress according to their fancy and
fortune ; and in the intemperate quarrels of youth and
wine, their swords, though less frequently than of old,
are sometimes stained with each other's blood. The use
of arms is banished from our English universities ; the
uniform habit of the academies, the square cap and black
gown, is adapted to the civil and even clerical profession ;
and from the doctor in divinity to the under-graduate, the
degrees of learning and age are externally distinguished.
Instead of being scattered in a town, the students of
Oxford and Cambridge are united in colleges; their
maintenance is provided at their own expense, or that of
the founders ; and the stated hours of the hall and chapel
represent the discipline of a regular, and, as it were, a
rehgious community. The eyes of the traveller are at
tracted by the size or beauty of the public edifices ; and
the principal colleges appear to be so many palaces,
which a liberal nation has erected and endowed for the
habitation of science. My own introduction to the uni
versity of Oxford forms a new sera in my life ; and at the
distance of forty years I still remember niy first emotions
of surprise and satisfaction. In my fifteenth year I felt
myself suddenly raised from a boy to a man : the per-

THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD. 45
sons, whom I respected as my superiors in age and aca
demical rank, entertained me with every mark of atten
tion and civility , and my vanity was flattered by the
velvet cap and silk gown, which distinguished a gentle
man commoner from a plebian student. A decent allow
ance, more money than a school-boy had ever seen, was
at my own disposal ; and I might command, among the
tradesmen of Oxford, an indefinite and dangerous latitude
of credit. A key was delivered into my hands, which
gave me the free use of a numerous and learned library;
my apartment consisted of three elegant and well-fur
nished rooms in the new building, a stately pile, of Mag
dalen College; and the adjacent walks, had they been
frequented by Plato's disciples, might have been com
pared to the Attic shade on the banks of the Ilissus.
Such was the fair prospect of my entrance (April 3,
1752), into the university of Oxford.
A venerable prelate, whose taste and erudition must
reflect honour on the society in which they were formed,
has drawn a very interesting picture of his academical
life. — " I was educated (says Bishop Lowth) in the Uni
versity of Oxford. I enjoyed all the advantages, both
public and private, which that famous seat of learning so
largely affords. I spent many years in that illustrious
society, in a well-regulated course of useful discipline
and studies, and in the agreeable and improving com
merce of gentlemen and scholars; in a society where
emulation without envy, ambition without jealousy, con
tention without animosity, incited industry, and awakened
genius ; where a liberal pursuit of knowledge, and a ge
nuine freedom of thought, was raised, encouraged, and

46 THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD.
. pushed forward by example, by commendation, and by
authority. I breathed the same atmosphere that the
Hookers, the Chillingworths, and the Lockes had breathed
before ; whose benevolence and humanity were as exten
sive ^as their vast genius and comprehensive knowledge ;
who always treated their adversaries with civility and
respect; who made candour, moderation, and liberal
judgment as much the rule and law as the subject of
their discourse. And do you reproach me with my edu
cation in this place, and with my relation to this most
respectable body, which I ¦ shall always esteem my
greatest advantage and my highest honour?" I trans
cribe with pleasure this eloquent passage, without ex
amining what benefits or what rewards were derived by
Hooker, or Chillingworth, or Locke, from their academi
cal institution ; without inquiring, whether in this angry
controversy the spirit of Lowth himself is purified from
the intolerant zeal, which Warburton had ascribed to the
genius of the place. It may indeed be observed, that the
atmosphere of Oxford did not agree with Mr. Locke's
constitution, and that the philosopher justly despised the
academical bigots, who expelled his person and con
demned his principles. The expression of gratitude is a
virtue and a pleasure: a hberal mind will delight to
cherish and celebrate the memory of its parents ; and thc
teachers of science are the parents of the mind, I ap
plaud the filial piety, which it is impossible for me to imi
tate; since I must not confess an imaginary debt, to
assume the merit of a just or generous retribution. To
the university of Oxford / acknowledge no obligation;
and she will as cheerfully renounce me for a son, as I am'

THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD, 47
willing to disclaim her for a mother. I spent fourteen
months at Magdalen College ; they proved the fourteen
months the most idle and unprofitable of my whole life :
and the reader will pronounce between the school andthe
scholar ; but I cannot affect to believe that Nature had
disqualified me for all literary pursuits. The specious
and ready excuse of my tender age, imperfect prepara
tion, and hasty departure, may doubtless be alleged ; nor
do I wish to defraud such excuses of their proper weight.
Yet in my sixteenth year I was not devoid of capacity or
application ; even my childish reading had displayed an
early though blind propensity for books ; and the shallow
flood might have been taught to flow in a deep channel
and a clear stream. In the discipline of a well-consti
tuted academy, under the guidance of skilful and vigilant
professors, I should gradually have risen from translations
to originals, from the Latin to the Greek classics, from
dead languages to living science : my hours would have
been occupied by useful and agreeable studies, the wan
derings of fancy would have been restrained, and I should
have escaped the temptations of idleness, which finally
precipitated my departure from Oxford,
Perhaps in a separate annotation I may coolly examine
the fabulous and real antiquities of our sister universi
ties, a question which has kindled such fierce and foolish
disputes among their fanatic sons. In the mean while, it
will be acknowledged that these venerable bodies are suf
ficiently old to partake of all the prejudices and infirmities
of ao-e. The schools of Oxford and Cambridge were
founded in a dark age of false and barbarous science ;
andthey are still tainted with the vices of their origin.

48 THE AUTHOR ENTERS M.4GDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD.

Their primitive discipline was adapted to the education of
priests and monks ; and tbe government still remains in
the hands of the clergy, an order of men whose manners
are remote from the present worid, and whose eyes are
dazzled by the Ught of philosophy. The legal incorpora
tion of these societies by the charters of popes and kings
had given them a monopoly of the public instruction ; and
/ the spirit of monopolists is narrow, lazy, and oppressive :
their work is more costly and less productive than thatof
independent artists; and the new improvements so
eagerly grasped by the competition of freedom, are ad
mitted with slow and sullen reluctance in those proud
corporations, above the fear of a rival, and below the
confession of an error. We may scarcely hope that any
reformation will be a voluntary act ; and so deeply are
they rooted In law and prejudice, that even the omnipo
tence of parliament would shrink from an inquiry into
the state and abuses of the two universities.
The use of academical degrees, as old as the thirteenth
century, is visibly borrowed from the mechanic corpora
tions ; in which an apprentice, after serving his time, ob
tains a testimonial of his skill, and a license to practice
his trade and mystery. It is not my design to depreciate
those honours, which could never gratify or disappoint
my ambition ; and I should applaud the institution, if the
degrees of bachelor or licentiate were bestowed as the
reward of manly and successful study : if the name and
rank of doctor or master were strictly reserved for the
professors of science, who have approved their title to the
pubhc esteem.
In all the universities of Europe, excepting our own,

THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD. 49
the languages and sciences are distributed among a
numerous list of effective professors: the students, ac
cording to their taste, their calling, and their diligence,
apply themselves to the proper masters: and in the
annual repetition of public and private lectures, these
masters are assiduously employed. Our curiosity may
inquire what number of professors has been instituted at
Oxford ? (for I shall now confine myself to my own uni
versity ;) by whom they are appointed, and what may be
the probable chances of merit or incapacity ; how many
are stationed to the three faculties, and how many are left
for the hberal arts ; what is the form, and what the sub
stance of their lessons ? But all these questions are
silenced by one short and singular answer, " That in the
University of Oxford, the greater part of the public pro
fessors have for these many years given up altogether
even the pretence X)f teaching." Incredible as the fact
may appear, I must rest my behef on the positive and
impartial evidence of a master of moral and political wis
dom, who had himself resided at Oxford. Dr. Adam
Smith assigns as the cause of their indolence, that, instead
of being paid by voluntary contributions, which would
urge them to increase the number, and to deserve the
gratitude of their pupils, the Oxford professors are se
cure in the enjoyment of a fixed stipend, without the
necessity of labour, or the apprehension of control. It
has indeed been observed, nor is the observation absurd,
that excepting in experimental sciences, which demand a
costly apparatus and a dexterous band, the many valuable
treatises, that have been published on every subject of
learning, may now supesede the ancient mode of oral

00 THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD.

instruction. Were this principle true in its utmost lati
tude, I should only infer that the oflices and salaries,
which are become useless, ought without delay to be
abolished. But there still remains a material difference
between a book and a professor ; the hour of the lec
turer enforces attendance ; attention is fixed by the pre
sence, the voice, and the occasional questions of the
teacher : the most idle will carry something away ; and
the more diligent will compare the instructions, which
they have heard in the school, with the volumes, which
they peruse in their chamber. The advice of a skilful
professor will adapt a course of reading to every mind
and every situation ; his authority will discover, admonish,
and at last chastise the negligence of his disciples; and
his vigilant inquiries will ascertain the steps of their lite
rary progress. Whatever science he professes, he may
illustrate in a sei'ies of discourses, composed in the leisure
of his closet, pronountSed on public occasions, and finally
delivered to the press, I observe with pleasure, that, in
the University of Oxford, Dr. Lowth, with equal elo
quence and erudition, has executed this task in his incom
parable Preelections on the Poetry of the Hebrews,
The college of St. Mary Magdalen was founded in
the fifteenth century by Wainfleet, Bishop of Winchester;
and now consists of a president, forty fellows, and a num
ber of inferior students. It is esteemed one ofthe largest
and most wealthy of our academical corporations, which
may be compared to the Benedictine abbeys of catholic
countries ; and I have loosely heard that the estates be
longing to Magdalen College, which are leased by those
indulgent landlords at small quit-rents and occasional fines,

THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD. 51
might be raised in the hands of private avarice to an an
nual revenue of nearly thirty thousand pounds. Our col
leges are supposed to be schools of science as well as of
education ; nor is it unreasonable to expect that a body
of Uterary men, devoted to a life of celibacy, ex
empt from the care of their own subsistence, and amply
provided with books, should devote their leisure to the
prosecution of study, and that some effects of their studies
should be manifested to the world. The shelves of their
library groan under the weight of the Benedictine folios,
of the editions of the fathers, and the collections of the
middle ages, which have issued from thc single abbey of
St. Germain des Pres at Paris. A composition of genius
must be the offspring of one mind ; but such works of
industry as may be divided among many hands, and
mustbe continued during many years, arc the pecuUar
province of a laborious community. If I inquire into the
manufactures of the monks of Magdalen, if I extend thc
inquiry to the other colleges of Oxford and Cambridge, a
silent blush, or a scornful frown, will be the only reply.
The fellows or monks of my time were decent easy men,
who supinely enjoyed thc gifts of the founder ; their days
were filled by a series of uniform employments ; the
chapel and the hall, the coffee-house and the common
room, tiU they retired, weary and well satisfied, to a long
slumber. From the toil of reading, or thinking, or
writing, they had absolved their conscience ; and the first
shoots of learning and ingenuity withered on the ground,
without yielding any fruits to the owners or the public.
As a gentleman commoner, I was admitted to the society
of the fellows, and fondly expected that some questions

y

S2 THE AUTHOlt ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD.

of literature would be the amusing and instructive topics
of their discourse. Their conversation stagnated in a
round of college business, Tory politics, personal anec
dotes, and private scandal : their dull and deep potations
excused the brisk intemperance of youth ; and their con
stitutional toasts were not expressive of the most lively
loyalty for the house of Hanover. A general election
was now approaching: the great Oxfordshire contest
already blazed with all the malevolence of party zeal.
Magdalen College was devoutly attached to the old in
terest ; and the names of Wenman and Dashwood were
more frequently pronounced than those of Cicero and Chry-
so.stom. The example ofthe senior fellows could not in
spire the under-graduates with a liberal spirit or studious
emulation ; and I cannot describe, as I never knew, the
discipline of college. Some duties may possibly have
been imposed on the poor scholars, whose ambition as
pired to the peaceful honours of a fellowship (ascribi
quietis ordinibus  deorum) ; but no independent mem
bers were admitted below the rank of a gentleman com
moner, and our velvet cap was the cap of libertv, A
tradition prevailed that some of our predecessors had
spoken Latin declamations in the hall ; but of this ancient
custom no vestige remained: the obvious methods of
pubUc exercises and examinations were totally unknown ;
and I have never heard that either the president or the
society interfered in the private economy of the tutors
and their pupils.
The silence of the Oxford professors, which deprives
the youth of public instruction, is imperfectly supplied by
the tutors, as they are styled, of the several colleges.

THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD. 53
Instead of confining themselves to a single science which
had satisfied the ambition of Burman or Bernoulli, they
teach, or promise to teach, either history or mathematics,
or ancient literature, or moral philosophy : and as it is
possible that they may be defective in all, it is highly
probable that of some they will be ignorant. They are
paid, indeed, by private contributions ; but their appoint
ment depends on the head of the house : their diligence
is voluntary, and will consequently be languid, while the
pupils themselves, or their parents, are not indulged in the
liberty of choice or change. The first tutor into whose
hands I was resigned, appears to have been one of the
best of the tribe ; Dr. Waldegrave was a learned and pious
man, of a mild disposition, strict morals, and abstemious
life, who seldom mingled in the politics or the jolUty of
the college. But his knowledge of the world was con
fined to the university; his learning was of the last,
rather than of the present age ; his temper was indolent ;
his faculties, which were not of the first rate, had been
relaxed by the climate, and he was satisfied, like his fel
lows, with the slight and superficial discharge of an
important trust. As soon as my tutor had sounded the
insufficiency of his disciple in school learning, he proposed
that we should read every morning from ten to eleven the
comedies of Terence, The sum of my improvement in
the University of Oxford is confined to three or four
Latin plays ; an4 even the study of an elegant classic,
which might have been Ulustrated by a comparison of
ancient and modern theatres, was reduced to a dry and
literal interpretation of the author's text. During the
first weeks I constantly attended these lessons in my

54 THE AUTHOR ENTERS MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD.

tutor's room; but as they appeared equally devoid of
profit or pleasure, I was once tempted to try the experi
ment of a formal apology. The apology was accepted
with a smile. I repeated the offence with less ceremony;
the excuse was admitted with the same indulgence : the
sUghtest motive of laziness or indisposition, the most
trifling avocation at home or abroad, was allowed as a
worthy impediment ; nor did my tutor appear conscious
of my absense or neglect. Had the hour of lecture been
constantly filled, a single hour was a small portion of my
academical leisure. No plan of study was recommended
for my use ; no exercises were prescribed for his inspec
tion ; and, at the most precious season of youth, whole
days and weeks were suffered to elapse without la
bour or amusement, without advice or account, I
should have listened to the voice of reason and of my
tutor; his mild behaviour had gained my confidence.
I preferred his society to that of th? younger students :
and in our evening walks to the top of Heddington
HIH, we freely conversed on a variety of subjects.
Since the days of Pocock and Hyde, oriental learning
has always been the pride of Oxford, and I once ex
pressed an inclination to study Arabic. His prudence
discouraged this chUdish fancy; but he neglected the
fair occasion of directing the ardour of a curious mind.
During my absence in the summer vacation. Dr. Walde
grave accepted a college living at Washington, in
Sussex, and on my returi^ I no longer found him at
Oxford. From that time I have lost sight of my first
tutor; but at the end of thirty years (1781) he was
StUl alive ; and the practice of exercise and temperance
had entitled him to a healthy old age.

CHAP. vm.
THE AUTHOR'S FIRST ATTEMPT AT WRITING
HISTORY.
The long recess between the Trinity and Michaelmas
terms empties the College of Oxford, as well as the courts
ofWestminster, I spent, at my father's house at Buriton,
in Hampshire, the two months of August and September.
It is whimsical enough, that as soon as I left Magdalen
College^ my taste for books began to revive ; but it was
the same blind and boyish taste for the pursuit of exotic
history. Unprovided with original learning, uninformed
in the habit of thinking, unskilled in the arts of composi
tions, I resolved — to write a book. The title of th^is first
essay, the Age of Sesostris was perhaps suggested by
Voltaire's Age of Louis XIV. which was new and popu
lar ; but my sole object was to investigate the probable
date of the life and reign of the conqueror of Asia. I
was then enamoured of Sir John IVIarsham's Canon
Chronicus; an elaborate work, of whose merits and
defects I was not yet qualified to judge. According to
his specious, though narrow plan, I settled my hero
about the time of Solomon, in. the tenth century before the
Christian sera. It was therefore incumbent on me, unless
I would adopt Sir Isaac Newton's shorter chronology, to
remove a formidable objection ; and my solution, for a

56 THE AUTHOR'S FIRST ATTEMPT
youth of fifteen, is not devoid of ingenuity. In his version
of the Sacred Books, Manetho, the high priest, has iden
tified Sethosls, or Sesostris, with the elder brother of
Danaus, who landed in Greece, according to the Parian
Marble, 1510 years before Christ. But in my supposition
the high priest is guilty of a voluntary error ; flattery is
the prolific parent of falsehood. Manetho's History of
Egypt is dedicated to Ptolemy Philadelphus, who derived
a fabulous or illegitimate pedigree from the Macedonian
kings of the race of Hercules. Danaus is the ancestor of
Hercules ; and after the failure of the elder branch, his
descendants, the Ptolemies, are the sole representatives
of the royal family, and may claim by inheritance the
kingdom which they hold by conquest. Such were my
juvemle discoveries ; at a riper age, I no longer presume
to connect the Greek, the Jewish, and the Egyptian an
tiquities, which are lost in a distant cloud. Nor is this
the only instance, in which the belief and knowledge of
the child are superseded* by the more rational ignorance
of the man. During my stay at Buriton, my infant labour
was diligently prosecuted, without much interruption from
company or country diversions ; and I already heard the
music of public applause. The discovery of my own
weakness was the first symptom of taste. On my return
to Oxford, the Age of Sesostris was wisely relinquished ;
but the imperfect sheets remained twenty years at the
bottom of a drawer, till, in a general clearance of papers,
(November, 1772,) theywere committed to the flames.
Afl;er the departure of Dr. Waldegrave, I was trans
ferred, with his other pupils, to his academical heir, whose
literary character did not command the respect of the

AT WRITING HISTORY. 57
college. Dr. **** well remembered that he had a salary "-
to receive, and only forgot that he had a duty to perform.
Instead of guiding the studies, and watching over the be
haviour of his disciple, I was never summoned to attend
even the ceremony of a lecture ; and, excepting one
voluntary visit to his rooms, during the eight months of
his titular office, the tutor and pupil Uved in the same
college as strangers to each other. The want of expe
rience, of advice, and of occupation, soon betrayed me into
some improprieties of conduct, ill-chosen company, late
hours, and inconsiderate expense. My growing debts
might be secret ; but my frequent absence was visible
and scandalous ; and a tour to Bath, a visit into Bucking
hamshire, and four excursions to London in the same
winter, were costly and dangerous frolics. They were,
indeed, without a meaning, as without an excuse. The
irksomeness of a cloistered life repeatedly tempted me to
wander ; but my chief pleasure was that of travelling ;
and I was too young and basinful to enjoy, like a manly
Oxonian in town, the pleasures of London. In all these
excursions I eloped from Oxford ; I returned to college ;
in a few days I eloped again, just as if I had beenan in
dependent stranger in a hired lodging, without once hear
ing the voice of admonition, without once feeling the hand
of control. Yet my time was lost, my expenses were
niultiplied, my behaviour abroad was unknown ; folly as
well as vice should have awakened the attention of my
superiors, and my tender years would have justified a
more than ordinary degree of re'straint and discipline.
It might, at least, be expected that an ecclesiastical
school should inculcate the orthodox principles of religion.

58 THE AUTHORS FIRST ATTEMPT
But our venerable mother had contrived to unite the op
posite extremes of bigotry and indifference ; a heretic, or
unbeliever, was a monster in her eyes ; but she was al
ways, or often, or sometimes, remiss in the spiritual edu
cation of her own children. According to the statutes of
the university, every student before he is matriculated,
must subscribe his assent to the thirty-nine articles of the
church of England, which are signed by more than read,
and read by more than believe them. My insufficient
age excused me, however, ^om the immediate perform
ance of this legal ceremony ; and the vice-chancellor
directed me to return, as soon as I should have accom
plished my fifteenth year; recommending me, in the
mean while, to the instruction of my college. My college
forgot to instruct : I forgot to return, and was myself for
gotten by the first magistrate of the university. With
out a single lecture, either public or private, either chris
tian or protestant, without any academical subscription,
wUhout any episcopal confirmation ; I was left by the
dim light of my catechism to grope my way to the chapel
and communion table, where I was admitted, without a
question how far, or by what means, I might be qualified
to receive the sacrament. Such almost incredible neglect
was productive of the worst mischiefs. From my child
hood I have been fond of religious disputation : my poor
aunt has been often puzzled by the mysteries which she
strove to believe ; nor had the elastic spring been totally
broken by the weight of the atmosphere of Oxford, The
blind activity of idleness urged me to advance without
armour into the dangerous mazes of controversy ; and,
at the age of sixteen, 1 bewildered myself in the errors of

AT WRITING HISTORY. 5fl

the church of Rome, The progress of my conversion
may tend to illustrate, at least, the history of my own
raind. It was not long since Dr, Middleton's Free In
quiry had sounded an alarm in the theological world :
much ink and much gall had been spiUed in the defence
of the primitive miracles; and the two dullest of their
champions were crowned with academic honours by the
University of Oxford, The name of Middleton was un
popular ; and his proscription very naturally led me to
peruse his writings, and those of his antagonists. His
bold criticism, which approaches the precipice of infide
lity, produced on my mind a singular effect ; and had I
persevered in the communion of Rome, I should now
apply to my own fortune the prediction of the Sybil,

-Via prima salutis,

Quod minime reris, Graii, pandetur ab urbe.
The elegance of style and freedom of argument were re
pelled by a shield of prejudice. I still revered the cha
racter, or rather the names, of the saints and fathers
whom Dr, Middleton exposes ; nor could he destroy my
implicit belief, that the gift of miraculous powers was
continued in the church, during the first four or five cen
turies of Christianity, But I was unable to resist the
weight of historical evidence, that within the same period
most of the leading doctrines of popery were already in
troduced in theory and practice : nor was my conclusion
absurd, that miracles are the test of truth, and that the
church must beorthodox and pure, which was so often ap
proved by the visible interposition of the Deity, The
marvellous tales which are so boldy attested by the Basils

60 THE AUTHOR'S FIRST ATTE.MPT

Chrysostoms, the Austins and Jeromes, compelled me to
embrace the superior merits of celibacy, the institution
of the monastic life, the use of the sign of the cross, of
holy oil, and even of images, the invocation of saints, the
worship of relics, the rudiments of purgatory in prayers
for the dead, and the tremendous mystery of the sacrifice of
the body and blood of Christ, which insensibly swelled
into the prodigy of transubstantiation. In these dispo
sitions, and already more than half a. convert, I formed
an unlucky intimacy with a young gentleman of our
college, whose name I shall spare. With a character
less resolute, Mr. **** had imbibed the same religious
opinions; and some popish books, I know not through
what channel, were conveyed into his possession. I read,
I applauded, I believed ; the English translations of two
famous works of Bossuet, Bishop of Meaux, the Exposi
tion of the Catholic Doctrine, and the History of the Pro
testant Variations, achieved my conversion, and I surely
fell by a noble hand.* I have since examined the originals
with a more discerning eye, and shall not hesitate to pro
nounce, that Bossuet is indeed a master of all the weapons
- of controversy. In the exposition, a specious apology,
the orator assumes, with consummate art, the tone of
candour and simplicity: and the ten-horned monster is
transformed, at his magic touch, into the milk-white hind,
who must be loved as soon as she is seen. In the History,
a bold and well-aimed attack, he displays, with a happy
* Mr. Gibbon never talked with me on the subject of his conversion to
popery but once ; and then he imputed his change to the works of Parsons
the Jesuit, who lived iu the reign of Elizabeth, and who, he said, had
urged all tho best arguments in favour of the Roman Catholic religion.  S.

AT WRITI.VG HISTORY. 61
mixture of narrative and argument, the faults and follies,
the changes and contradictions of our first reformers ;
whose variations (as he dexterously contends) are the
mark of historical error, while the perpetual unity of the
cathohc church is the sign and test of infaUible truth.
To my present feelings it seems incredible that I should
ever believe that I believed in transubstantiation. But
my conqueror oppressed me with the sacramental words,
" Hoc est corpus meum," and dashed against each other
the figurative half-meanings of the Protestant sects : every
objection was resolved into omnipotence ; and after re
peating at St. Mary's the Athanasian creed, I humbly ac
quiesced in the mystery of the real presence.
" To take up half on trust, and half to try,
Name it not faith, but bungling bigotry.
Both knave and fool, the merchant we may call.
To pay great sums, and to compound the small.
For who would break with Heaven, and would not break for all ?"
No sooner had I settled my new religion than I resolved "
to profess myself a Catholic, Youth is sincere and im
petuous; and a momentary glow of enthusiasm had
raised me above all temporal considerations,*
By the keen Protestants, who would gladly retaliate
the example of persecution, a clamour is raised of the in
crease of popery : and they are always loud to declaim
against the toleration of priests and Jesuits, who pervert
so many of his Majesty's subjects from their religion and
allegiance. On the present occasion, the fall of one or
more of her sons directed this clamour against the uni-
* He described the letter to his father, announcing his conversion, as
written with all the pomp, the dignity, and self-satisfaction of a martyr.— S.

62 THE AUTHORS FIRST ATTEMPT

versity; and it was confidently affirmed that popish
missionaries were suffered, under various disguises, to
introduce themselves into the colleges of Oxford. But
justice obliges me to declare, that, as far as relates to
myself, this assertion is false ; and that I never conversed
with a priest, or even with a papist, tUl my resolution
from books was absolutely fixed. In my last excursion
to London, I addressed myself to Mr. Lewis, a Roman
Catholic bookseller, in Russell-street, Covent-garden, who
recommended me to a priest, of whose name and order I
am at present ignorant. In our first interview he soon
discovered that persuasion was needless. After sound
ing the motives and merits of my conversion, he consented
to admit me into the pale of the church ; and at his feet,
on the eighth of June 1753, I solemnly, though privately,
abjured the errors of heresy. The seduction of an Eng
lish youth of family and fortune was an act of as much
danger as glory ; but he bravely overlooked the danger,
of which I was not then sufficiently informed, " Where
a person is reconciled to the see of Rome, or procures
others to be reconciled, the offence (says Blackstone)
amounts to high treason," And if the humanity of the
age would prevent the execution of this sanguinary
statute^ there were other laws of a less odious cast, which
condemned the priest to perpetual imprisonment, and
transferred the proselyte's estate to his nearest relation.
An elaborate controversial epistle, approved by my direc
tor and addressed to my father, announced and justified
the step which I had taken. My father was neither a bigot
nor a philosopher ; but his affection deplored the loss of
an only son ; and his good sense was astonished at my

AT WRITING HISTORY. 63
strange departure from the religion of my country. In
the first sally of passion he divulged a secret which pru
dence might have suppressed, and the gates of Magdalen
College were for ever shut against my return. Many
years afterwards, when thc name of Gibbon was become
as notorious as that of Middleton, it was industriously
whispered at Oxford, that the historian had formerly
" turned papist :" my character stood exposed to the re
proach of inconstancy ; and this invidious topic would
have been handled without mercy by my opponents,
could they have separated my cause from that of the
university. For my own part, I am proud of an honest
sacrifice of interest to conscience. I can never blush,
if my tender mind was entangled in the sophistry that
seduced the acute and manly understandings of Chilling
worth and Bayle, who afterwards emerged from supersti
tion to scepticism.
While Charles the First governed England, and was
himself governed by a catholic queen, it cannot be de
nied that the missionaries of Rome laboured with im
punity and success in the court, the country and even
the universities. One ofthe sheep,

-Whom the grim wolfe with privy paw

Daily devoursapace, and nothing said,
is Mr. William Chillingworth, Master of Arts, and Fel
low of Trinity College, Oxford ; who, at the ripe age of
twenty-eight years, was persuaded to elope from Oxford
to the EngUsh seminary at Douay in Flanders. Some
disputes with Fisher, a subtle Jesuit, might first awaken
him from the prejudices of education : but he yielded to

64 THE AUTHOR'S FIRST ATTEMPT

his own victorious argument, "that there must be some
where an infallible judge ; and that the church of Rome
is the only christian society which either does or can
pretend to that character." After a short trial of a few
months, Mr, ChUlingworth was again tormented by reh
gious scruples : he returned home, resumed his studies,
unravelled his mistakes, and delivered his mind from the
yoke of authority and superstition. His new creed was
built on the principle, that the Bible is our sole judge,
and private reason our sole interpreter: and he ably
maintains this principle in the ReUgion of a Protestant, a
book which, after startlmg the doctors of Oxford, is still
esteemed the most solid defence of the Reformation.
The learning, the virtue, the recent merits of the author
entitled him to fair preferment : but the slave had now
broken his fetters; and the more he weighed, the less
was he disposed to subscribe to the thirtj'-nine articles of
the church of England. In a private letter he declares,
with all the energy of language, that he could not subscribe
to them without subscribing to his own damnation ; and
that if ever he should depart from this immovable reso
lution, he would allow his friends to think him a madman
or an atheist. As the letter is without a date, we cannot
ascertain the number of weeks or months that elapsed
between this passionate abhorrence and the Salisbury
Register, which is still extant, " Ego Gulielmus ChUling
worth, , . . omnibus hlsce artlculis  et singuUs
in usdem contentis volens, et ex animo subscribe, et con-
sensum meum Usdem prsebeo. 20 die Julii 1 638." But,
alas ! the chancellor and prebendary of Sarum soon devi
ated from his own subscription : as he more deeply scru-

AT WRITING HISTORY. 65
tinized the article of the Trinity, neither scripture nor the
primitive fathers could long uphold his orthodox belief ;
and he could not but confess, " that the doctrine of Arius
is either a truth, or at least no damnable heresy." From
this middle region of the air, the descent of his reason
would naturally rest on the firmer ground of the Soci-
nians : and if we may credit a doubtful story, and the
popular opinion, his anxious inquiries at last subsided in
philosophic indifference. So conspicuous, however, were
the candour of his nature and the innocence of his heart,
that this apparent levity did not affect the reputation of
Chillingworth. His frequent changes proceeded from too
nice an inquisition into truth. His doubts grew out of
himself: he assisted them with all the strength of his rea
son: he was then too hard for himself: but finding as
little quiet and repose in those victories, he quickly re
covered, by a new appeal to his own judgment : so that
in aU his sallies and retreats, he was in fact his own con
vert. Bayle was the son of a Calvinist minister in a remote
province of France, at the foot of the Pyrenees. For the
benefit of education, the Protestants were tempted to risk
their children in the catholic universities ; and in the
twenty-second year of his age, young Bayle was seduced
by the arts and arguments of the Jesuits of Toulouse.
He remained about seventeen months (Qth March, 1669
— 19th August, 1570,) in their hands, a voluntary cap
tive ; and a letter to his parents, which the new convert
composed or subscribed (15th April, 1670), is darkly
tinged with the spirit of popery. But nature had designed'^
him to think as he pleased, and to speak as he thought :

66 THE AUTHOR'S FIRST ATTEMPT
his piety was offended by the excessive worship of crea
tures ; and the study of physics convinced him of the
impossibUity of transubstantiation, which is abundantly
refuted by the testimony of our senses. His return to the
communion of a falling sect was a bold and disinterested
step, that exposed him to the rigour of the laws ; and a
speedy flight to Geneva protected him from the resent
ment of his spiritual tyrants, unconscious as they were of
the full value of the prize which they had lost. Had
Bayle adhered to the cathohc church, had he embraced
the ecclesiastical profession, the genius and favour of
such a proselyte might have inspired wealth and honours
in his native country; but the hypocrite would have
found less happiness in the comforts of a benefice, or the
dignity of a mitre, than he enjoyed at Rotterdam in a pri
vate state of exUe, indigence, and freedom. Without a
country, or a patron, or a prejudice, he claimed the Uberty,
and subsisted by the labours, of his pen : the inequality of
his volumnious works is explained and excused by his
alternately writing for himself, for the booksellers, and
for posterity ; and if a severe critic would reduce him to
a single folio, that relic, like the books of the Sybil, would
become still more valuable. A calm and lofty spectator
of the religious tempest, the philosopher of Rotterdam
condemned with equal firmness the persecution of Louis
the Fourteenth, and the republican maxims of the Cal
vinists ; their vain prophecies, and the intolerant bigotry
which sometimes vexed his solitary retreat. In reviewing
the controversies of the times, he turned against each
other the arguments of the disputants ; successively
wielded the arms of the Catholics and Protestants, he

AT WRITING HISTORY. 67

proves that neither the way of authority nor the way of
examination can afford the multitude any test of religious
truth ; and dexterously concludes that custom and educa
tion must be the sole grounds of popular belief. The
ancient paradox of Plutarch, that atheism is less perni
cious than superstition, acquires a tenfold vigour, when
it is adorned with the colours of his wit, and pointed with
the acuteness of his logic. His Critical Dictionary is a
vast repository of facts and opinions ; and he balances
the false religions in his sceptical scales, tiU the opposite
quantities (if I rhay use the language of algebra) annihi
late each other. The wonderful power which he so
boldly exercised, of assembUng doubts and objection-s,
had tempted him jocosely to assume the title of the
teipsXiiyepsTO Zsvff, the cloud-compelling Jove ; and in a con
versation with the ingenious Abbe (afterwards Cardinal)
de Polignac, he freely disclosed his universal Pyrrhonism,
" I am most truly (said Bayle) a Protestant ; for I protest
indifferently against all systems and all sects."
The academical resentment, which 1 may possibly
have provoked, will prudently spare this plain narrative
of my studies, or rather of my idleness, and of the unfor
tunate event which shortened the term of my residence
at Oxford. But it may be suggested, that my father was
unlucky in the choice of a society, and the chance of a
tutor. It wUl perhaps be asserted, that, in the lapse of
forty years, many improvements have taken place in the
college and in the university. I am not unwiUing to be
lieve, that some tutors might have been found more active
than Dr. Waldegrave, and less contemptible than Dr.* * * *,
About the same time, and in the same walk, a Bentham

68 THE AUTHOR'S FIRST ATTEMPT

was Still treading in the footsteps of a Burton, whose
maxims he had adopted, and whose life he had published.
The biographer indeed preferred the school logic to the
new philosophy, Burgursdicius to Locke ; and the hero
appears, in his own writings, a stiff and conceited
pedant. Yet even these men, according to the measure
of their capacity, might be diligent and useful ; and it is
recorded of Burton, that he taught his pupils what he
knew ; some Latin, some Greek, some ethics and meta
physics ; referring them to proper masters for the lan
guages and sciences of which he was "gnorant. At a
more recent period, many students have been attracted
by the merit and reputation of Sir William Scott, then a
tutor in University College, and now conspicuous in the
profession of the civil law ; my personal acquaintance
with that gentleman has inspired me with a just esteem
for his abilities and knowledge ; and I am assured that his
lectures on history would compose, were tbey given to
the public, a most valuable treatise. Under the auspices
of the present Archbishop of York, Dr, Markham, him
self an eminent scholar, a more regular discipline has
been introduced, as I am told, at Christ Church;* a
* This was written on the information Mr. Gibbon had received, and tho
observation he had made, previous to his late residence at Lausanne.
During his last visit to England, he had an opportunity of seeing at Shef
field Place some young men of the college above alluded to ; he had great
satisfaction in conversing with Ihem, made many enquiries respecting their
course of study, applauded the discipline of Christ Church, and the liberal
attention shovm by the Dean, to those whose only recommendation was
their merit. Had Mr. Gibbon lived to revise this work, I am sure he would
have mentioned the name of Dr. Jackson with the highest commendation,
and also that of Dr. Bagot, Bishop of St. Asaph, whose attention to the

AT WRITING HISTORY, 69
course of classical and philosophical studies is proposed,
and even pursued, in that numerous seminary ; learning
has been made a duty, a pleasure, and even a fashion ;
and several young gentlemen do honour to the college in
which they have been educated. According to the will
of the donor, the profit of the second part of Lord Cla
rendon's History has been applied to the establishment
of a riding-school, that the polite exercises might be
taught, I know not with what success,, in the university.
The Vinerian professorship is of far more serious impor-

duties of his office while he was Dean of Christ Church College were unre
mitted. There are other colleges at Oxford, with whose discipline my
friend was unacquainted, to whicll, without doubt, he would willingly
have allowed their due praise , particularly Brazen Nose and Oriel Colleges;
the former under the care of Dr. Cleaver, Bishop of Chester, the latter
under that of Dr. Eveleigh. It is still greatly to be wished that the general
expense, or rather extravagance, of young men at our Eughsh universities,
maybe more effectually restrained. The expens? , in which they are per
mitted to indulge, is inconsistent not only with a necessary degree of study,
but with those habits of morality which should be promoted, by all means
possible, at an early period of life. An academical education in England is
at present an object of alarm and terror to every thinking parent of mode
rate fortune. It is the apprehension of the expense, of the dissipation, and
other evU consequences, which arise from the want of proper restraint at
our own universities, that forces a number of our English youths to those of
Scotland, and utterly excludes many from any sort of academical instruction.
If a charge be true, which I have heard insisted on, thatthe heads of oar col
leges in Oxford and Cambridge are vain of having under their care chiefly
men of opulence, who may be supposed exempt from the necessity of
economical conti'ol, they are indeed highly censurable : since the mischief
of allowing early habits of expense aud dissipation is great, in various
respects, even to those possessed of large property ; and the most serious
evil from this indulgence must happen to youths of humbler fortune, who
certamly form the majority of students both at Oxford and Cambridge. — S.

70 AUTHOR'S FIRST ATTEMPT AT WRITING HISTORY.
tance ; the laws of his country are the first science of an
Englishman of rank and fortune, who is called to be a
magistrate, and may hope to be a legislator. This judi
cious institution was coldly entertained by the graver
doctors, who complained (I have heard the complaint)
that it would take the young people from their books :
but Mr. Viner's benefaction is not unprofitable, since it
has at least produced the excellent Commentaries of Sir
William Blackstone.

CHAP, IX,
THE AUTHOR REMOVES TO LAUSANNE.
After carrying me to Putney, to the house of his
friend, Mr, Mallet,* by whose philosophy I was rather
scandalized than reclaimed, it was necessary for my fa
ther to form a new plan of education, and to devise some
method which, if possible, might effect the cure of my
spiritual malady. After much debate it was determined,
from the advice and personal experience of Mr, Elliot
(now Lord Elliot), to fix me, during some years, at Lau
sanne, in Switzerland, Mr. Frey, a Swiss gentleman of
Basle, undertook the conduct of the journey: we left
London the 19th of June, crossed the sea from Dover to
Calais, travelled post through several provinces of France,
by the direct road of St, Quentin, Rheims, Langres, and
Besangon, and arrived the 30th of June at Lausanne,
where I was immediately settled under the roof and
tuition of Mr, Pavilliard, a calvinist minister.
The first marks of my father's displeasure rather asto
nished than afHicted me : when he threatened to banish,
and disown, and disinherit a rebellious son, I cherished a
secret hope that he would not be able or willing to effect
* The author of a life of Bacon, which has been rated above its value ; of
some forgotten poems and plays; and of the pathetic buUad of William
and Margaret. — S.

72 THE AUTHOR REMOVES TO LAUSANNE.
his menaces ; and the pride of conscience encouraged me
to sustain the honourable and important part which I
was now acting. My spirits were raised and kept alive
by the rapid motion of my journey, the new and various
scenes of the Continent, and the civility of Mr. Frey, a
man of sense, who was not ignorant of books or the
world. But after he had resigned me into Pavillfard's
hands, and I was fixed in my new habitation, I had
leisure to contemplate the strange and melancholy pros-
,pect before me. My first complaint arose from my
ignorance of the language. In my childhood I had once
studied the French grammar, and I could imperfectly
understand the easy prose of a familiar subject. But
when I was thus suddenly cast on a foreign land, I found
myself deprived of the use of speech and of hearing ;
and, during some weeks, incapable not only of enjoying the
pleasures of conversation, but even of asking or answer
ing a question in the common intercourse of life. To a
home-bred Englishman every object, every custom was
offensive ; but the native of any country might have been
disgusted with the general aspect of his lodging and
entertainment. I had now exchanged my elegant apart
ment m Magdalen College for a narrow, gloomy street,
the most unfrequented of an unhandsome town, for an
old inconvenient, house, and for a small chamber ill-con^
trived and iU-furnished, which, on the approach of winter,
vinstead of a companionable fire, must be warmed by the
dull and invisible heat of a stove. From a man I was again
degraded to the dependence of a school-boy. Mr. Pavil
liard managed my expenses, which had been reduced to
a dimlnitive state : I received a small monthly allowance

THE AUTHOR REMOVES TO LAUS.\NNE. 73
for my pocket-money ; and helpless and awkward as I
have ever been, I no longer enjoyed the indispensable
comfort of a servant. My condition seemed as destitute ot
hope, as it was devoid of pleasure : I was separated for an
indefinite, which appeared an infinite, term from my native
country ; and I had lost all connexion with my catholic
friends. I have since refiected with surprise, that as the
Romish clergy of every part of Europe maintain a close '
correspondence with each other, they never attempted,
by letters or messages, to rescue me from the hands of the
heretics, or at least to confirm my zeal and constancy in
the profession of the faith. Such was my first introduc
tion to Lausanne ; a place, where I spent nearly five years
with pleasure and profit, which I afterwards revisited
without compulsion, and which I have finally selected
as the^most'grateful retreat for the decline of my life.
But it is the peculiar felicity of youth that the most
unpleasing objects and events seldom make a deep or last
ing impression; it forgets the past, enjoys the present,
and anticipates the future. At the flexible age of sixteen
I soon learned to endure, and gradually to adopt, the
new forms of arbitrary manners : the real hardships of my
situation were alienated by time. Had I been sent abroad
in a more splendid style, such as the fortune and
bounty of my father might have supplied, I might have
returned home with the same stock of language and
science, which our countrymen usually import from the
continent. An exOe and a prisoner as I was, their
example betrayed me into some irregularites of wine, of
play, and of idle excursions : but I soon felt the impos
sibility of associating with them on equal terms ; and

74 THE AUTHOR REMOVES TO LAUSANNE.
after the departure of my first acquaintance, I held a cold
and civU correspondence with their successors. This
seclusion from EngUsh society was attended with the
most solid- benefits. 'In the Pays de Vaud, the French
language is used with less imperfection than in most of
the distant provinces of France : in PavilUard's family,,
necessity compelled me to listen and to speak ; and if I
was at first disheartened by the apparent slowness, in a
few months I was astonished by the rapidity of my pro
gress. My pronunciation was formed by the constant
repetition of the same sounds ; the variety of words and
idioms, the rules of grammar, and distinctions of genders,
were impressed in my memory : ease and freedom were
obtained by practice ; correctness and elegance by la
bour ; and before I was recalled home, French, in which
I spontaneously thought, was more famUiar than English
to my ear, my tongue, and my pen. The first effect of
this opening knowledge was the revival of my love of
reading, which had been chilled at Oxford ; and I soon
turned over, without much choice, almost all the French
books in my tutor's library. Even these amusements
were productive of real advantage : my taste and judg
ment were now somewhat riper. I was introduced to a
new mode of style and literature : by the comparison of
manners and opinions, my views were enlarged, my
prejudices were corrected, and a copious voluntary ab
stract of the Histoire de I'Eglise et de I'Empire, by Le
Sueur, may be placed in a middle line between my
childish and my manly studies. As soon as I was able
to converse with the natives, I began to feel some satis
faction in their company : my awkward timidity was

THE AUTHOR REMOVES TO LAUSANNE. 75

polished and emboldened ; and I frequented, for the first
time, assemblies of men and women. The acquaintance
of the PavilUards prepared me by degrees for more ele
gant society. I was received with kindness and indul
gence in the best families of Lausanne ; and it was in
one of these that I formed an intimate and lasting con
nexion with Mr. Deyverdun, a young man of an amiable
temper and excellent understanding. In the arts of fen
cing and dancing, small indeed was my proficiency ; and
some months were idly wasted in the riding-school. My
unfitness to bodily exercise reconciled me to a sedentary
life, and the horse, the favourite of my countrymen,
never contributed to the pleasures of my youth.
My obligations to the lessons of Mr. Pavilliard, grati
tude will not suffer me to forget : he was endowed with
a clear head and a warm heart ; his innate benevolence
had assuaged the spirit of the Church ; he was rational,
because he was moderate : in the course of his studies
he had acquired a just though superficial knowledge of
most branches of literature ; by long practice, he was
skilled in the arts of teaching ; aind he laboured with
assiduous patience to know the character, gain the
affection, and open the mind of his English pupil.* As
• Translated Extract of a Letter from Mr. Pavilliard io Edward Gibbon, Etj.
" Lausanne, July 25, 1753.
" Mr. Gibbon is, thank God, very well ; and appears to me to be very
comfortable at our house ; I have eveu reason to think that he feeb some
attachment to myself, of which I am very glad, and which I shall strenu-
oasly endeavour to increase ; beoause then he will have more confidence
ia me, and in what I intend to say to him.
" I have not yet ventured to speak to him upon religious topics, for I am
not sufficiently acquainted with tho English language to support a long

76 THE AUTHOR REMOVES TO LAUSANNE.

soon as we began to understand each other, he gently
led me, from a blind and undistinguished love of reading,
into the path of instruction. I consented with pleasure
that a portion of the morning hours should be consecrated
to a plan of modern history and geography, and to the
critical perusal of the French and Latin classics ; and at
each step I felt myself invigorated by the habits of
application and method. His prudence repressed and
dissembled some youthful sallies ; and as soon as I was
confirmed in the habits of industry and temperance, he
gave the reins into my own hands. His favourable re
port of my behaviour and progress gradually obtained
some latitude of action and expense ; and he wished to
alleviate the hardships of my lodging and entertainment.
The principles of philosophy were associated With the
examples of taste ; and by a singular chance, the book,
conversation in it, though I can read English authors with considerable
facilitiy ; and Mr. Gibbon does not understand enough French, though he
is making rapid progress in it.
" I am much pleased with the politeness and suavity of your son's dis
position, and I flatter myself I shall always be able to speak favourably of
him to you. He applies closely to reading."
From the Same to the Same.
Lausanne, August, 13, 1753.
" Mr. Gibbon is, thank God, in good health ; I feel an affection for him,
and am exceedingly attached to him, because he is mild and quiet Re
specting his religious sentiments, though I have not yet said anything to
him on the subject, I have reason to hope he will open his eyes to the
truth. I think so, because, when he was in my study, he made choice of
two controversial books, and took them to peruse in his chamber. He hag
enjoined me to present you his most humble respects, and to ask you to
allow him to leam riding ; which exercise will, he thinks, contribute to \aa
bodily health."

THE AUTHOR REMOVES TO L.\USANNE. 77
as well as the man, which contributed the most effec
tually to my education, has a stronger claim on my
gratitude than on my admiration. Mr. De Crousaz, the
adversary of Bayle and Pope, is not distinguished by
lively fancy or profound reflection ; and even in his own
country, at the end of a few years, his name and writings
are almost obliterated. But his philosophy had been
formed in the school of Locke, his divinity in that of
Limborch and Le Clerc ; in a long and laborious life,
several generations of pupils were taught to think, and
even to write ; his lessons rescued the academy of Lau
sanne from Calvinistic prejudice ; and he had the rare
merit of diffusing a more liberal spirit among the clergy
and people of the Pays de Vaud. His system of logic,
which in the last editions has swelled to six tedious and
prolix volumes, may be praised as a clear and methodical
abridgment of the art of reasoning, from our simple ideas
to the most complex operations of the human understand
ing. This system I studied, and meditated, and ab
stracted, till I have obtained the free command of an uni
versal instrument, which I soon presumed to exercise on
my catholic opinions. Pavilliard was not unmindful that
his first task, his most important duty, was to reclaim me
from the errors of popery. The intermixture of sects
has rendered the swiss clergy acute and learned on the
topics of controversy ; and I have some of his letiltrs in
which, he celebrates the dexterity of his attack, and my
gradual concessions, after a firm and well-managed de
fence.* I was wUling, and I am now willing, to allow
* Mr. Pavilliard has described to me the astonishment with which he
gazed on Mr. Gibbon stauding before him : a thin Uttle figure, with a larga

78 THE AUTHOR RE.MOVES TO L.VUSANNE.

him a handsome share of the honour of my conversion :
yet I must observe, that it was principaUy effected by my
private reflections ; and I stUl remember my solitary
transport at the discovery of philosophical argument
against the doctrine of transubstantiation ; that the text
of scripture which seems to inculcate the real presence,
is attested only by a single sense — our sight ; while the
real presence itself is disproved by three of our senses
— the sight, the touch and the taste. The various
articles ofthe Romish creed disappeared Uke a dream ; and
after a fuU conviction, on Christmas-day, 1754, 1 received
the sacrament in the church of Lausanne. It was here
that I suspended my religious inquiries, acquiescing with
implicit belief in the tenets and mysteries, which are
adopted by the general consent of CathoUcs and Pro
testants.*
head, disputing and urging, with the greatest abiUty, aU the best arguments
that had ever been used in favour of popery. Mr. Gibbon many yeai's ago
became very fat and corpulent, but he had uncommonly smaU bones, and
was veiy slightly made. — S.
'Letter from Mr. Pavilliard to Edward Gibbon, Esq.
" June 36th, 1754.
•' Sir,
" I hope you will pardon my long silence, on account of the news which
I now have to communicate to you. My delay has been owing neither to
lorgetfiilness nor to negUgence, but I have, from week to week, been ex
pecting to be able to announce to you that your son had entirely renounced
the false ideas that he had embraced ; but it was necessary to dispute
every inch of ground ; and I have not found in him a man of fickle disposi
tion, or one who passes rapidly from one opinion to another. Often when I
had confuted all his reasonings upon any particular point, in such a manner
as to leave him nothing to reply (which he has frankly acknowledged), he
has told me that he did not believe there was no answer that might be made

THE AUTHOR REMOVES TO LAUSANNE. 79
to me. Whereupon I did not deem it right to push it too far, and to extort
an acknowledgment from him that his heart would disavow ; I therefore
gave him tirao for reflection ; all my books were at his service ; I returned
to the charge when he had informed me that he had studied the
matter as well as he possibly could ; and thus at last I established a
truth. " I felt persuaded that, when I had overthrown the principal errors of
the Romish church, I should only have to show him that the remainder
are consequences from these, and that they are no langer tenable when
the fundamental doctrines are overturned ; but, as I have already said, I
was deceived in this, and it was necessary to treat of each tenet in all its
extent. By the grace of God, my time has not been lost, and now, if he
may, perhaps, still retain some remains of his pernicious errors, yet he is
no longer a member of the Romish church. This, then, is how we stand.
" I have overthrown the infallibility of the church ; I have proved that
St. Peter was never the prince of the apostles, and that, even if he was, the
Pope is not his successor ; that it is doubtful whether St. Peter ever was at
Rome, and, supposing that he was, he never was bishop of that city ; that
transubstantiation is a human invention, and of recent introduction into the
charch ; that the adoration of the host and the denial of the cup are con
trary to the word of God ; that there are saints but we know not who they
are, and therefore we cannot pray to them ; that the respect and worship
paid to reUcs is improper ; that there is no purgatory, and that the doctrine of
indulgences is erroneous ; that Lent and the Friday and .Saturday fasts, are
ridiculous at the present day, and in the manner in whioh they are pre
scribed by the Romish church ; and that the charges brought against ua
of diversity iu our doctrine, and of having for reformers only persons of
scandalous conduct and immoral Ufe, are entirely false.
" You will easily perceive, sir, that these subjects require a long discus
sion, aud that some time was necessary for your son to think over my argu
ments and lo seek for answers. I have asked him several times whether
my arguments and proofs appeared to him to be convincing ; and be haa
always assured me that they were in suoh a manner that, as I told him
himself a little while ago, I dare myself aver that be is no longer a Roman
Catholic. I flatter myself that, after having obtained the victory ou these
points, I shall, with the help of God, be sure of him on the rest; so that I
expect to tell you in a Uttle time that the work is accompUshed. I ought,
however, to inform you that, though I have found your son veiy firm in hii

80 THE AUTHOR REMOVES TO LAUSANNE.
opinions, yet I have found him reasonable and open to conviction, and not
what is called a quibbler. With respect to the subject of the Friday and
Saturday fasts; a long time after I wrote you word that he had not men
tioned that he wished to observe it, about the beginning of March, I ob
served one Friday that he did not eat any meat ; I spoke to him privately
to know the reason of it, fearing it might be tlirough indisposition. He
answered that he had done it purposely, aud that he thought it incumbent
upon himto conform to a practice of the church of which he was a mem
ber. We conversed some time upon the subject ; he told me that he
merely looked upon it as a good custom indeed, and worthy of observance,
though not holy in itself nor of divine instimtion. I did not think proper to
insist upon it at that time, or to force him to act against his conscience ; I have
since treated upon this point, w'bich is certainly one ofthe least important and
fundamental ; and yet I have found a considerable time necessary to unde
ceive him, and to make him understand that he was wrong to subject him
self to the practice of a church that he did not account to be infallible ; that
even if this custom had some utiUly at its institution, yet now it had none of
any sort, since it did not in any way contribute to purity of morals ; that
thus there was uo reason either in the institution of the practice or in tho
practice itself, that made it incumbent on him to observe it ; that at the
present time it was merely a matter of interest, since dispensations were
to be bought with money for eating flesh, &c. ; so that I have brought him
back to christian Uberty with great difficulty and only within a few weeks
since. " I have requested him to write to you, to apprize you of his sentiments
and of his state of health ; and I beUeve he has done so."

CHAP. X.
AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS HE READ.
Such, from my arrival at Lausanne, during the first
eighteen or twenty months (July, 1753 — March, 1755,)
were my useful studies, the foundation of all my future
improvements. But every man who rises above the com
mon level has received two educations : the first from his
teachers ; the second, more personal and more important,
from himself. He will not, like the fanatics of the last
age, define the moment of grace ; but he cannot forget
the sera of his life, in which, his mind has expanded to its
proper form and dimensions. My worthy tutor had the
good sense and modesty to discern how far he could be
useful: as soon as he felt that I advanced beyond his
speed and measure, he wisely left me to my genius ; andv
the hours of lesson were soon lost in the voluntary labour
ofthe whole morning, and sometimes of the whole day.
The desire of prolonging my time, graduaUy confirmed
the salutary habit of early rising ; to which I have always
adhered, with some regard to seasons and situations: but
it is happy for my eyes and my health, that my temperate
ardour has never been seduced to trespass on the hours
of the night. During the last three years of my residence
in Lausanne, I may assume the merit of serious and solid
application ; but I am tempted to distinguish the last eight

82 AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS HE READ.
months ofthe year 1755, as the period ofthe most extra
ordinary diligence and rapid progress.* In my French
and Latin translations I adopted an excellent method,
which, from my own success, I would recommend to the
imitation of students. I chose some classic writer, such
as Cicero and Vertot, the most approved for purity and
elegance of style. I translated, for instance, an epistle of
Cicero into French ; and after throwing it aside, till the
words and phrases were obliterated from my memory, I
re-translated my French into such Latin as I could find ;
and then compared each sentence of my imperfect ver
sion, with the ease, the grace, the propriety ofthe Roman
orator, A similar experiment was made on several
pages of the Revolutions of Vertot ; I turned them into
Latin, re-turned them after a sufficient interval into my
own French, and again scrutinized the resemblance or
dissimilitude of the copy and the original. By degrees I
was less ashamed, by degrees I was more satisfied with
* Journal, December, 1755.] — In finishing this year, I mu-st remark
how favourable it was to my studies. In the space of eight months, from
the beginning of April, I learned the principles of drawing ; made myself
complete master of the French and Latin languages, with which I was very
superficially acquainted before, and wrote aud translated a great deal in
both ; read Cicero's Epistles ad Familiares, his Brutus, all his Orations, his
Dialogues de AmicitiS and de Senectute ; Terence, twice : and Pliny's
Epistles. In French, Giannone's History of Naples, and the Abbe Banier's
Mythology, and M. de Boehat's M^raoires sur la Suisse, aud wrote a very
ample relation of my tour. I likewise began to study Greek, and went
through the grammar. I began to make very large collections of what I
read. But what I esteem most of all, from the perusal and meditation of De
Crousaz's Logic, I not only understood the principles of that science, but
formed my mind to a habit of thinking and reasoning I had no idea of
before.

AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS HE READ. 83
myself: and I persevered in the practice of these double
translations, which filled several books, till I had acquired
the knowledge of both idioms, and the command at least
of a correct syle. This useful exercise of writing was
accompanied and succeeded by the more pleasing occu
pation of reading the best authors. The perusal of the
Roman classics was at once my exercise and reward.
Dr. Middleton's History, which I then appreciated above
its true value, naturally directed me to the writings of
Cicero. The most perfect editions, that of OUvet, which
may adorn the shelves of the rich, that of Ernesti, which
should lie on the table of the learned, were not in my
power. For the Familiar Epistles I used the text and
English Commentary ^of Bishop Ross : but my general
edition was that of Verburgius, published at Amsterdam,
in two large volumes in folio, with an indifferent choice of
various notes. I read, with application and pleasure, all
the epistles, all the orations, and the most important trea
tises of rhetoric and philosophy ; and as I read, I ap
plauded the observation of Quintilian, that every student
may judge of his own proficiency, by the satisfaction
which he receives from the Roman orator. I tasted the
beauties of language, I breathed the spirit of freedom, and
I imbibed from his precepts and examples the public and
private sense of a man. Cicero in Latin, and Xenophon
in Greek, are indeed the two ancients whom I would first
propose to a liberal scholar : not only for the merit of
their style and sentiments, but for the admirable lessons,
which may be applied almost to every situation of public
and private life. Cicero's Epistles may in particular af
ford the models of every form of correspondence, from

84 AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS HE READ.

the careless effusions of tenderness and friendship, to the
well-guarded declaration of discreet and dignified resent
ment. After finishing this great author, a Ubrary of elo
quence and reason, I formed a more extensive plan of
reviewing the Latin classics,* under the four divisions of.
1. Historians, 2. Poets, 3. Orators, and 4, Philosophers,
in a chronological series, from the days of Plautus and
Sallust, to the decline of the language and empire of
Rome ; and this plan, in the last twenty-seven months of
my residence at Lausanne (January, 1756 — April, 1758),
I nearly accomplished. Nor w£s this review, however
rapid, either hasty or superficial. I indulged myself in a
second, and even a third perusal of Terence, Virgil,
Horace, Tacitus, &c., and studied to imbibe the sense and
spirit most congenial to my own, I never suffered a dif
ficult or corrupt passage to escape, tUl I had viewed it in
every light of which it was susceptible : though often dis
appointed, I always consulted the most learned or inge
nious commentators, Torrentius and Dacier on Horace,
Catrou and Servius on Virgil, Lipsius on Tacitus, Meze-
rlac on Ovid, &c. ; and in the ardour of my inquiries, I
embraced a large circle of historical and critical erudi
tion. My abstracts of each book were made in the
French language ; my observations often branched into
particular essays ; and I can still read, without contempt,
a dissertation of eight folio pages on eight lines (287 —
"* Journal, January, 1756.] — I determined to read over the LatiD
authors in order; aud read this year, Virgil, SaUust, Livy, Velleius Pater-
culus, Valerius Maxunus, Tacitus, Suetonius, Quintus Curtius, Justin,
Florus, Plautus, Terence, and Lucretius. I also read and meditated Locke
upon the Understanding.

AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS HE READ. 85
294) of the fourth Georgic of VirgU. Mr. Deyverdun,
my friend, whose name will be frequently repeated, had
joined with equal zeal, though not with equal perse
verance, in the same undertaking. To him every thought,
every composition, was instantly communicated ; with
him I enjoyed the benefits of a free conversation on the
topics of our common studies.
But it is scarcely possible for a mind endowed with
any active curiosity to be long conversant with the Latin
classics, without aspiring to know the Greek originals,
whom they celebrate as their masters, and of whom they
so warmly recommend the study and imitation ;
-Vos exemplaria Greeca

Noctuml versate manu, versate diuma.
It was now that I regretted the early years which had
been wasted in sickness or idleness, or mere idle reading ;
that I condemned the perverse method of our school
masters, who, by first teaching the mother-latiguage,
might descend with so much ease and perspecuity to the
origin and etymology of a derivative idiom. In the
nineteenth year of my age I determined to supply this
defect ; and the lessons of Pavilliard again contributed to
smooth the entrance of the way, the Greek alphabet, the
grammar, and the pronunciation according to the French
accent. At my earnest request we presumed to open the
Iliad; and I had the pleasure of beholding, though darkly
and through a glass, the true image of Homer, whom I
had long since admired in an English dress. After my
tutor had left me to myself, I worked my way through
about half the Iliad, and afterwards interpreted alone a

86 AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS HE READ.

large portion of Xenophon and Herodotus. 'But my
ardour, destitute of aid and emulation, was gradually
cooled, and, from the barren task of searching words in a
lexicon, I withdrew to the free and familiar conversation
of Virgil and Tacitus. Yet in my residence at Lausanne
I had laid a solid foundation, which enabled me, in a
more propitious season, to prosecute the study of Grecian
literature. From a blind idea of the usefulness of such abstract
science, my father had been desirous, and even pressing,
that I should devote some time to the mathematics ;* nor
Extract of a letter from Mr. Pavilliard to Edward Gibbon, Esq.
^'January 12, 1757.
" Sir, " You wished that your son should apply himself to Algebra ; his taste
for hterature made him fearful lest it should injure his favourite studies ; I
have persuaded him that he formed a wrong idea of that province of Ma
thematics ; and the obediencfe he owes you, added to my arguments, has
determined him to go through a course of it. I did not think that, with this
repugnance, he would have made any great progress in it ; I was deceived ;
fdl that he does, 'he does weU ; he is punctual at his lessons, appUes himself
to reading before them, and goes over them again carefully, so that he ad
vances rapidly, and more than I should, myself, have expected. He is de
lighted at having begun, and I thinlc he will go through a short course of
geometry, whioh wiU not altogether occupy him above seven or eight
months. While he is proceeding with these lessons, he has not at all re
mitted his other studies; he has made great progress in the Greek, and has
read almost half the lUad of Homer ; I give him lessons regularly in that
author. He has also finished the Latin historians, and is at present engaged
upon the poets ; he has read the whole of Plautus and Terence, and will
soon have finished Lucretius. Moreover, he does not skim these authors
over lightly, but wishes to make himself clear npon every thing ; so that
with the genius he possesses, and his exceUent memory and application, ho
wiU go deep into the sciences.
" I have aheady had the honour to inform yon that, notwithstanding hia

AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS HE READ. 87
could I refuse to comply with so reasonable a wish.
During two winters I attended the private lectures of
Monsieur de Traytorrens, who explained the elements of
algebra and geometry, as far as the comic sections of the
Marquis de I'Hdpital, and appeared satisfied wilh my
diligence and improvement.* But as my childish pro-
studies, he was in the habit of seeing company, and I may at the present
time repeat what I then said."
From ihe Same to the Same. " January, 14, 1758.
" Sir, " I had the honour of writing to you on the 27th of July and the 26th of
October last, and of giving you an account of tho health, the studies, and
conduct of your son. I have nothing to add to what I have already said to
you about him; he is, thank God, perfectly well, aud continues to study with
close application ; and I can assure you he makes considerable progress in
different branches, makes himself highly esteemed by all who are acquinted
with him, and I hope that, when he shows you in detail the extent of hia
acquirements, you wiU be very much pleased with him. Literature, which
is his favourite study, does not oocupy hira entirely ; he is proceeding with
the mathematics, and his professor assures me that he never saw any one
make so rapid a progress as he does, or have more ardour or appUcatiou
than he possesses. His happy and penetrating genius is assisted by one of
the best of memories, so that he scarcely ever forgets anything he learns.
I have not myself any less reason than before to be pleased with his conduct;
though he studies a great deal, yet he sees company, but only those per
sons whose intercourse may be profitable to him."
* Journal, January, 1757.]— I began to ^tudy algebra under M. da
Traytorrens, went through the elements of algebra and geometry, and the
three first books of the Marquis de I'HSpital's Comic Sections. I also read
TibuUus, Catullus, Propertius, Horace (with Dacier's and Torrentius'a
notes), Virgil, Ovid's Epistles and Mezeriac's Commentary, the Ars
Amandj, and the Elegies ; likewise the Augustus and Tiberius of Sueto
nius, and a Latin translation of Dion Cassius, from the death of JuUus

AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS HE READ.

pensity for numbers and calculations was totally extinct,
I was content to receive the passive impression of mj
professor's lectures, without any active exercise of mj
own powers. As soon as 1 understood the principle, 1
relinquished for ever the pursuit of the mathematics ; noi
¦can I lament that I desisted, before my mind was hard
ened by the habit of rigid demonstration, so destructive
of the finer feelings of moral evidence, which must, how
ever, determine the actions and opinions of our lives. I
listened with more pleasure to the proposal of studying
the Law of Nature and Nations, which was taught in the
Academy of Lausanne by Mr. Vicat, a professor of some
learning and reputation. But, instead of attending his
public or private course, I preferred in my closet the
lessons of his masters, and my own reason. Without
being disgusted by Grotius or Puffendorf, I studied in
their writings the duties of a man, the rights of a citizen,
the theory of justice (it is, alas I a theory), and the laws
of peace and war, which have had some influence on the
practice of modern Europe, My fatigues were alleviated
by the good sense of their commentator Barbeyrac.
Locke's Treatise of Government instructed me in the
knowledge of Whig principles, which are rather founded
in reason than experience ; but my delight was in the
frequent perusal of Montesquieu, whose energy of style
Caesar to the death of Augustus. I also continued my correspondence
begun last year with Mr. AUemand of Bex, and the Professor Breitinger of
Zurich ; and opened a new one with the Professor Gesner of Gottiugen.
N. B. Last year and this I read St. John's Gospel, with part of Xeno
phon's Cyropffidia ; the Iliad aud Herodotus : but, upon the whole, I rather
neglected my Greek.

AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS HE READ. S9
and boldness of hypothesis were powerful to awaken and
stimulate the genius of the age. The logic of De
Crousaz had prepared me to engage with his master
Locke, and his antagonist Bayle ; of whom the former
may be used as a bridle, and the latter applied as a spur,
to the curiosity of a young phUosopher, According to
the nature of their respective works, the schools of argu
ment and objection, I carefully went through the Essay
on Human Understanding, and occasionally consulted the
most interesting articles of the Philosophic Dictionary.
In the infancy of my reason I turned over, as an idle
amusement, the most serious and important treatise : in
its maturity, the most trifling performance could exercise
my taste or judgment ; and more than once I have been
led by a novel into a deep and instructive train of think
ing. But I cannot forbear to mention three particular
books, since they have remotely contributed to form the
historian of the Roman Empire. 1 . From the Provincial
Letters of Pascal, which almost every year I have perused
with new pleasure, I learned to manage the weapon ot
grave and temperate irony, even on subjects of ecclesias
tical solemnity. 2, The Life of JuUan, by the Abb^ de
la Bleterie, first introduced me to the man and the times ;
and I should be glad to recover my first essay on the
truth of the miracle which stopped the rebuilding of the
Temple of Jerusalem. 3. In Giannone's Civil History of
Naples, I observed with a critical eye the progress and
abuse of sacerdotal power, and the revolutions of Italy in
the darker ages. This various reading, which I now
conducted with discretion, was digested according to the
precept ahd model of Mr. Locke, into a large common-

90 AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF THE BOOKS HE READ.
place book ; a practice, however, which I do not strenu
ously recommend. The action of the pen wUl doubtless
imprint an idea on the mind as well as on the paper : but
I much question whether the benefits of this laborious
method are adequate to the waste of time ; and I must
agree with Dr, Johnson, (Idler, No. 74,) " that what is
twice read, is commonly better remembered than what is
transcribed."

CHAP. XI.
AUTHOR'S TOUR IN SWITZERLAND.
During two years, if I forget some boyish excursions
of a day or a week, I was fixed at Lausanne ; but at the
end of the third summer, my father consented that I
should make the tour of Switzerland with Pavilliard : and
our short absence of one month (September 21st — Octo
ber 20th, 1755,) was a reward and relaxation of my
assiduous studies,* The fashion of climbing the moun-
* From Edtoard Gibbon to Mrt. Porten.

* »»»#••••••»•< jjow for myself. As my
father has given me leave to make a joume/ round Switzerland, we set out
to-morrow. Buy a map of Switzerland, it will cost you but a shiUing, and
follow me. I go by Iverdun, Neufchitel, Bienne or Biel, Soleure or Solo-
ihnrn, BWe or Basle, Baden, Zurich, Lucerne, and Berne. The voyage
will be of about four weeks ; so that I hope to find a letter from you waiting
for me. As my father had given me leave to learn what I had a mind, I
have learned to ride, and learn actually to dance and draw. Besides that,
I often give ten or twelve hours a day to my studies. I find a great many
agreeable people here, see them sometimes, and can say npon the whole,
without vanity, that though I am the Englishman here who spends the
least money, I am he who is the most generally liked. I told you that my
father had promised to send me into France aud Italy. I have thanked him
for it; but if he would follow my plan, he won't do it yet a while. I never
liked young traveUers ; they go too raw to make any great remarks, and
they lose a time which is ( in my opinion ) the most precious part of a man's
lifo. My scheme would be, to spend this winter at Lausanne (for though it
is a very good place to acquire the air of good company aud tbe Freuph

92 AUTHOR'S TOUR IN SWITZERLAND.
tains and reviewing the glaciers, had not yet been intro-
Vduced by foreign travellers, who seek the sublime beau
ties of nature. But the political face of the country is
not less diversified by the forms and spirit of so many
various republics, from the jealous government of the
few to the licentious freedom of the many. I contem
plated with pleasure the new prospects of men and man
ners; though my conversation with the natives would
have been mm-e free and instructive, had I possessed the
German, as well as the French, language. We passed
through most of the principal towns of Switzerland;
Neufchatel, Bienne, Soleure, Aran, Baden, Zurich, Basle,
and Berne. In every place we visited the churches, arse
nals, libraries, and all the most eminent persons; and,
after my return, I digested my notes in fourteen or fifteen
sheets of a French journal, which I despatched to my
father, as a proof that my time and his money had not
been mis-spent. Had I found this journal among his
tongue, we have no good professors); to spend, I say, the winter at Lau..
sanne ; go into England to aee my friends a couple of months, and after
that, finish my studies, either at Cambridge (for after what has passed one
cannot think of Oxford), or at an university in HoUand. If you liked the
scheme, could ¦you not propose it to my father by Metcalf, or somebody who
has a certain credit over him ? I forgot to ask you whether, in case my
father writes to teU me ofhis marriage, would you advise me to compUment
my mother-in-law 1 I think so. My health is so very regular that I havo
nothing to say about it.
" I have been, the whole day writing you this letter ; the preparation for
our voyage gave me a thousand interruptions. Besides that, I was obliged
to write in English. This last reason wiU seem a paradox to you, but I
assure you the French is much more familiar to me. I am. &c.
" E. Gibbon."
"Lausanne, Sept. 20, 1755."

AUTHOR'S TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 93
papers, I might be tempted to select some passages : but
I wiU not transcribe the printed accounts, and it may be
sufficient to notice a remarkable spot, which left a deep
and lasting impression on my memory. From Zurich we
proceeded to the Benedictine Abbey of Elnfidlen, more
commonly styled Our Lady of the Hermits. I was
astonished by the profuse ostentation of riches in the
poorest corner of Europe; amidst a savage scene of
woods and mountains, a palace appears to have been
erected by magic ; and it was erected by the potent
magic of religion, A crowd of palmers and votaries was
prostrate before the altar. The title and worship of the
Mother of God provoked my indignation ; and the lively
naked image of superstition suggested to me, as in the
same place it had done to Zuinglius, the most pressing
argument for the reformation of the church. About two
years after this tour, I passed at Geneva a useful and
agreeable month ; but this excursion, and some short
visits in the Pay de Vaud, did not materially interrupt my
studious and sedentary life at Lausanne.
My thirst of improvement, and the languid state of
science at Lausanne, soon prompted me to solicit a lite
rary correspondence with several men of learning, whom
I had not an opportunity of personally consulting, 1.
.In the perusal of Livy, (xxx. 44.) I had been stopped by
a sentence in a speech of Hannibal, which cannot be re
conciled by any torture with his character or argument.
The commentators dissemble, or confess their perplexity.
It occurred to me, that the change of a single letter, by
substituting otic instead of odio, might restore a clear
and consistent sense ; but I wished to weigh niy emen-

94 AUTHOR'S TOUR IN SWITZERLAND.

dation in scales less partial than my own, I addressea
myself to M, Crevier,* the successor of Rollin, and a
professor in the university of Paris, who had published a
large and valuable edition of Livy. His answer was
speedy and polite ; he praised my ingenuity, and adopted
my conjecture, 2, I maintained a Latin correspondence,
at first anonymous, and afterwards in my own name,
with Professor Breitinger,t of Zurich, the learned editor
of a Septuagint Bible. In our frequent letters we dis
cussed questions of antiquity, many passages of the Latin
classics. I proposed my interpretations and amendments.
His censures (for he did not spare my boldness of con
jecture) were sharp and strong ; and I was encouraged
by the consciousness of my strength, when I could stand
in free debate against a critic of such eminence and
erudition. 3. I corresponded on similiar topics with the
celebrated Professor Matthew Gesner,J of the University
of Gottjngen ; and he accepted, as courteously as the
two former, the invitation of an unknown youth. But
his abilities might possibly be decayed ; his elaborate letters
were feeble and prolix ; and when I asked his proper di
rection, the vain old man covered half a sheet of paper
with the foolish enumeration of his titles and offices, 4.
These professors of Paris, Zurich, and Gottingen, were
strangers, whom I presumed to address on the credit of
their name ; bnt Mr, Allemand,§ minister at Bex, was my
personal firiend, with whom I maintained a more free
and interesting correspondence. He was a master of
language, of science, and above all, of dispute ; and his
• See Letters, No. I. t See Letters, Nos. IV. aud V.
t See Letteics, Nos. VI. VJI. aud VIII. § See Letters, Nos. II. and XII-

AUTHOR'S TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 95
acute and flexible logic could support, with equal ad
dress, and perhaps with equal indifference, the adverse
sides of every possible question. His spirit was active,
but his pen had been indolent. Mr. AUemand had ex
posed himself to much scandal and reproach, by an anony
mous letter (1745) to the Protestants of France ; in which
he labours to persuade them that public worship is the
exclusive right and duty of the state, and that their nu
merous assemblies of dissenters and rebels were not au
thorized by the law or the gospel. His style is animated,
his arguments specious ; and if the papist may seem to
lurk under the mask of a protestant, the philosopher is
concealed under the disguise of a papist. After some
trials in France and Holland, which were defeated by
his fortune or his character, a genius that might have
enlightened or deluded the world, was buried in a country
living, unknown to fame, and discontented with mankind.
Est sacrificulus in pago, et rusticos decipit. As often as
private or ecclesiastical business called him to Lausanne,
I enjoyed the pleasure and benefit of his conversation,
and we were mutually flattered by our attention to each
other. Our correspondence, in his absence chiefly turned
on Locke's metaphysics, which he attacked, and I de
fended ; the, origin of ideas, the principles of evidence,
and the doctrine of liberty ;
And found no end, in wandering mazes lost.
By fencing with so skillful a master I acquired some dex
terity in the use of my philosophic Weapons ; but I was
still the slave of education and prejudice. He had some

96 AUTHOR'S TOUR IN SWITZERLAND.
measures to keep ; and I much suspect that he never
showed me the true colours of his secret scepticism.
Before I was recalled from Switzerland, I had the sa
tisfaction of seeing the most extraordinary man of the
age ; a poet, an historian, a philosopher, who has filled
thirty quartos, of prose and verse, with his various pro
ductions, often excellent, and always entertaining. Need
I add the name of Voltaire ? After forfeiting, by his
own misconduct, the friendship of the first of kings, he re
tired at the age of sixty, with a plentiful fortune, to a free and
beautiful country, and resided two winters (1757 and 1758)
in the town or neighbourhood of Lausanne. My desire of
beholding Voltaire, whom I then rated above his real
magnitude, was easily gratified. He received me with
civUity as an English youth; but I cannot boast of
any peculiar notice or distinction ; Virgilium vidi
tantum. The ode which he composed on his first arrival on the
banks of the Leman Lake, " 0 maison d'Aristippe ! 0
jarden d'Epicure," dtc, had been imparted as a secret to
the» gentleman by whom I was introduced. He allowed
me to read it twice ; I knew it by heart ; and as my dis
cretion was not equal to my memory, the author was
soon displeased by the circulation of a copy. In writing
this trivial anecdote, I wished to observe whether my
memory was impaired, and I have the comfort of finding
that every line of the poem is stiU engraved in fresh and
indelible characters. The highest gratification which
I dei-ived from Voltaire's residence at Lausanne, was the
uncommon circumstance of hearing a great poet declaim
his own productions on the stage. He had formed

AUTHOR'S TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 97
a company of gentlemen and ladies some of whom were
not destitute of talents, A decent theatre was framed at
Monrepos, a country-house at the end of a suburb ;
dresses and scenes were provided at the expense of the
actors ; and the author directed the rehearsals with the
zeal and attention of paternal love. In two successive
winters his tragedies of Zaire, Alzire, Zulime, and his
sentimental comedy of the Enfant Prodigue, were played
at the theatre of Monrepos. Voltaire represented the
characters best adapted to his years, Lusignan, Alvarez,
Benasser, Euphemon. His declamation was fashioned
to the pomp and cadence of the old stage; and he ex
pressed the enthusiasm of poetry, rather than the feelings
of nature. My ardour which soon became conspicuous,
seldom failed of procuring me a ticket. The habits of
pleasure fortified my taste for the French theatre, and that^
taste has perhaps abated my idolatry for the gigantic
genuis of Shakespear, which is inculcated from our in
fancy as the first duty of an Englishman, The wit and
philosophy of Voltaire, his table and theatre, refined, in a
visible degree, the manners of Lausanne ; and, however
addicted to study, I enjoyed my share of the amusements
of society. After the representation of Monrepos, I
sometimes supped with the actors. I was now familiar
in some, and acquainted in many, houses ; and my
evenings were generally devoted to cards and conversa
tion, either in private parties or numerous assemblies.

CHAP. XII,
MADEMOISELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME
NECKER.
I hesitate, from the apprehension of ridicule, when I
approach the delicate subject of my early love. By this
word I do not mean the polite attention, the gallantry,
without hope or design, which has originated in the spirit
of chivalry, and is interwoven with the texture of French
manners. I understand by this passion the union of
desire, friendship, and tenderness, which is inflamed by a
single female, which prefers her to the rest of her sex,
and which seeks her possession as the supreme or the
sole happiness of our being. I need not blush at recol
lecting the object of my choice ; and though my love was
disappointed of success, I am rather proud that I was
once capable of feeling such a pure and exalted senti
ment. The personal attractions of Mademoiselle Susan
Curchod were embellished by the virtues and talents of
the mind. Her fortune was humble, but her family was
respectable. Her mother, a native of France, had pre
ferred her religion to her country. The profession of her
father did not extinguish the moderation and philosophy
of his temper, and he lived, content with a small salary
and laborious duty, in the obscure lot of minister of
Crassy, in the mountains that separate the Pays de Vaud

M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKER. 99
from the county of Burgundy.* In the solitude of a
sequestered village he bestowed a liberal, and even
learned, education on his only daughter. She surpassed
his hopes by her proficiency in the sciences and lan
guages ; and in her short visits to some relations at Lau
sanne, the wit, the beauty, and erudition of Mademoiselle
Curchod were the theme of universal applause. The
report of such a prodigy awakened my curiosity ; I saw
and loved, I found her learned without pedantry, lively
in conversation, pure in sentiment, and elegant in man
ners ; and the first sudden emotion was fortified by the
habits and knowledge of a more familiar acquaintance.
She permitted me to make her two or three visits at her

* Extracts from ihe Journal.
March, 1757. I wrote some critical observations upon Plautus.
March Sth. I wrote a long dissertation on some lines of Virgil.
June. I saw Mademoiselle Curchod — Omnia 'Vincit amor, et not
eedamus amori.
August. I went to Crassy, and staid two days.
Sept. 15th. I went to Geneva.
Oct. 15th. T came back to Lausanne, having passed through Crassy.
Nov. 1st. I went to visit M. de Watteville at Loin, and saw .Made-
moiseUe Curchod in my way through RoUe.
Nov. 17th I went to Crassy, and staid there six days.
Jan. 1758. In the three first months of this year I read Ovid's Metamor
phoses, finished the conic sections with M. de Tray
torrens, and went as far as the infinite series ; I Uke
wise read Sir Isaac Newton's Chronology, and wrote
my critical observations upon it.
Jan. 23rd. I saw Alzire acted by the society at Monrepos. Voltaire
acted Alvai-ez; D'Hermanches, Zamore ; De St.
Cierge, Guzman ; M. de Gentil, Mouteze ; and Ma
dame Denys, Alzire.

100 M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKER.
ther's house. I passed some happy days there, in the
mountains of Bergundy, and her parents honourably en
couraged the connexion. In a calm retirement the gay
vanity of youth no longer fluttered in her bosom ; she
listened to the voice of truth and passion, and 1 might
presume to hope that I had made some impression on a
virtuous heart. At Crassey and Lausanne I indulged my
dream of felicity : but on my return to England, I soon
discovered that my father would not hear of this strange
alliance, and that without his consent I was myself desti
tute and helpless. After a painful struggle I yielded to
my fate : I sighed as a lover, I obeyed as a son ;* my
wound was insensibly healed by time, absence, and the
habits of a new life. My cure was accelerated by a
faithful report of tranquillity and cheerfulness of the lady
herself, and my love subsided in friendship and esteem.
The minister of Crassey soon afterwards died ; his
stipend died with him : his daughter retired to Geneva,
where, by teaching young ladies, she earned a hard sub
sistence for herself and her mother ; but in her lowest
distress she maintained a spotless reputation, and a digni
fied behaviour. A rich banker of Paris, a citizen of
Geneva, had the good fortune and good sense to discover
and possess this inestimable treasure ; and in the capital
of taste and luxury she resisted the temptations of wealth,
as she had sustained the hardships of indigence. The
* See CEuvres de Rousseau, tom. xxxiu. p. 88, 89, octavo edition. As an
author I shaU not appeal from the judgment, or taste, or caprice of Jean
Jacques; but that extraorninary man, whom I admire and pity, should have
been less precipitate in condeitming the moral character and cotiduct of a
strange.

M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKER. 101
genius of her husband has exalted him to the most con
spicuous station in Europe, In every change of prospe
rity and disgrace he has reclined on the bosom of a
faithful friend ; and MademoiseUe Curchod is now the
wife of M. Necker, the minister, and perhaps the legisla-
tor, of the French monarchy.
Whatsoever have been the fruits of my education, they
must be ascribed to the fortunate banishment which
placed me at Lausanne, I have sometimes applied to
my own fate the verses of Pindar, which remind an
Olympic champion that his victory was the consequence
of his exile ; and that at home, like a domestic fowl, his
days might have rolled away inactive and inglorious.
. , . ^Toi xai rsa xsu,
'EvStnutyag af' aXsxTUp,
2uyyovu, irap' ^firio^
'AxXsiij Tifta xaTE(puXXopoT](j'e iroiJwv.
E/ iJ,rj (fTatfif avTiavsipa
Kvuims (XfiiEpa'e irarpas.* Olymp. xil.
If my childish revolt against the reUgion of my country
had not stripped me in time of my academical gown, the
five important years so liberally improved in the studies
and conversation of Lausanne, would have been steeped
* Thus Uke the crested bird of Mars, at home
Engaged in foul domestic jars,
And wasted with intestine wars.
Inglorious hadst thou spent thy vig'rous bloom :
Had not sedition's civU broils
ExpeUed thee from thy native Crete,
And driven thee with more glorious toUs,
Tho Olympic crown in Pisa's plain to meet. 'West's Pindar.

102 M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKEB.

/in port and prejudice among the monks of Oxford, Had
the fatigue of idleness compelled me to read, the path of
learning would not have been enllghted by a ray of
phUosophic freedom. I should have grown to manhood
ignorant of the life and language of Europe, and my
knowledge of the world would have been confined to an
English cloister. But my religious error fixed me at
Lausanne in a state Of banishment and disgrace. The
rigid course of discipline and abstinence, to which I was
condemned, invigorated the constitution of my mind and
body ; poverty and pride restrained me from my coun
trymen. One mischief, however, and in their eyes a se
rious and irreparable mischief was derived from the suc
cess of my Swiss education : I had ceased to be an Eng
lishman. At the flexible period of youth, from the age
of sixteen to twenty-one, my opinions, habits, and senti
ments were cast in a foreign mould ; the faint and distant
remembrance of England was almost obliterated; my
native language was grown less familiar ; and I should have
cheerfully accepted the offer of a moderate independence
on the terms of perpetual exile. By the good sense and
temper of PavUliard my yoke was insensibly lightened :
he left me master of my time and actions ; but he could
neither change my situation, nor increase my allowance ;
and with the progress of my years and reason I impa
tiently sighed for the moment of my deliverance. At
length, in the spring ofthe year 1758, my father signified
his permission and his pleasure that I should immediately
return home. We were then in the midst of a war : the
resentment ofthe French at our taking their ships with
out a declaration, had rendered that polite nation some-

M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKER. 103
what peevish and difficult. They denied a passage to
English traveUers, and the road through Germany was
circuitous, toilsome, and perhaps, in the neighborhood of
the armies, exposed to some danger. In this perplexity,
two Swiss officers of my acquaintance, in the Dutch ser
vice, who were returning to their garrisons, offered to
conduct me through France as one of their companions ;
nor did we sufficiently reflect that my borrowed name
and regimentals might have been considered, in case of
discovery, in a very serious light. I took my leave of
Lausanne on the llth of April, 1758, with a mixture of
joy and regret, in the firm resolution of revisiting, as a
man, the persons and places which had been so dear to
my youth. We travelled slowly, but pleasantly, in a
hired coach, over the hUls of Franche-Compte and the
fertile province of Lorraine ; and passed, without acci
dent or inquiry, through several fortified towns of the
French frontier: from thence we entered the wild Ar
dennes ofthe Austrian duchy of Luxembourg; and after
crossing the Mouse at Leige, we. traversed the heaths of
Brabant, and reached, on the 15th day, our Dutch garri
son of Blois le DuCi In our passage through Nanc, my
eye was gratified by the aspect of a regular and beautiful
city, the work of Stanislaus, who, after the storms of
Polish royalty, reposed in the love and gratitude of his
new subjects of Lorraine. In our halt at Maestricht I
visited M. de Beaufort, a learned critic, who was known
to me by his specious arguments against the five first cen
turies of the Roman history. After dropping my regi
mental companions, I stepped aside to visit Rotterdam
and the Hague, I wished to have observed a country.

104 M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKER.
the monument of freedom and industry ; but my days
were numbered, and a longer delay would have been un
graceful. I hastened to embark at the Brill, landed the
next day at Hardwich, and proceeded to London, where
my father awaited my arrival. The whole term of my
first absence from England was four years, ten months,
and fifteen days.
In the prayers of the church our personal concerns are
judiciously reduced to the threefold distinction of mind.
body, and estate. The sentiments of the mind excite and
exercise our social sympathy. The review of my moral
and literary character is the most interesting to myself
and to the public ; and I may expatiate without reproach
on my private studies ; since they have produced the
public writings, which can alone entitle me to the esteem
and friendship of my readers. The experience of the
world inculcates a discreet reserve on the subject of our
person and estate, and we soon learn that a free dis
closure of our riches or poverty would provoke the
malice of envy, or encourage the insolence of contempt.
The only person in England whom I was impatient to
see, was my aunt Porten, the affectionate guardian of my
tender years. I hastened to her house in College-street,
Westminister ; and the evening was spent in the effusions
of joy and confidence. It was not without some awe
and apprehension that I approached the presence of my
father. My infancy, to speak the truth, had been ne
glected at home ; the severity of his look and language
at our last parting stUl dwelt on my memory ; nor could
I form any notion of his character, or my probable recep
tion. They were both more agreeable than I could ex-

M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADxVME NECKER. 105
pect. The domestic discipline of our ancestors has been
relaxed by the phUosophy and softness of the age ; and if
my father remembered that he had trembled before a
stern parent, it was only to adopt with his own son an
opposite mode of behaviour. He received me as a man
and a friend ; all constraint was banished at our first
interview, and we ever afterwards continued on the same
terms of easy and equal politeness. He applauded the
success of my education : every word and action was
expressive ofthe most cordial affection; and our lives
would have passed without a cloud, if his economy had
been equal to his fortune, or if his fortune had been equal
to his desires. During my absence he had married his
second wife. Miss Dorothea Patton, who was introduced
to me with the most unfavourable prejudice. I con
sidered his second marriage as an act of displeasure, and I
was disposed to hate the rival of my mother. But the in
justice was in my own fancy, and the imaginary monster
was an amiable and deserving woman. 1 could not be
mistaken in the first view of her understanding, her know
ledge, and the elegant spirit of her conversation : her polite
welcome, and her assiduous care to study and gratify my
wishes, announced at least that the surface would be
smooth ; and my suspicions of art and falsehood were
gradually dispelled by the full discovery of her warm
and exquisite sensibility. After some reserve on my side,
our minds associated in confidence and friendship ; and
as Mrs. Gibbon had neither children nor the hopes of
children, we more easily adopted the tender names and
genuine characters of mother and of son. By the indul
gence of these parents, I was left at liberty to consult my

106 M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKER.
taste or reason in the choice of place, of company, and of
amusements ; and my excursions were bounded only by
the Umits of the island, and the measure of my income.
Some faint efforts were made to procure me the employ
ment of a secretary to a foreign embassy ; and I listened
to a scheme which would again have transported me to
the Continent, Mrs. Gibbon, with seeming wisdom, ex
horted me to take chambers in the Temple, and devote my
leisure to the study of the law. I cannot repent of hav-
>/ ing neglected her advice. Few men, without the spur
of necessitj% have resolution to force their way through
the thorns and thickets of that gloomy labyrinth. Nature
had not endowed me with the bold and ready eloquence
which makes itself heard amidst the tumult of the bar ;
and I should probably have been diverted firom the labours
of literature, without acquiring the fame or fortune of a
successful pleader. I had no need to caU to my aid the
regular duties of a profession; every day, every hour
was agreeably filled ; nor have I known, like so many of
my countrymen, the tediousness of an idle Ufe.
Of the two years (May, 1758— May, 1760,) between
my return to England, and the embodying of the Hamp
shire militia, I passed about nine months in London, and
the remainder in the country. The metropoUs affords
many amusements which are open to all. It is itself
an astonishing and perpetual spectacle to the curious
eye ; and each taste, each sense may be gratified by the
variety of objects which will occur in the long circuit of
a morning walk. I assiduously frequented the theatres
at a very propitious ^ra of the stage, when a constella
tion of excellent actors, both in tragedy and comedy.

M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKER. 107
was eclipsed by the meridian brightness of Garrick, in
the maturity of his judgment and vigour of his per
formance. The pleasures of a town life are within the
reach of every man who is regardless of his health, his
money, and his company. By the contagion of example
I was sometimes seduced; but the better habits which I
had formed at Lausanne, induced me to seek a more
elegant and rational society ; and if my search was less
easy and successful than I might have hoped, I shall at
present impute the failure to the disadvantages of my
situation and character. Had the rank and fortune of my
parents given them an annual estabUshment in London,
their own house would have introduced me to a numerous
and polite circle of acquaintance. But my father's taste
had always preferred the highest and the low est company,
for which he was equally qualified ; and after twelve
years' retirement, he was no longer in the memory of the
great with whom he had associated, I found myself
a stranger in the midst of a vast and unknown city;
and at my entrance into life I was reduced to some dull
famUy parties, and some scattered connexions, which were
not such as I should have chosen for myself. The most
useful friends of my father were the Mallets : they re
ceived me with civUity and kindness, at first on his ac
count, and afterwards on my, own ; and (if I may use
Lord Chesterfield's words) I was soon domesticated in
their house, Mr, Mallet, a name among the English
po'ets,,is praised, by an unforgiving enemy, for the ease
and elegance of his conversation, and his wife was not
destitute of wit or learning. By his assistance I was
introduced to Lady Hervey, the mother of the present

OSM'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS M.4.DAME NECKER.

Earl of Bristol. Her age and infirmities confined her
at home : her dinners were select ; in the evening her
house was open to the best company of both sexes, and aU
nations; nor was I displeased at her preference and
affectation of the manners, the language and the literature
of France. But my progress in the English world was
in general left to my own efforts, and those efforts were
languid and slow. I had not been endowed by art or
nature with those happy gifts of confidence and address,
which unlock every door and every bosom ; nor would
it be reasonable to complain of the just consequences or
my sickly childhood, foreign education, and reserved
temper. While coaches were rattling through Bond-
street, I have passed many a solitary evening in my
lodging with my books. My studies were sometimes in
terrupted by a sigh, which I breathed towards Lau
sanne ; and on the approach of spring, I withdrew with
out reluctance from the noisy and extensive scene of
crowds without company and dissipation without pleasure.
In each of the twenty-five years of my acquaintance with
London (1758 — 1788) the prospect gradually brightened;
and this unfavourable picture most prooerly belongs to
the first period after my return from Switzerland,
My father's residence in Hampshire, where I have
passed many light, and some heavy hours, was at Buriton,
near Petersfield, one mile from the Portsmouth road, and
at the easy distance of fifty-eight miles from London,*
An old mansion, in a state of decay, had been converted
* The estate and manor of Beriton, otherwise Buriton, were consider
able, and were sold a few years ago to Lord Stowell. — S.

109 M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKEE.
into the fashion and convenience of a modern house : and
if strangers had nothing to see, the inhabitants had
little to desire. The spot was not happily chosen, at the
end of the vUlage and the bottom of the hUl : but the
aspect of the adjacent grounds was various and cheerful ;
the downs commanded a noble prospect, and the long
hanging woods in sight of the house could not perhaps
have been improved by art or expense. My father kept
in his own hands the whole of the estate, and even rented
some additional land ; and whatsoever might be the balance
of profit and loss, the farm supplied him with amusement
and plenty. The produce maintained a number of men
and horses, which were multiplied by the intermixture
of domestic and rural servants ; and in the intervals of
labour the favourite team, a handsome set of bays or
greys, was harnessed to the coach. The economy of
the house was regulated by the taste and prudence of Mrs,
Gibbon. She prided herself in the elegance of her oc
casional dinners; and from the uncleanly avarice of
Madame Pavilliard, I was suddenly transported to the
daUy neatness and luxury of an English table. Our im
mediate neighbourhood was rare and rustic ; but from
the verge of our hUls, as far as Chichester and Good
wood, the western district of Sussex was interspersed
with noble seats and hospitable families, with whom we
cultivated a friendly, and might have enjoyed a very fre
quent, intercourse. As my stay at Buriton was always
voluntary, I was received and dismissed with smiles ; but
the comforts of my retirement did not depend on the
ordinary pleasures of tho country. My father could
never inspire me with his love and knowledge of farm-

110 M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKEH.
ing, I never handled a gun, I seldom mounted a horse ;
and my philosophic walks were soon terminated by a
shady bench, where I was long detained by the sedentary
amusement of reading or meditation. At home I occu
pied a pleasant and spacious apartment ; the library on
the same floor was soon considered as my peculiar do
main ; and I might say with truth, that I was never less
alone than when by myself. My sole complaint, which
I piously suppressed, arose from the kind restraint im
posed on the freedom of my time. By the habit of early
rising I always secured a sacred portion of the day, and
many scattered moments were stolen and employed by
my studious industry. But the famUy hours of breakfast,
of dinner, of tea, and of supper, were regular and long :
after breakfast Mrs. Gibbon expected my company in
her dressing-room ; after tea, my father claimed my con
versation and the perusal of the newspapera ; and in the
midst of an interesting work I was often called down to
receive the visit of some idle neighbours. Their dinners
and visits required, in due season, a similar return ; and
I dreaded the period of the full moon, which was usually
reserved for our more distant excursions. I could not
refuse attending my father, in the summer of 1759, to
the races at Stockbridg*, Reading, and Odiham, where
he had entered a horse for the hunters plate ; and I was
not displeased with the sight of our Olympic games, the
beauty of the spot, the fleetness of the horses, and the
gay tumult of the numerous spectators. As soon as the
militia business was agitated, many days were tediously
consumed in meetings of deputy lieutenants at Peters
field, Alton and Winchester. In the close of the same

M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKER. HI
year, 1759, Sir Simeon (then Mr.) Stewart attempted an
unsuccessful contest for the county of Southampton,
against Mr. Legge, ChanceUor of the Exchequer : a well-
known contest, in which Lord Bute's influence was first
exerted and censured. Our canvass at Portsmouth and
Gosport lasted several days ; but the interruption ofmy-
studies was compensated in some degree by the spectacle
of English manners, afid the acquisition of some practical
knowledge. If in a more domestic or more dissipated scene my ap
plication was somewhat relaxed, the love of knowledge
was inflamed and gra:tified by the command of books ;
and I compared the poverty of Lausanne with the plenty
of London, My father's study at Buriton was stuffed
with much trash of the last age, with much high church
divinity and politics, which have long since gone to their
proper place ; yef it contained some valuable editions of
the classics and the fathers, the choice, as it would seem,
of Mr, Law; and many EngUsli pubUcations of the times
had been occasionaUy added. From this slender begin
ning I have gradually formed a numerous and .select
library, the foundation of my work^, and the best com
fort of my Ufe, both at home and abroad. On the
receipt of the first quarter, a large share of my allowance
was appropriated to my literary wailts, I cannot forget^
the joy with which I exchanged a bank-note of twenty
pounds for the twenty volumes of the Memoirs of the
Academy of Inscriptions ; nor would it have been easy,
by any other expenditure of the same sum, to have pro
cured so large and lasting a fund of rational amusement.
At a time when I most assiduously frequented this school

112 M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKER.
of ancient literature, I thus expressed my opinion of a
learned and various collection, which since the year 1759
has been doubled in magnitude, though not in merit —
" Une de ces societes, qui ont mieux immortalise Louis
XIV. qu'une ambition souvent pernicieuse aux hommes,
commengait deja ces recherches qui reunissent la justesse
de I'esprit, I'amenite et I'erudition : oil Ton voit tant des
decouvertes, et quelquefois, ce qui ne cede qu'a peine aux
decouvertes, une ignorance modeste et savante." The
review of my Ubrary must be reserved for the period ot
its maturity ; but in this place I may allow myself to ob
serve, that I am not conscious of having ever bought a
book from a motive of ostentation, that every volume,
before it was deposited on the shelf, was either read or
sufficiently examined, and that I soon adopted the tole
rating maxim of the elder Pliny, " nullum esse librum tam
malum ut non ex aUqua parte prodesset." I could not yet
find leisure or courage to renew the pursuit of the Greek
language, excepting by reading the lessons of the Old
and New Testament every Sunday, when I attended the
famUy to church. The series of my Latin authors were
less strenuously completed ; but the acquisition, by inhe
ritance or purchase, of the best editions of Cicero, Quin-
tUian, Livy, Tacitus, Ovid, &c. afforded a fair prospect,
which I seldom neglected. I persevered in the useful
method of abstracts and observations ; and a single
example may suffice, of a note which had almost swelled
into a work. The solution of a passage of Livy (xxvui.
38.) involved me in the dry and dark treatises of Greaves,
Arburthnot, Hooper, Bernard, Eisenschmidt, Gronovius,
La Barre, Freret, &c ; and in my French essay (chap.

M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKER. 113
20.) I ridiculously send the reader to my own manuscript
remarks on the weights, coins, and measures of the
ancients, which were abruptly terminated by the militia
drum. As I am now entering on a more ample field of society
and study, I can only hope to avoid a vain and prolix
garrulity, by overlooking the vulgar crowd of my
acquaintance, and confining myself to such intimate
friends among books and men, as are best entitled to my
notice by their own merit and reputation, or by the deep
impression which they have left on my mind. Yet I will
embrace this occasion of recommending to the young
student a practice, which about this time I myself
adopted. After glancing my eye over the design and
order of a new book, I suspended the perusal tUl I had
finished the task of self-examination, till I had revolved,
in a solitary walk, all that I knew or believed, or had
thought on the subject of the whole work, or of some parti
cular chapter : I was then qualified to discern how much
the author added to my original stock ; and I was some
times satisfied by the agreernent, I was sometimes armed
by the opposition of our ideas. The favourite compa
nions of my leisure were our English writers since the
Revolution : they breathe the spirit of reason and liberty;
and the most seasonable contributed to restore the purity
of my own language, which had been corrupted by the
long use of a foreign idiom. By the judicious advice of
Mr Mallet, I was directed to the writings of Swift and
Addison ; wit and simplicity are their common attributes ;
but the style of Swift is supported by manly original
vigour ; that of Addison is adorned by the female graces

114 M'SELLE CURCHOD— AFTERWARDS MADAME NECKER.
of elegance and mildness. The old reproach, that no
British altars had been raised to the muse of history, was
recently disproved by the first performances of Robertson
and Hume, the histories of Scotland and of the Stuarts,
I will assume the presumption of saying, that I was not
unworthy to read them : nor will I disguise my different
feelings in the repeated perusals. The perfect composi
tion, the nervous language, the well-tuned periods of Dr.
Robertson, inflamed me to the ambitious hope that I
might one day tread in his footsteps : the calm philosophy,
the careless inimitable beauties of his friend and rival,
often forced me to close the volume with a mixed sensa
tion of delight and despair.

CHAP, XIII.
MR. GIBBON PUBLISHES HIS FIRST WORK.
The design of my first work, the Essay on the Study
of Literature, was suggested by a refinement of vanity,
the desire of justifying and praising the object of a favour
ite pursuit. In France, to which my ideas were con
fined, the learning and language of Greece and Rome
were neglected by a phUosophic age. The guardian of
those studies, the Academy of Inscriptions, was degraded
to the lowest ilank among the three royal societies of
Paris : the new appellation of Erudits was contemptuously
applied to the successors of Lipsius and Casaubon ; and
I was provoked to hear (see M. d'Alembert, Discours
pr^Uminaire a I'Encyclopedie) that the exercise of the
memory, their sole merit, had been superseded by the
nobler faculties of the imagination and the judgment. I
was ambitious of proving by my own example, as well
as by my precepts, that all the faculties of the mind may
be exercised and displayed by the study of ancient litera
ture : I began to select and adorn the various proofs and
iUustrations which had offered themselves in reading the
classics ; and, the first pages or chapters of my essay
were cor(iposed before my departure from Lausanne.
The hurry ofthe journey, and of the first weeks of my
English life, suspended all thoughts of serious applica-

116 MR. GIBBON PUBLISHES HIS FIRST WORK.
tion : but my object was ever before my eyes ; and no
more than ten days, from the first to the eleventh of July,
were suffered to elapse after my summer establishment
at Buriton. My essay was finished in about six weeks.;
and as soon as a fair copy had been transcribed by one
of the French prisoners at Petersfield, I looked round for a
critic and judge of my first performance. A writer can
seldom be content with the doubtful recompense of soli
tary approbation ; but a youth, ignorant of the world and
of himself, must desire to weigh his talents in some scales
less partial than his own : my conduct was natural, my
motive laudible, my choice of Dr, Maty judicious and
fortunate. By descent and education Dr. Maty, though
born in Holland, might be considered as a Frenchman ; but
he was fixed in London by the practice of physic, and an
office in the British Museum. His reputation was justly
founded "on the eighteen volumes of the Journal Britan-
nique, which he had supported, almost alone, with perse
verance and success. This humble though useful labour,
which had once been dignified by the genius of Bayle
and the learning of Le Clerc, was not disgraced by the
taste, fhe knowledge, and the judgment of Maty: he
exhibits a candid and pleasing view of the state of litera
ture in England during a period of six years (January,
1750 — December, 1755) ; and, far different from his
angry son, he handles the rod of criticism with the ten
derness and reluctance of a parent. The author of the
Journal Britannique sometimes aspires to the character
of a poet and phUosopher : his style is pure and elegant ;
and in his virtues, or even in his defects, he may be
ranked as one of the last disciples of the school of Fon-

MR. GIBBON PUBLISHES HIS FIRST WORK 117
tenelle. His answer to my first letter was prompt and
polite : after a careful examination he returned my manu
script, with some animadversion and much applanse ; and
when I visited London in the ensuing winter, we dis
cussed the design and execution in several free and fami
liar conversations. In a short excursion to Buriton 1
reviewed my essay, according to his friendly advice;
and after suppressing a third, adding a third, and altering
a third, I consummated my first labour by a short pre
face, which is dated February 3rd, 1759. Yet I stiU
shrunk from the press with the terrors of virgin modesty:
the manuscript was safely deposited in my desk ; and as
my attention was engaged by new objects, the delay
might have been prolonged till I had fulfilled the precept
of Horace, " nonumque prematur tin annum." Father
Sirmund, a learned Jesuit, was stUl more rigid, since he
advised a young friend to expect the mature age of fifty,
before he gave himself or his writings to the public.
(Olivet, Histoire de I'Academie Frangaise tom. ii. p.
143.) The counsel was singular; but itis stiU more sin
gular that it should have been approved by the example
ofthe author. Sirmond was himself fifty-five years of
age when he published (in 1614) his first work, an edi
tion of Sidonius Apollinarls, with many valuable annota
tions. (See his life, before the great edition of his works
in five volumes folio, Paris, 1696, e Typographia Regia),
Two years elapsed in silence: but in the spring of
1761 I yielded to the authority of a parent, and compiled,
like a pious son, with the wish of my own heart.* My
JooBNiL, March Sth, 1758.] — I began my Essay on the Study of Litera
ture, and wrote the first twenty-three chapters (excepting the following
ones, 11, 12. 13, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22) before I left Switzerland.

lis MR. GIBBON PUBLISHES HIS FIRST WORK-
private resolves were influenced by the state of Europe.
About this time the belligerent powers had made and
accepted overtures of peace ; our English plenipoten
tiaries were named to assis't at the Congress of Augs
burg, which never met ; I wished to attend them as a
gentleman or a secretary ; and my father fondly beUeved
that the proof of some literary talents might introduce me
to public notice, and second the recommendations of my
friends. After a last revisal, I consulted with Mr Mallet
and Dr. Maty, who approved the design, and promoted
the execution. Mr. Mallet, after hearing me read my
manuscript, received it from my hands, and delivered it
into those of Becket, with whom he made an agreement
in my name ; an easy agreement : I required only a cer
tain number of copies ; and, without transferring my
property, I devolved on the bookseller the charges and
July llth.] — 1 again took in hand my Essay ; and in about six weeks
fini8hedit,fromC. 23— 55 (excepting 27, 28, 39, 30,31, 32, 33, and note to
C. 88) besides a number of chapters from C. 55 to the end, which are now
sti-uck out.
Feb. 11, 1759.]— I wrote the chapters of my Essay, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31,
the note to C. 33, and the first part ofthe preface.
April 23, 1761.] — Being at length, by my father's advice, determined to
publish my essay, I revised it with great care, made many alterations, struck
out a considerable part, and wrote the chapters from 57 — 58, which I was
obliged myself to copy out fair,
June 10th, 1761.]— Finding the printing of my book proceeded but
slowly, I went up to town, where I found the whole was finished. I gave
Becket orders for the presents ; twenty for Lansanne ; copies for the Duke
of Richmond, Marquis of Carnarvon, Lords Waldegrave, Litchfiefd, Bath,
GranviUe, Bute, Shelbnme, Chesterfield, Hardwicke, Lady Hervey, Sir
Joseph Yorke, Sir Matthew Featherstone, Messieurs Mallet, Maty, Scott,
Wray, Lord Egremont, M. de Bussy, Mademoiselle la Dnohesse d'Aiguillon,
and M. le Compte de Caylus ;— great part of these were only my father's or
Mallet's acquaintance.

MR. GIBBON PUBLISHES HIS FIRST WORK. 119
profits of the edition. Dr. Maty undertook, in my ab
sence, to correct the sheets: he inserted, without my
knowledge, an elegant and flattering epistle to the author;
which is composed, however, with so much art, that, in
case of a defeat, his favourltp report might have been
ascribed to the indulgence of a friend for the rash attempt
of a young English gentleman. The work was printed
and published, under the title of Essai sur I'Etude de la
Littdrature, 4 Londres, chez T. Becket et P. A. de Hondt,
1761, in a small volume in duodecimo : my dedication to
my father, a proper and pious address, was composed the
twenty-eighth of May : Dr. Maty's letter is dated the 16 th
of June ; and I received the first copy (June 23) at Al-
resford, two days before I marched with the Hampshire
militia. Some weeks afterwards, on the same ground, I
presented my book to the late Duke of York, who break
fasted in Colonel Pitt's tent. By my father's direction,
and Mallet's advice, many literary gifts were distributed
to several eminent characters in England and France ;
two books were sent to the Compte de Caylus, and tho
Duchesse d'AuiguiUon, at Paris ; I had reserved twenty
copies for my friends at Lausanne, as the first fruits of
my education, and a grateful token of my remembrance:
and on all these persons I levied an unavoidable tax of'
civility and compliment. It is not surprising that a work,
of which the style and sentiments were so totally foreign,
should have been more successful abroad than at home.
I was delighted by the copious extracts, the warm com
mendations, and the flattering predictions of the journals
of France and Holland ; and the next year (1762) a new
edition (I believe at Geneva) extended the fame, or at

120 MR. GIBBON PUBLISHES HIS FIRST WORK.

least the circulation of the work. In England it was
received with cold indifference, little read, and speedily
forgotten : a small impression was slowly dispersed ; the
bookseller murmured, and the author, had his feelings
been more exquisite, might have wept over the blunders
and boldness of the EngUsh translation. The publication
of my history fifteen years afterwards revived the me
mory of my first performance, and the essay was eagerly
sought in the shops. But I refused the permission which
Becket solicited of reprinting it : the pubUc curiosity was
imperfectly satisfied by a pirated copy of the booksellers
of DubUn ; and when a copy of the origininal edition has
been discovered in a sale, the primitive value of half a
crown has risen to the fanciful price of a guinea or thirty
shillings, I have expatiated on the petty circumstances and
period of my first publication, a memorable sera in the
life of a student, when he ventures to reveal the measure
of his mind : his hopes and fears are multiplied by the
idea of self-importance, and he believes for a whUe that
the eyes of mankind are fixed on his person and per
formance. Whatever may be my present reputation, it
no longer rests on the merit of this first essay ; and at
the end of twenty-eight years I may appreciate my
juvenile work with the impartiality, and almost vfilh the
indifference, of a stranger. In his answer to Lady
Hervey, the Comte de Caylus admires, or affects to ad
mire, " Ies livres sans nombre que Mr. Gibbon a lus et
tr^s bien lus*." But, alas ! my stock of erudition at that
time was scanty and superficial ; and, if I allow myself
* See Letter, No. X.

MR GIBBON PUBLISHES HIS FIRST WORK. 121
the liberty of naming the Greek masters, my genuine and
personal acquaintance was confined to the Latin classics.
The most serious defect of my Essay is a kind of ob- '^
scurity and abruptness which always fatigues, and may
often elude, the attention of the reader. Instead of a
precise and proper definition of the title itself, the sense
of the word Litterature is loosely and variously applied :
a number of remarks and examples, historical, critical,
philosophical, are heaped on each other without method
or connection : and if we except some introductory
pages, all the remaining chapters might indifferently be
reversed or transposed. The obscurity of many pas
sages is often affected, "brevis esse laboro, obscurus fio ;"
the desire of expressing perhaps a common idea with
sententious and oracular brevity : alas ! how fatal has
been the imitation of Montesquieu ! But this obscurity
sometimes proceeds from a mixture of light and darkness
m the author's mind; from a partial^^ ray Vhich strikes v'
upon an angle, instead of spreading itself over the surface
of an object. After this fair confession I shall presume
to say, that the Essay does credit to a young writer of
two and twenty years of age, who had read with taste,
who thinks with freedom, and who writes in a foieign
language with spirit and elegance. The defence of the
early History of Rome and the New Chronology of Sir
Isaac Newton form a specious argument. The patriotic
and political design ofthe Georgics is happily conceived ;
and any probable conjecture, which tends to raise the
dignity of the poet and the poem, deserves to be adopted,
without a rigid scrutiny. Some dawnings of a philo
sophic spirit enlighten the general remarks on the study
of history and of man. I am not displeased with the in
quiry into the origin and nature of the gods of polytheism.

K2 MR. GIBBON PUBLISHES HIS FIRST 'WORK.

which might deserve the illustration of a riper judgment.
Upon the whole, I may apply to the first labour of my
pen the speech of a far superior artist, when he surveyed
the first productions of his pencil. After viewing some
portraits which he had painted in his youth, my friend
Sir Joshua Reynolds acknowledged to me, that he was
rather humbled than flattered by the comparison with his
present works ; and that after so much time and study,
( be had conceived his improvement to be much greater
• than he found it to have been.
At Lausanne I composed the first chapters of my
Essay in French, the Familiar language of my conver
sation and studies, in which it was easier for me to write
than in my mother-tpngue. After my return to England
I continued the same practice, without any affectation, or
design of repudiating (as Dr. Bentley would say) my ver
nacular idiom. But I should have escaped some anti-
gallican clamour, had I been content with the more na
tural character of an EngUsh author; I should have
been more consistent had I rejected Mallet's advice, of
prefixing an English dedication to a French book; a
cor fusion of tongues that seemed to accuse the ignorance
of my patron. The use of a foreign dialect might be ex
cused by the hope of being employed as a negotiator, by
the desire ofbeing generaUy understood on the Continent ;
but my true motive was doubtless the ambition of new
and singular fame, an Englishman claiming a place among
the writers of France. The Latin tongue had been con
secrated by the service of the church, it was refined by
tha imitation of the ancients ; and in the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries the scholars of Europe enjoyed the
advantage, which they gradually resigned, of conver
sing and writing in a common and learned idiom. As that

MR. GIBBON rUBLISIIES HIS FIRST '.VOUK. 12S-
idiom was no longer in any country the vulgar speech^
they all stood on a leVel with each other ; yet a citizen
of old Rome might have smiled at the best Latinity of
the Germans and Britons : and we may learn from the
Ciceronianus of Erasmus, how difficult it was found to
steer a middle course between pedantry and barbarism-
The Romans themselves had sometimes attempted a
more perilous task, of writing in a living language, and
appealing to the taste and judgment of the natives.
The vanity of Tully was doubly interested in the
Greek memoirs of his own consulship ; and if he modestly
supposes that some Latlnisms might be detected in his style,
he is confident of his own skill in the art of Isocrates and
Aristotle ; and he requests his friend Atticus to disperse
the copies of his work at Athens, and in the other cities
of Greece. (Ad Attlcum, i. 19, ii. 1.) But it must not
be forgotten, that from infancy to manhood Cicero and
his contemporaries had read, and declaimed, and com--
posed with equal diligence in both languages ; and that
he was not allowed to frequent a Latin school tUl he had
imbibed the lessons of the Greek grammarians and rhe
toricians. In nibdern times, the language of France has
been diffused by the merit of her writers, the social
manners of t'he natives^ the influence of the monarchy,
and the exile of the Protestants. Several foreigners have
seized the opportunity of speaking to Europe in this
common dialect, and Germany may plead the authority
of Leibnitz and Frederick, of the first of her philosophers,
and the greatest of her kings. The just pride and laud
able prejudice of England has restrained this communi
cation of idioms ; and of all the nations on this side of
the Alps, my countrymen are the least practiced and
least perfect in the exercise of the French tongue. By

124 MR. GIBBON PUBLISHES HIS FIEST WORK.
Sir William Temple and Lord Chesterfield it was only
used on occasions of civility and business, and their
( printed letters will not be quoted as models of composi
tion. Lord Bolingbroke may have published in French a
sketch of his Reflections on Earle : but his reputation
now reposes onthe address of Voltaire, " Docte sermones
utriusque linguas ;" and by his English dedication to
Queen Caroline, and his Essay on Epic Poetry, it should
seem that Voltaire himself wished to deserve a return
of the same compliment. The exception of Count
Hamilton cannot fairly be urged ; though an Irishman
by birth, he was educated in France from his childhood.
Yet I am surprised that a long residence in England,
and the habits of domestic conversation, did not affect
the ease and purity of his inimitable style ; and I regret
the omission of his English verses, which might have
afforded an amusing object of comparison. I might
therefore assume the primus ego in patriam, Sfc. ; but
with what success I have explored this untrodden path
must be left to the decision of my French readers, Dr,
Maty, who might himself be questioned as a foreigner,
has secured his retreat at my expense. " Je ne crois
pas que vous vous piquiez d'etre moins facUe a recon-
naitre pour un Anglais que LucuUus pour un Romain,"
My friends at Paris have been more indulgent, they re
ceived me as a countryman, or at least as a provincial ;
but they were friends and Parisians. The defects
which Maty insinuates, " Ces traits saillans, ces figures
hardies, ce sacrifice de la r^gle au sentiment, et de la ca
dence a la force," are the faults of the youth, rather than
of the stranger : and after the long and laborious exer
cise of my own language, I am conscious that my French
style has been ripened and improved.

CHAP. XIV.
THE AUTHOR IN THE HAMPSHIRE MILITIA.
I have already hinted, that the publication of my
Essay was delayed tUl I had embraced the military pro
fession. I shall now amuse myself with the recollec
tion of an active scene, which bears no affinity to any
other period of my studious and social life.
In the outset of a glorious war, the English people had
been defended by the aid of German mercenaries. A
national mUitia has been the cry of every patriot since
the Revolution ; and this measure, both in parliament and
in tbe field, was supported by the country gentlemen or
Tories, who insensibly transferred their loyalty to the
house of Hanover : in the language of Mr, Burke, they
have changed the idol, but they have preserved the
idolatry. In the act of offering our names and receiv
ing our commissions, as major and captain in the Hamp
shire regiment, (June 12th, 1759,) we had not supposed
that we should be dragged away, my father from his
farm, myself from my books, and condemned during two
years and a half, (May 10, 1760— December 23, 1762,)
to a wandering life of military servitude. But a weekly
or monthly exercise of thirty-thousand provincials would
have left them useless and ridiculous ; and after the pre
tence of an invasion had vanished, tbe popularity of Mr.

126 THE AUTHOR IN THE HAMPSHIRE MILITIA.
Pitt gave a sanction to the Ulegal step of keeping them
till the end of the war under arms, in constant pay and
duty, and at a distance from their respective homes.
When the King's order for our embodying came down,
it was too late to retreat, and too soon to repent. The
South battalion of the Hampshire miUtia was a small in
dependent corps of four hundred and seventy-six, officers
and men, commahded by lieutenant-colonel Sir Thomas
Worsley, who, after a prolix and passionate contest, de
livered us from the tyranny of the lord lieutenant, the
Duke of Bolton, My proper station, as first captain,
was at the head of my own, and afterwards of the gre
nadier company; but in the absence, or even in the
presence, of the two field officers;~'I was entrusted by my
friend and my father with the effective labour of dicta
ting the orders, and exercising the battalion. With the
help of an original journal, I could write the history of
my bloodless and inglorious campaigns ; but as these
events have lost much of their importance in my own
eyes, they shall be dispatched in a few words.
From Winchester, the first place of assembly, (June 4,
1760,) we were removed, at our own request, for the
benefit of a foi-eign education. By the arbitrary, and
often capricious, orders of the War-office, the battalion
successively marched to th» pleasant and hospitable
Blandford (June 17) ; to HUsea barracks, a seat of di
sease and discord (September 1) ; to Cranbrook in the
Weald of Kent (December 11); tothe sea-coast of Dover
(December 27) ; to Winchester camp (June 25, 1761) ;
to the populous and disorderly town of Devizes (October
23) ; to Salisbury (February 28, 1762) ; to our beloved

THE AUTHOR IN THE HAMPSHIRE MtLITLV. 127
Blandford a second time (March 9) ; and finally, to the
fashionable resort of Southampton (June 2) ; where the
colours were fixed till our final dissolution (December
23). On the beach at Dover we had exercised in sight of
the Gallic shores. But the most splendid and useful
scene of our life was a four months encampment on Win
chester Down, under the command of the Earl of Effing
ham, Our army consisted of the thirty-fourth regiment
of foot and six militia corps. The consciousness of our
defects was stimulated by friendly emulation. We im
proved our time and opportunities in morning and even
ing field days: and in the general reviews the South
Hampshire were rather a credit than a disgrace to the
line. In our subsequent quarters of the Devizes and
Blandford, we advanced with a quick step in our miUtary
studies ; the ballot of the ensuing summer renewed our
vigour and youth ; and had the militia subsisted another-
year, we might have contested the prize with the most
perfect of our brethren.
The loss of so many busy and idle hours was not com
pensated by any elegant pleasure ; and my temper was
insensibly soured by the society of our rustic ofiicers. In
every state there exists, however, a balance of good and
evil. The habits of a sedentary Ufe were usefully broken
by the duties of an active profession: in the healthful
exercise of the field I hunted with a bataUion, instead of
a pack ; and at that time I was ready at any hour of the
day or night, to fly from quarters to London, from Lon
don to quarters, on the sUghtest call of private or regi
mental business. But my principal obligation to the
militia, was the making me an Englishman and a soldier.

128 THE AUTHOR IN THE HAMPSHIRE MILITIA.
After my foreign education, with my reserved temper, I
should long have continued a stranger in my native coun
try, had I not been shaken in this various scene of new
faces and new friends : had not experience forced me to
feel the characters of our leading men, the state of parties,
the forms of office, and thc operation of our civil and
miUtary system. In this peaceful service, I imbibed the
rudiments of the language and science of tactics, which
opened a new field of study and observation. I diligently
read, and meditated, the Memolres MUitaires of Quintus
IcUius, (Mr. Guichardt), the only writer who has united
^./the merits of a professor and a veteran. The disciphne
and evolutions of a modern battalion gave me a clearer
notion of the phalanx and the legion ; and the captain of
the Hampshire grenadiers (the reader may smile) has
not been useless to the historian of the Roman empire.
A youth of any spirit is fired even by the play of arjns,
and in the first sallies of my enthusiasm I had seriously
attempted to embrace the regular profession of a soldier.
But this military fever was cooled by the enjoyment of
our mimic Bellona, who soon unveUed to my eyes her
naked deformity. How often did I sigh for my proper
station in society and letters. How often (a proud com
parison) did I repeat the complaint of Cicero in the com
mand of a provincial army : " Clitellse bovi sunt impositae.
Est incredibile quam me negotii tasdeat. Non habet
satis magnum campum file tibi non ignotus cursus animi ;
et industriEB mese prseclara opera cessat, Lucem, libros,
urbem, domum, vos desidero, Sed feram, ut potero ; sit
modo annum. Si prorogatur, actum est-"* From a ser-
* Epist. ad Atticum, lib. v. 15.

THE AUTHOR IN THE HAMPSHIRE MILITIA. 129
vice without danger, I might indeed have retired without
disgrace ; but as often as I hinted a wish of resigning,
my fetters were riveted by the friendly entreaties of the
colonel, the parental authority of the major, and my own ',
regard for the honour and welfare of the battaUon.
When I teh. that my personal escape was impracticable,
I bowed my neck to the yoke : my servitude was pro
tracted far beyond the annual patience of Cicero ; and it
was not till after the preliminaries of peace that I
received my discharge from the act of government
which disembodied the miUtia,*
"Journal, January 11, 1761.] — In these seven or eight months of a most
disagreeably active Ufe, I have had no studies to set down : indeed, I hardly
took a book in my hand the whole time. The first two months at Bland
ford, I might have done something ; but the novelty of the thing, of which
for some time I was so fond as to think of going into the army, our field
days, our dinners abroad, aud the drinking and late hours we got into, pre
vented any serious reflections. From the day we marched from Bland
ford I had hardly a moment I could call my own, almost continually iu
motion ; if I was fixed for a day, it was in the guard room, a biirrack, or au
inn. Our disputes consumed the little time I had left. Every letter, every
memorial relative to them fell to my share ; and our evening conferences
were used to hear all the morning hours strike. At last I got to Dover
and Sir Thomas left us for two months. The charm was over, I Was sick
of so hateful a service ; I was settled in a comparatively quiet situation.
Once more I began to taste the pleasure of thinking.
Recollecting some thoughts I had formerly had in relation to the system
of Paganism, whioh I intended to make use of in my Essay, I resolved to
read Tally de Natura Deorum, and finished it in about a month. I lost
some time before I could recover my habit of application.
October 23rd.] — Our first design was to march to Marlborough ; but find
ing on inquiry that it was a bad road and a great way about, we resolved to
push for the Devizes in one day, though nearly thirty miles. We accord
ingly anived there about three o'clock in the afternoon.
Nov. 2nd.]— I have very little to say for tbis and the foUowing month.

130 THE AUTHOR IN THE HAMPSHIRE MILITIA.
When I complain of the loss of time, justice to myself
and to the militia must throw the greatest part of that
Nothing could be more uniform than the Ufe I led there. The Uttle civUity
of the neighboring gentlemen gave us no opportunity of dining out ; the
time of year did not tempt us to any excursions round the country; and at
first my indolence, and afterwards a violent cold, prevented my going over
to Bath. I beUeve in the two months I never dined or lay ffom quarters.
I can therefore only set down what I did in the literary way. Designing to
recover my Greek, which I had somewhat neglected, I set myself to read
Homer, and finished the four first books ofthe lUad, with Pope's translation
and notes ; at the same time, to understand the geography of the Iliad, and
particularly the catalogue, I read the Sth, 9th, 10th, 1 1th, 12th, 13th, and
14fh books of Strabo, in Casaubon's Latin translation ; I likewise read
Hume's History of England to the reign of Henry the Seventh, just pub
lished, ingenious but superficial; and the Journals des Savans, for August,
September, and October, 1761, with the Bibliotbeque des Sciences, &c.
from July to October ; both these Journals speak very handisomely of my
book. December 25th, 1701.] — When, upon finishing the year, I take a review
of what I have done, I am not dissatisfied with what I did iu it, upon
making proper allowances. On the one hand, I could begin nothing before
the middle of January. The Deal duty lost me part of February ; although
I was at home part of March, and all April, yet electioneering is no friend to
the Muses. May, indeed, though dissipated by our sea parties, was pretty
quiet, but June was absolutely lost, upon the march, at Alton, and settling
¦ourselves in camp. The four succeeding mouths in camp aUowed meUttin
leisure and littie quiet. November and December were indeed as much my
own as any time can be whilst I remain in the militia ; but still it is, at
"best, not a life for a man of letters. However, in this tumultuous year,
((besides smaller things which I have set down), I read four books of
Homer in Greek, six of Strabo in Latin, Cicero de Naturi Deorum, and the
great p!iilosophical and theological work of M. de Beausobre; I wrote in
the sam ¦ time a long dissertatioo on the succession of Naples ; reviewed,
fitted for the press, and augmented above a fourth, my Essai sur I'Etude de
la Litterature.
In the six weeks I passed at Beriton, as I never stirred from it, every day
was like the former, I had neither visits, hunting, nor walking. My only

THE AUTHOR IN THE HAMPSHIRE MILITIA. 131
reproach on the first seven or eight months, whUe I was
obliged to learn as well as to teach. The dissipation of
resources were myself, my books, aud family conversations. — But to me
these were great resources.
April 24th, 1762.] — I waited upon Colonel Hervey iu the morning, to
get him to apply for me to be brigade-major to Lord Effingham, as a post I
should be very fond of, and for which I am not unfit. Hervey received me
with great good-nature and candour, told me he was both willing and able
to serve me ; that indeed he had already applied to Lord Effingham for
*****, one of his own officers, and though there would be more than
one brigade-major, he did not think he could properly recommend two ;
but that if I could get some other person to break the ic^, he would second
it, and believed he should succeed ; should that fail, as * * * * * was in
bad circumstances, he beUeved he could make a compromise with him
(this was my desire) to let me do the duty without pay. I went from liim
to the Malleis, who promised to get Sir Charles Howard to speak to Lord
ESingham. August 22nd.] — I went with BaUard to the French church where I
heard a most indifferent sermon preached by M******, A very bad style,
a worse pronunciation and action, and a very great vacuity of ideas, com
posed this excellent performance. Upon the whole, which is preferable,
the philosophic method of the English, or the rhetoric of the French
preachers? The first, {though less glorious) is certainly safer for the
preacher. It is difficult for a man to make himself ridiculous, who pro
poses only to deUver plain sense on a subject he has thoroughly studied.
But the instant he discovers the least pretensions towards the sublime, or the ^
pathetic, tiiere is no medium; we roust either admire or laugh ; and there
are so many various talents requisite to fonn the character of an orator, that
it is more than probable we shall laugh. As to the advantage of the hearer,
which ought to be the great consideration, the dilemma is much greater.
Excepting in some particular cases, where we are blinded by popular pre-
fcdices, we are in general so well acquainted with our duly, that it is
almost superfluous to convince us of it. It is the heart, and not the head,
that holds out : and it is certainlypossible, by a moving eloquence, to rouSe
the sleeping sentiments of that heart, and incite it to acts of virtue. Un
luckily it is not so much acts, as habits of virtue, we should have in view ;
and the preacher, who is inculcating, with the eloquence of a Bourdaloue,

132 TUE AUTHOR IN THE HAMPSHIRE MILITIA.

Blandford, and the disputes of Portsmouth, consumed
the necessity of a virtuous life, wiU dismiss his assembly fiiU of emotions,
which a variety of other objects, the coldness of our northern constitutions,
and no immediate opportunity of exerting their good resolutions, wiU dissi
pate in a few moments.
V August 24th.] — The same reason that carried so many people to the as
sembly to-night, was what kept me away ; I mean the dancing.
28th.] — To-day Sir Thomas came to us to dinner. The Spa has done him
a great deal of good, tor he looks another man. Pleased to see him, we
kept bumperizing till after roll-caUing : Sir Thomas assuring us, every fresh
bottie, how infinitely sober he was grown.
29th.] —I felt the usual consequences of Sir Thomas's company, and lost
a morning because I had lost the day before. However, hefving finished Vol
taire, I returned to Le Clerc, (I mean for the amusement of my leisure
hours) ; and laid aside for some time his Bibliotbeque UniverseUe, to look
into the Bibliotbeque Choisie, which is by far the better work.
September the 23rd.] — Colonel Wilkes, of the Buckinghamshire MiUtia,
dined with us, and renewed the acquaintance Sir Thomas and myself kad
begun with him at Reading. I scarcely ever met with a better companion;
he has inexhaustible spirits, infinite wit and humour, and a great deal of
knowledge. He told us himself, that in this time of pubUc dissension, he
was resolved to make his fortune. Upon this principle, he has connected
himself closely with Lord Temple and Mr. Pitt, commenced a public
adversary to Lord Bute, whom he abuses weekly in the North Briton, and
other political papers in which he is concerned. This proved a very de
bauched day : we drank a good deal both after dinner and supper ; and
when at last Wilkes had retired, Sir Thomas aud some others (of whom I
was not one) broke into his room, aud made him drink a bottie of claret in
bed, October 5th.] — The review, which lasted about three hours, concluded,
¦as usual, with marching by Lord Effingham, by grand divisions. Upon the
whole, considering the camp had done both the Winchester and the Gos-
¦port duties all the summer, they behaved very well, and made a fine
appearance. As they marched by, I had my usual curiosity to count their
files. The foUowing is my field return, I think it a curiosity; I am sure it
is more exact than is commonly made to a reviewing general.

THE AUTHOR IN THE HAMPSHIRE MILITIA,

133

the hours which were not employed in the field ; and

Numbes of files. Number of men. EstabUshment.

Berskhire,
W. Essex,
S. Glo'ster,
N. Glo'ster,
Lancashire,Wiltshu-e,

I Grenadiers, 19 )
I Battalion, 72 ]
[ Grenadiers, 15 >
I Battalion, 80 ^
'i Grenadiers, 20 >
I BattaUon, 84 ^
i Grenadiers, 13 )
I Battalion, 52 ]
I Grenadiers, 20 J
I BattaUon, - 88 <
Grenadiers, 24 )
Battalion, 120 S

91

35

94

65

108 144

. , 873 .

. 560

. . 285 ,

. 480

. . 312 .

. 600

. . 195 .

360

, , 324 .

. 800

. . 432

. 800

Total, 6077 1821 3600
N. B. The Gogport detachment from tne Lancashire consisted of two
hundred and fifty men. The Buckinghamshire took the Winchester duty
that day.
So that this camp in England, supposed complete, with only one detach
ment, had under arms, on the day of the grand review, but little more than
halftheir establishment. Tbis amazing deficiency, (though exemplified iu
every regiment I have seen) is an extraordinary miUtary phenomenon ;
wliat must it be upon foreign service ? I doubt whether a nominal army
of a hundred thousand men often brings fifty into the field.
Upon our return to Southampton in the evening, we found Sir Thomas
Worsley. October 2lst.]— One of those impulses, which it is neither very easy nor
very necessary to withstand, drew me from Longinus to a very diSerent
subject, the Greek Calendar. Last night, When in bed, I was thinking of a
dissertation of M. de la Nauze upon the Roman Calendar, which I read last
year. This led me to consider what was the Greek, and finding myself
very ignorant of it, I determined to read a short, but very excellent extract
of Mr. DodweU's book De Cyclis, by the famous Dr. Halley. It is only
twentyfive pages ; but as I meditated it thoroughly, and verified all the
calculations, it was a very good morning's work.
October 28th.] — I looked over a new Greek Lexicon, Which I have just
received from London. It is that of Robert Constantine, Lugdun, 1637. It
is a very large volume in folio, in two parts, comprising in the whole 1785
pages. Alter the great Thesaurus, this is esteemed the best Greek Lexicon.
It seems lo be so. Of a variety of words for which I looked, I uUvays found

134 THE AUTHOR IN THE HAMPSHIRE MILITIA.

amid the perpetual hurry of an inn, a barrack, or a guard-
an exact definition; the various senses weU distinguished and properly sup
ported, by the best authorities. However, I stiU prefer the radical method
of Scapula to this alphabetical one.
December llth ] — I have already given an idea of the Gosport duty; I
shall only add a trait which characterises admirably our unthinking saUors.
Ata time when they knew that they should infallibly be discharged in afew
weeks, numbers, who had considerable wages due to them, were continu
ally jumping over the walls, and risking the losing of it for a few hours'
amusement at Portsmouth.
17th.] — We found old Captain Meard at Alresford, with the second divi
sion of the fourteenth. He and all his officers supped with us, and msda
the evening rather a drunken one.
18th.] — About the same hour our two corps paraded to march off": they,
an old corps of regulars, who had been two years quiet in Dover castle ; we,
part of a young body of militia, two-thirds of our men recmits of four
months standing, two of which they had passed upon very disagreeable
duty. Every advantage was on their side, and yet our superiority, both as
to appearance and discipline, was so striking, that the most prejudiced
regular could not have hesitated a moment. At the end of the town our
two companies separated ; my father's struck off for Petersfield, whilst I
continued my rout to Alton; into which place I marched my com
pany about noon ; two years six months and fifteen days after my first
leaving it. I gave the men some beer at roll-calling, which they received
with great cheerfulness and decency. I dined and lay at Harrison's, where
I was received with that old-fashioned breeding which is at once so honour
able and BO troublesome.
23rd.] — Our two companies were disembodied ; mine at Alton, and my
father's at Buriton. Smith marched them over from Petersfield : they fired
three voUeys, lodged the major's colours, deUvered up their arms received
their money, partook of a dinner at the major's expense, and then separated
with great cheerfulness and regularity. Thus ended the militia ; I may say
ended, since our annual assemblies in May are so very precarious and can
be of so Uttle use. However, our sergeants and drums are still kept up, and
quartered at the rendezvous of their company, and the adjutant remains at
Southampton in full pay.
As this was an extraordinary scene of life, in which I was en^ao-ed above
tiiree years and a half from the date of my commission, and above two

THE .\UTHOR IN THE HAMPSHIRE .MILITIA. 135
room, all Uterary ideas were banished from my mind.
years and a half from fhe time of our embodying, I cannot take my leave ofit
without some few reflections. When I engaged in it, I was totally ignorant V
of its nature and consequences. I offered, because my father did, without
ever imagining that we should be called out, till it was too late to retreat
with honour. Indeed, I beUeve it happens throughout, that our most im
portant actions have been ofteu determined by chance, caprice, or some
very inadequate motive. After our embodying, many things contributed to
make me support it with impatience. Our continual disputes with the
Duke of Bolton ; our unsettled way of life, which hardly allowed me books
or leisure for study ; aud, more than all, the disagreeable society in which I
was forced to live.
After mentioning my sufferings, I must say something of what I found
agreeable. Now it is over, I can make the separation much better than I
could at the time. 1. The unsettled way of life itself had its advantages.
The exercise and change of air aud of objects amused me, at the same
time that it fortified my health. 2. A new field of knowledge aud amuse
ment opened itself to me ; thatof military affairs, which both in my studies
and travels, will give me eyes for a new world of things, which before
would have passed unheeded. Indeed, in that respect I can hardly h^p
wishing our battalion had continued another year. We had got a fine set
of now men, all our difficulties were over ; we were perfectly well clothed
and appointed; and, from the progress our recruits had already made, we
could promise ourselves that we should bo one ofthe best miUtia corps by
next summer : a circumstance that would have been the more agreeable to
me, as I am now established the real acting major of the battalion. Bnt
what t value most, is the knowledge it has given me of mankind in general,^
and of my own country in particular. The general system of our govern
ment, the methods of our several offices, the departments and powers of
their respective officers, our provincial and municipal administration, the
views of our several parties , the characters, connexions, and influence of
our principal people, have been impressed on my mind, not by vain theory,
but by the indellible lessons of action and experience. I have made a num
ber of valuable acquaintances, and am myself much better known, than (with
my reserved character) I should have been in ten years, passing regularly
my Bummera at Beriton, and ray winters in London. So that the sum of all
is, I am glad the miUtia has been, and glad that it is no more.

CHAP. XV.
THE AUTHOR RESUMES HIS STUDIES.
After this long fast, the longest which I have ever
known, I once more tasted at Dover the pleasures of
reading and thinking ; and the hungry appetite with
which I opened a volume of TuUy's phUosophical works
is still present to my memory. The last review of my
essay before its publication, had prompted me to investi
gate the nature of the gods ; my inquiries led me to the
Histoire Critique du Manich^isme of Beausobre, who dis
cusses many deep questions of pagan and christian the
ology ; and from this rich treasury of facts and opinions,
I deduced my own consequences, beyond the holy circle
of the author. After this recovery I never relapsed into
indolence ; and my example might prove, that in the life
most averse to study, some hours may be stolen, some
minutes may be snatched. Amidst the tumult of Win
chester camp I sometimes thought and read in my tent ;
in the more settled quarters of the Devizes, Blandford,
and Southampton, I always secured a separate lodging,
and the necessary books ; and in the summer of 1762,
while the new militia was raising, I enjoyed at Beriton
two or three months of literary repose,* In forming a
'' JoHRNAt,, May Sth, 1762.] — This was my birth-day, ou which I en
tered into the twenty-sixth year of my age. This gave me occasion to look

THE AUTHOR RESU.MF.S HIS STUDIES. 137

new plan of study, I hesitated between the mathematics
and the Greek language ; both of which I had neglected
since my return from Lausanne. I consulted a learned
and friendly mathematician, Mr. George Scott, a pupil of
De Moivre ; and his map of a country which I have never
explored may perhaps be more serviceable to others,*
As soon as I had given the preference to Greek, the exam
ple of Scahger and my own reason determined me on the
choice of Homer, the father of poetry, and the Bible of
the ancients : but Scahger ran through the Iliad in one
and twenty days ; and I was not dissatisfied with my
own diligence for performing the same labour in an equal
number of weeks. After the first difficulties were sur
mounted, the language of nature and harmony soon be
came easy and familiar ; and each day I sailed upon the
ocean with a brisker gale and a more steady course,
a little into myself, and consider impartially my good and bad qualities. It
appeared to me, upon this inquiry, that my character was virtuous, incapa
ble of a base action, and formed for generous ones ; but that it was proud,
violent, and disagreeable in society. These qualities I must endeavour to
cultivate, e.xtirpate, or restrain, according to their different tendency. Wit •'
I have none. My imagination is rather strong than pleasing. My memory
both capacious and retentive. The shining qualities of my understanding
are extensiveness and penetration ; but I want both quickness and exact
ness. As to my situation in life, though I may sometimes repine at it, it
perhaps is the best adapted to my character. I can command all the con
veniences uf life, and I cau command too that independence, (that first
earthly blessing) which is hardly to be met within a higher or lower fortune.
When I talk of my situation, I must exclude that temporary one, of being
in the miUtia. Though I go through witli spirit aud application, it is unfit
for and unworthy of me.
¦• See Letter, No. XIV. excellent, from Mr. Scott to Mr. Gibbon.

138 THE AUTHOR RESUMES HIS STUDIES.
'E S' dvEfiOf irpijO'sv fjirErfov irfTiov, ajjiipi Se xu(*a
2r£ip,») iTop^upEov (/.EyaX' /ap^e, vrjoj loutfrij*
'H fi'e^ssv xaTK xufia Siaieprig<fav(ftt, xs'ksvia.* — llias, A. 481.
In the study of a poet who has since become the most
intimate of my friends, I successively applied many pas
sages and fragments of Greek writers ; and among these
I shall notice a life of Homer, in the Opuscula Mytholo-
gica of Gale, several books of the geography of Strabo,
and the entire treatise of Longinus, which, from the title
and the style, is equally worthy ofthe epithet o{ sublime.
My grammatical skill was improved, my vocabulary was
enlarged ; and in the militia I acquired a just and indeli
ble knowledge of the first of languages. On every
march, in every journey, Horace was always in my
pocket, and often in my hand ; but I should not mention
his two critical epistles, the amusement of a morning,
had they not been accompanied by the elaborate com
mentary of Dr. Hurd, now Bishop of Worcester. On
the interesting subjects of composition and imitation of
epic and dramatic poetry, I presumed to think for myself;
and thirty close written pages in folio could scarcely
comprise my full and free discussion of the sense of the
master and the pedantry of the servant.
After his oracle Dr. Johnson, my friend Sir Joshua
Reynolds denies all original genuis, any natural propen-
* — ^Fair wind, and blowing fresh,
Apollo sent them ; quick they rear'd the mast.
Then spread th' unsulUed canvas to the gale,
And the wind fill'd it. Roar'd the sable flood
Around the bark, that ever as she went
Dash'd wide the brine, and scudded swift away. — Cowper't Homer.

THE AUTHOR RESUMES HIS STUDIES. J39
sity of the mmd to one art or science rather than
another. Without engaging in a metaphysical or rather
verbal dispute, I know, by experience, that from my.
early youth I aspired to the character of an historian.
While I served in the mUitia, before and after the publi
cation of my essay, this idea ripened in my mind ; nor
can I paint in more lively colours the feelings of the
moment, than by transcribing some passages, under their
respective dates, from a journal which I kept at that
time. "Beriton, April 14, 1761. — (In a short excursion from
Dover.) — Having thought of several subjects for an his
torical composition, I chose the expedition of Charles
VIII. of France into Italy. I read two memoirs of Mr.
De Foncemagne in the Academy of Inscriptions (tom.
xvu. p. 539 — 607), and abstracted them, I likewise
finished this day a dissertation, in which I examine the
right of Charles VIII, to the crown of Naples, and the
rival claims of the House of Anjou and Arragon : it con
sists of ten folio pages, besides large notes,"
"Beriton, August 4, 1761, — (In a week's excursion
from Winchester Camp.) — After having long revolved
subjects for my intended historical essay, I renounced
my first thought of the expedition of Charles VIII. as
too remote from us, and rather an introduction to great
events, than great and important in itself, I succes
sively chose and rejected the Crusade of Richard the
First, the barons' wars against John and Henry the
Third, the history of Edward the Black Prince, the lives
and comparisons of Henry V. and the Emperor Titus,
the life of Sir Philip Sydney, and that of the Marquis of

no THE AUTHOR RESUMES HIS STUDIES.
Montrose. At length I have fixed on Sir Walter
Raleigh for my hero. His eventful story is varied by
the characters of the soldier and sailor, the courtier and
historian ; and it may afford such a fund of materials as
I desire, which have not yet been properly manufactured.
At present I cannot attempt the execution of this work.
Free leisure, and the opportunity of consulting many books,
both printed and manuscript, are as necessary as they
are impossible to be attained in my present way of life.
However, to acquire a general insight into my subject
and resources, I read the life of Sir Walter Raleigh by
Dr. Birch, his copious article in the General Dictionary
by the same hand, and the reigns of Queen Elizabeth
and James the First, in Hume's History of England."
"Beriton, January, 1762.— (In a month's absence from
the Devizes.) — During this interval of repose, I again
turned my thoughts to Sir Walter Raleigh, and looked
more closely into my materials. I read the two volumes
in quarto of the Bacon papers, published by Dr. Birch ;
the Fragmenta Regalia of Sir Robert Naunton, Mallet's
Life of Lord Bacon, and the political treatises of that
great man in the first volume of his works, with many
of his letters in the second ; Sir William Monson's Naval
Tracts, and the elaborate life of Sir Walter Raleigh,
which Mr, Oldys has prefixed to the best edition of his
History of the World, My subject opens upon me, and
in general improves upon a nearer prospect."
" Beriton, July 26, 1762 — (During my summer resi
dence.)— I am afraid of being reduced to drop my hero ;
but my time has not, however, been lost in the research
of his story, and of a memorable asra of our Enghsh

THE AUTHOR RESUMES HIS STUDIES. 141
annals. The Life of Sir Walter Raleigh, by Oldys, is a-
very poor performance ; a servile panegyric, or flat
apology, tediously minute, and composed in a dull and
affected style. Yet the author was a man of diligence
and learning, who had read every thing relative to his
subject and whose ample collections are arranged with
perspicuity and method. Excepting some anecdotes
lately revealed in the Sydney and Bacon papers, 1 know
not what I should be able to add. My ambition (ex
clusive of the uncertain merit of style and sentiment)
must be confined to the hope of giving a good abridg
ment of Oldys. I have even the disappointment of find
ing some parts of this copious work dry and barren ;
and these parts are unluckUy some of the most charac
teristic : Raleigh's colony of Virginia, his quarrels with
Essex, the true secret of his conspiracy, and above all,
the detail of his private life, the most essential and im
portant to a biographer. My best resource would be
in the circumjacent history of the times, and perhaps in
some digressions artfully introduced, like the fortunes ofthe
peripatetic philosophy in the portrait of Lord Bacon, But
liie reigns of Elizabeth and James the First are the periods
of English history, which have been the most variously
iUustrated: and what new lights could I reflect on a
subject, which has exercised the accurate industry of
Birch, the lively and curious acuteness of Walpole, the
critical spirit of Hurd, the vigorous sense of Mallet and
Robertson, and the impartial phUosophy of Hume?
Could I even surmount these obstacles, I should shrink
with terror from the modern history of England, where
every character is a problem, and every reader a friend

143 THE AUTHOR RESUMES HIS STUDIES.
Or an enemy; where a writer is supposed to hoist a
flag of party, and is devoted to damnation by the adverse
faction. Such would be my reception at home: and
abroad the historian of Raleigh must encounter an in
difference far more bitter than censure or reproach.
The events of his life are interesting ; but his character
is ambiguous, his actions are obscure, his writings are
English, and his fame is confined to the narrow fimits
of our language and our island. I must embrace a
safer and more extensive theme.
" There is one which I should prefer to all others, the
History of the Liberty of the Swiss, of that independ
ence which a brave people rescued from the house of
Austria, defended against a Dauphin of France, and
finally sealed with the blood of Charles of Bergundy.
From such a theme, so full of public spirit, of miUtary
glory, of examples of virtue, of lessons of government,
the dullest stranger would catch fire : what might not /
hope, whose talents, whatsoever, they may be, would be
inflamed with the zeal of patriotism. But the materials
of this history are inaccessable to me, fast locked in the
obscurity of an old barbarous German dialect, of which
I am totally ignorant, and which I cannot resolve to
learn fbr this sole and peculiar purpose.
" I have another subject iti view, which is the con
trast of the former history : the one a poor, warlike,
virtuous republic, which emerges into glory and freedom ;
the other a commonwealth, soft, opulent, and corrupt;
which, by just degrees, is precipitated from the abuse to
the loss of her liberty : both lessons are, perhaps, equally
instructive. This second subject is, the History ofthe

THE AUTHOR RESUMES HIS STUDIES. 143
Republic of Florence under the house of Medicis : a pe
riod of one hundred and fifty years, which rises or de
scends from the dregs of the Florentine democracy, to
tho title and dominion of Cosmo de Medicis in the grand
duchy of Tuscany. I might deduce a chain of revolu
tions not unworthy the pen of Vertot ; singular men, and
singular events ; the Medicis four times expelled, and as
often recalled ; and the Genius of Freedom, reluctantly
yielding to the arms of Charles V. and the policy of
Cosmo. The character and fate of Savanerola, and the
revival of arts and letters in Italy, wUl be essentially con
nected with the elevation of the family and the fall of the
republic. The Medicis (stirps quasi fatallter nota ad
instauranda vel fovenda studia. Lipsius ad Germanos
et Gallos, Epist. viU.) wei-e Ulustrated by the patronage
of Learning ; and enthusiasm was the most formidable
weapon of their adversaries. On this splendid subject
I shall most probably fix; but when, or where, or how
will it be executed ? I behold in a dark and doubtful
perspective." Res alta terra, et caligine mersas.*
* JonRNAt, July 27, 1762.] — The reflections which I was making yester
day, I continued and digested to-day. I don't absolutely look on that
time as lost, but that it might have been better employed than in revolv
ing schemes, the execution of which is so far distant. I must learn to
check these wanderings of my imagination.
Nov 24.] — I dined at the Cocoa Tree with **** ' : who, under a great
appearance of oddity, conceals more real honour, good sense, and even
knowledge, than half those who laugh at him. We went thence to the
play (the Spanish Friar) ; and when it was over, returned to the Cocoa
Tree. That respectable body, of which I have the honour of being a mem
ber affords every evening a sight truly English. Twenty or thirty, per-

144 THE AUTHOR RESU.MES HIS STUDIES.
haps, of the first men In the kingdom, in point of fashion and fortune, sup
ping at little tables covered with a napkin, in the middle of a coffee-room,
npon a bit of cold meat, or a sandwich, and drinking a glass of punch. At
present, we are fuU of king's counseUors and lords of the bedchamber;
who, having jumped into tbe miuistry, make a very singular medley of
their old principles and language with their modem ones.
Nov. 26.] — I went with Mallet to breakfast with Garrick ; and thence
to Drury-lane House, where I assisted at a very private rehearsal, iu the
Green-room, of a new tragedy of Mallet's, called Elvira. As I have not
since seen it acted, I shaU defer my opinion till then; but I cannot help
mentioning the surprising versatility of Mrs. Pritchard's talents, who re
hearsed, almost at the same time, the part of a furious queen iu the Green
room, and that of a coquette on the stage anH passed several times from
one to the other with the utmost ease and happiness.
Dec. 30.] — Before I close the year I must balance my accounts — not of
money, but of time. I may divide my studies into four branches : 1. Books
that I have read for themselves, classic writers or capital treatises upon any
science ; such books as ought to be perused with attention, and meditated
with care. Of these I read the twenty last books of the Iliad twice, the
three first books of the Odyssey, the life of Homer, and Longinus ttc/k
Yimous. 2. Books which I have read, or consulted, to illustrate the former.
Such as this year, Blackwall's Inquiry into the Life and writings of Homer,
Burke's Sublime and Beautiful, Hurd's Horace, Guichard's M^moires Mili-
taires, a great variety of passages of the ancients, occasionally useful ; large
extracts from Mezeriac, Bayle, and Potter ; aud many memoues and ab
stracts from the Academy of Belles Lettres : among these I shall only mention
here two long and curious suits of dissertations — the one upon the Temple
of Delphi, the Amphictyonic Council, and the Holy Wars, by MM . Hardion
and de Valois ; the other upon the Games of the Grecians, by MM. Burette,
Gedoyne, and de la Barre. 3. Books of amusement and instruction, pe
rused at my leisure hours, without any reference to a regular plan of study.
Of these, perhaps, I read too many, since I went through the Life of Eras
mus, by Le Clero and Burigny, many exti-acts from Le Clere's BibUo'
theques, the Ciceronianus, and Colloquies of Erasmus, Barclay's Argenis,
Terrasson's Sethos, Voltaire's Siecle de Louis XIV., Madame de MottevUle's
Memoirs, and Fontenelle's Works. 4. Compositions of my own. I find
hardly any, except this Journal, and the Extract of Hurd's Horace, which
(lUie a chapter of Montaignel contains many things very different from its

THE AUTHOR RESU.MES HIS STUDIES. 145
titie. To these four heads 1 must this year add a fifth. 5. Those treatises
of EngUsh history whioh I read in January, with a view to ray now abor
tive scheme of the Life of .Sir Walter Raleigh. I ought indeed to have
known my own mind better before I undertook them. Upou the whole,
after making proper allowances, I am not dissatisfied with the year.
The three weeks which I passed at Beriton, at the end of this and the
beginning of the ensuing year, are almost a blank. I seldom went out ;
and as the scheme of my travelling was at last entirely settled, the hurry of
impatience, the cares of preparations, and the tenderness of friends I was
going to quit, allowed me hardly any moments for study.

CHAP. XVI.
MR. GIBBON AT PARIS.
The youthful habits of the language and manners of
France had left in my mind an ardent desire of revisiting
the Continent on a larger and more liberal plan. Ac
cording to the law of custom, and perhaps of reason,
foreign travel completes the education of an English gen
tleman ; my father had consented to my wish, but I was
detained above four years by my rash engagement in the
militia. I eagerly grasped the first moments of freedom :
three or four weeks in Hampshire and London were em
ployed in the preparations of my journey, and the fare
well visits of friendship and civUity: my last act in town
was to applaud Mallet's new tragedy of Elvira ;* a post-
* JouKNAL, January llth, 1763.] — I caUed upon Dr. Maty in the morn
ing. He told me that the Duke de Nivemois desired to be acquainted with
me. It was indeed with that view that I had written to Maty from Beriton
to present, in my name, a copy of my book to him. Thence I went to
Becket, paid him bis biU, (fifty-four pounds,) and gave him back his trans
lation. It must be printed, though very indifferent. My comfort is, that '
my misfortune is not an uncommon one. We dined and supped at the
MaUets. 12th. I went with Maty to visit the Duke in Albemarle-street. He is a
little emaciated figure, but appears to possess a good understanding, taste,
and knowledge. He offered me very poUtely letters for Paris. We dined
at our lodgings. I went to Covent Garden to see Woodward in Bobadil,
aud supped with the Mallets at George Scott's.
Journal, Jan. 19th, 1763.]— I waited upon Lady Hervey and the Duke

MR. GIBBON AT PARIS. 147
chaise conveyed me to Dover, the packet to Boulogne, and
such was my diligence, that I reached Paris on the 28th
of January, 1763, only thirty-six days after the disband-
de Nivernois, and received my credentials. Lady Hervey's are for M. le
Comte de Caylus, aud Madame Geoffrin. The Duke received me civilly,
but (perhaps through Maty's fault) treated me more as a man of letters
than as a man of fashion. His letters are entirely in that style; for the
Comte de Caylus and MM. de la Bleterie, de Ste.,Palaye, Caperonnier, du
Clos, de Foncemagne, and d'Alembert. I then undressed for the play
My father and I went to the Rose, in the passage of the play-house, where
we found MaUet, with about thirty friends. We dined together, aud went
thence into the pit, where we took our places in a body, ready to silence
all opposition. However, we had no occasion to exert ourselves. Notwith
standing the malice of party. Mallet's nation, connexions, and, indeed, im
prudence, we heard nothing bnt applause, I think it was deserved. The
plan was borrowed from De la Motte, bnt the detail* and language have
great merit. A fine vein of dramatic poetry runs thi-ough the piece. The
scenes between the father and son awaken almost every sensation of the
human breast ; and the counsel would have equally moved, but for the
inconvenience unavoidable upon all theatres, that of intrusting fine speeches
to indifferent actors. The perplexity of the catastrophe is much, and I
believe justly criticised. But another defect made a stronger impression
upon me. When the poet ventures upon the dreadful situation of a father
who condemns his son to death, there is no medium, tho father must either
be a monster or a hero. The obligations of justice, of the public good,
must be as binding, as apparent, as perhaps those of the first Brutus. The
cruel necessity consecrates his actions, and leaves no room for repentance.
The thought is shocking if not carried into action. In the execution of
Brutus's sons I am sensible of that fatal necessity. Without such an exam
ple, the unsettled Uberty of Rome would have perished the instant after its
birth. But Alonzo might have pardoued his son for a rash attempt, the
cause of which was a private injury, and whose consequences could never
have disturbed an established government. He might have pardoned
such a crime in auy other subject ; and as the laws could exact only an
equal rigour for a son, a vain appetite for glory, and a mad affectation of
heroism, could alone have influenced him to exert an unequal and superior
severity.

148 MR. GIBBON AT PARIS.

ing of the mUitia. Two or three years were loosely
defined for the term of my absence ; and I was left at
liberty to spend that time in such places and in such a
manner as was most agreeable to my taste and judgment.
In this first visit I passed three months and a half,
(January 28 — May 9,) and a much longer space might
have been agreeably filled, without any intercourse with
the natives. At home we are content to move in the
daily round of pleasure and business ; and a scene which
is always present is supposed to be within our know
ledge, or at least within our power. But in a foreign
country, curiosity is our business and our pleasure ; and
the traveller, conscious of his ignorance, and covetous of
his time, is dUigent in the search and the view of every
object that can deserve his attention. I devoted many
hours in the morning to the circuit of Paris and the
neighbourhood, to the visit of churches and palaces con
spicuous by their architecture, to the royal manufactures,
collections of books and pictures, and all the various
treasures of art, of learning, and of luxury. An English
man may hear without reluctance, that in these curious
/and costly articles Paris is superior to London ; since the
opulence of the French capital arises from the defects of
its government and religion. In the absence of Louis
XIV. and his successors, the Louvre has been left
unfinished : but the mUlions which have been lavished on
the sands of Versailles, and the morass of Marli, could
not be supplied by the legal allowance of a British king.
The splendour of the French nobles is confined to their
town residence ; that of the English is more usefully dis
tributed in their country seats ; and we should be

MR. (JIBBON AT PARIS. 149
astonished at our own riches, if the labours of architec
ture, the spoils of Italy and Greece, which are now scat
tered from Inverary to Wilton, were accumulated in a
few streets between Marylebone and Westminster. All
superfluous ornament is rejected by the cold frugality of
the Protestants ; but the catholic superstition, which is
always the enemy of reason, is often the parent of the
arts. The wealthy comm.unities of priests and monks
expend their revenues in stately edifices ; and the parish
church of St. Sulpice, one of the noblest structures in
Paris, was built and adorned by the private industry of a
late cure. In this outset, and still more in the sequel of
my tour, my eye was amused ; but the pleasing vision
cannot be fixed by the pen : the particular images are
darkly seen through the medium of five-and-twenty
years, and the narrative of my life must not degenerate
into a book of travels.*
?Journal, February 21, 1763.] — To-day I commenced my tour around
the city, to see such places as were worthy of notice. D'Augny accom
panied me. We went first to the library of the Abbey of St. Germain des
Prdu, where every body was busy, arranging a cabinet of curiosities ; then
to the HSpital des Invalides, where the cupola was shut up on account of
repairs going forward. I must therefore defer the visit and description of
these two places. From thence we went to see the Ecole Militaire. As
this edifice stands beside the Invalides, many persons would there perceive
a very easy method of appreciating the different minds of their respective
founders. In one, every thing is grand and magnificent ; iu the other,
every thing is little and mean. SmaU white apartments, tolerably clean,
(which, instead ofthe 500 gentlemen talked about, contain 258) compose
tho whole establishment ; for the riding school and stables are nothing. It
is true that these buildings are but a scaffolding, which should be taken
away, to erect the real work on their rums. Indeed, they couldnot have been
built for eternity, since in twenty years' time the greater part of the beams
are rotten. We afterwards glanced at the church of St. Sulpicius, whose
fajade (the pretext and product of so many lotteries) is not yet finished.

150 MR. GIBBON AT PARIS.

But the principal end of my journey was to enjoy the
society of a polished and amiable people, in whose favour
I was strongly prejudiced, and to converse with some
authors, whose conversation, as I fondly imagined, must
be far more pleasing and instructive than their writings.
The moment was happily chosen. At the close of a
successful war, the British name was respected on the
Continent. Clarum et venerabile nomen
Gentibus.
Our opinions, our fashions, even our games, were adopted
in France, a ray of national glory illuminated each indi
vidual, and every Enghshman was supposed to be born
a patriot and a philosopher. For myself, I carried a
personal recommendation ; my name and my Essay were
already known ; the compliment of having written in the
French language entitled me to some returns of civiUty
and gratitude. I was considered as a man of letters who
wrote for amusement. Before my departure I had
obtained from the Duke de Nivernois, Lady Hervey, the
Mallets, Mr., Walpole, &c., many letters of recommenda
tion to their private or literary friends. Of these epistles
the reception and success were determined by the cha
racter and situation of the persons by whom and to whom
they were addressed ; the seed was sometimes cast on a
barren rock, and it sometimes multiplied an hundred fold
in the production of new shoots, spreading branches,
and exquisite fruit. But upon the whole, I had reason to
praise the national urbanity, which from the court has
diffused its gentle influence to the shop, the cottages, and

MR. GIBBON AT PARIS. 151
the schools. Of the men of genius of the age, Montes
quieu and Fontenelle were no more ; Voltaire resided on
bis own estate near Geneva ; Rousseau in the preceding
year had been driven from bis hermitage in Montmorency;
and I blush at my having neglected to seek, in this jour
ney, the acquaintance of Buffon, Among the men of letters
whom I sav,', D'Alembert and Diderot held the foremost
rank in merit, or at least in fame, I shall content myself
with enumerating the well-known names of the Comte
de Caylus, of the Abb^ de la Bleterie, Barthelemy, Reynal,
Arnaud, of Messieurs de la Condamine, du Clos, de Sainte
Palaye, de Bougainville, Caperonnier, de Guignes, Suard,
&c., without attempting to discriminate the shades of
their charcters, or the degrees of our connexion. Alone,
in a morning visit, I commonly found the artists and
authors of Paris less vain, and more reasonable, than in
the circles of their equals, with whom they mingle in the
houses of the rich. Four days in a week I had a place,
without invitation, at the hospitable tables of Mesdames
Geoffrin and du Bocage, of the celebrated Helvetius, and
of the Baron d'Olbach. In these symposia the pleasures
ofthe table were improved by lively and liberal conver
sation; the company was select, though various and
voluntary.* "Journal, February 23, 1763 ] — I paid a visit to the Abbe de la Ble
terie, who wished to take me to the Duchess of AigulUon's ; I wrote to M.
do BougainviUe, whom I much wished to become acquainted witb, and I
afterwards went to Baron d'Olbach's the friend of M. Helvetius. This
was my first visit, and the first step made into a very good house. Tho
Baron possesses genius and learning, and, above aU, he very often gives
capital dinners.
Februaiy 24.] — The Abbe Barthelemy is a very amiable man, aud has

152 MR. GIBBON AT PARIS.
The society of Madame du Bocage was more soft and
moderate than that of her rivals, and the evening conver
sations of M. de Foncemagne were supported by tbe
good sense and learning ofthe principal members of the
Academy of Inscriptions, The opera and the Italians I
occasionally visited ; but the French theatre, both in
tragedy and comedy, was my daily and favourite amuse-

nothing of the antiquary ahout him but a great depth of erudition, I
finished the evening by a very agreeable supper at Madame Bontem's with
the Marquis de Mirabean. He ia a singular man; he has imagination
enough for ten more, and not enough sound sense for himself alone. I
»/ asked bim several questions about the tides of the French nobility ; but all
I could understand was, that nobody has very clear ideas about them.
May, 1763.] — Fortified with a double letter of recommendation for the
Comte de Caylus, I imagined that I should find, united in him, the man of
letters and the man of quality. I saw him three or four times, and found
him a simple, ingenuous, good man, who showed me the utmost kind
ness. If I have not profited more by him I attribute it loss to his cha
racter than to his mode of life. He rises early, runs through the aitists,
painting.rooms all day long, comes home again at six o'clock in the evening,
puts on his dressing-gown, and shuts himself up in his closet. Is this the
way to see one's friends.
If these recommendations were fruitless, there were others which were
as productive in their effects as they were agreeable in themselves. In a
capital Uke Paris, it is just and necessary that you should be distinguished
from the crowd by letters of recommendation, but when the ice is once
broken, your acquaintance multiply themselves, and your new friends feel
pleasure in introducing you to others newer still. A most happy effect of
the Ught and amiable character of the French, which has established
in Paris a suavity and Uberty iu society, unknown to antiqtdty and still
unknown to other nations. At London one must make one's way into each
house, which opens to us witii the utmost difficulty. There they think
they afford you pleasure in receiving you ; here they feel pleasure In it
themselves. So that I am acquainted with more houses in Paris than ia
London ;y the faot is not probable, but it is true.

MR. GIBBON AT PARIS. 153
ment. Two famous actresses then divided the public
applause. For my own part, I preferred the consum
mate art of the Clairon, to the intemperate sallies of the
Dumesnll, which were extolled by her adrnlrers, as the
genuine voice of nature and passion. Fourteen weeks
insensibly stole away ; but had I been rich and indepen
dent, I should have prolonged, and perhaps have fixed,
my residence at Paris.
Between the expensive style of Paris and of Italy it was
prudent to interpose some months of tranquU simplicity ;
and at the thoughts of Lausanne I again lived in the
pleasures and studies of my early youth. Shaping my
course through Dijon and Besangon, in the last of which
places I was kindly entertained by my cousin Acton, I
arrived in the month of May, 1763, on the banks of the
Leman Lake. It had been my intention to pass the Alps
in the autumn, but such are the simple attractions of the
place, that the year had almost expired before my depar
ture from Lausanne in the ensuing spring. An absence
of five years had not made much alteration in manners, or
even in persons. My old friends, of both sexes, haUed
my voluntary return ; the most genuine proof of my
attachment. They had been flattered by the present of
my book, the produce of their soil ; and the good Pavil
liard shed tears of joy as he embraced a pupil, whose
literary merit he might fairly impute to his own labours.
To my old list, I added some new acquaintance, and
among the strangers I shaU distinguish Prince Lewis of
Wirtemberg, the brother of the reigning Duke, at whose
country-house, near Lausanne, I frequently dined : a wan
dering meteor, and at length a falling star, his light and

154 MR. GIBBON AT PARIS.

ambitious spirit had successively dropped from the firma
ment of Prussia, of France, and of Austria ; and his faults,
which he styled his misfortunes, had driven him into philo
sophic exUe in the Pays de Vaud, He could now
moralize on the vanity of the world, the equality of man
kind, and the happiness of a private station. His address
was affable and polite, and as he had shone in courts
and armies, his memory could supply, and his eloquence
could adorn, a copious fund of interesting anecdotes.
His first enthusiasm was that of charity and agriculture ;
but the sage gradually lapsed into the saint, and Prince
Lewis of Wirtemberg is now buried in a hermitage near
Mayence, in the last stage of mystic devotion. By some
ecclesiastical quarrel, Voltaire had been provoked to
withdraw himself from Lausanne, and retired to his
castle at Ferney, where I again visited the poet and the
actor without seeking his more intimate acquaintance, to
which I might now have pleaded a better title. But the
theatre which he had founded, the actors whom he had
formed, survived the loss of their master; and recent
from Paris, I attended with pleasure at the representation
of several tragedies and comedies. I shall not descend
to specify particular names and characters ; but I cannot
forget a private institution, which will display the inno
cent freedom of Swiss manners. My favourite society
had assumed, from the age of its members, the proud
denomination of the Spring (la Societe du Printemps),
It consisted of fifteen or twenty young unmarried ladies,
of genteel, though not of the very first families ; the
eldest perhaps about twenty, all agreeable, several hand
some, and two or three of exquisite beauty. At each

MR. GIBBON AT PARIS. 13(1
Other's houses they assembled almost every day, without
the control, or even the pres ence, of a mother or an aunt;
they were trusted to their own prudence, among a crowd
of young men of every nation In Europe. They laughed,
they sung, they danced, they played at cards, they acted
comedies ; but in the midst of this careless gaiety, they
respected themselves, and were respected by the men ;
the invisible line between liberty and licentiousness was
never transgressed by a gesture, a word, or a look, and
their virgin chastity was never sullied by the breath of
scandal or suspicion. A singular institution, expressive
ofthe innocent simplicity of Swiss manners. After having
tasted the luxury of England and Paris, I could not have
returned with satisfaction to the coarse and homely
table of Madame PavilUard ; nor was her husband offended
that I now entered myself as a. pensionnaire, or boarder,
in the elegant house of Mr. De Mesery, which may be
entided to a short remembrance, as it has stood above
twenty years, perhaps, without a parallel in Europe, The
house in which we lodged was spacious and convenient,
in the best street, and commanding, from behind, a noble
prospect over the country and the Lake, Our table was
served with neatness and plenty; the boarders were
select ; we had the liberty of inviting any guests at a
stated price: and in the summer the scene was occa
sionally transferred to a pleasant viUa, about a league
from Lausanne. The characters of master and mistress
were happily suited to each other, and to their situation.
At the age of seventy-five, Madame de Mesery, who
has survived her husband, is still a graceful, and I had
nlmost said, a handsome wotnan. She was alike quali-

156 MR. GIBBON AT PARIS.

fied to preside in her kitchen and her drawing-room,
and such was the equal propriety of her conduct, that of
two 01' three hundred foreigners, none ever failed in re-
sjiect, none could complain of her neglect, and none could
ever boast of her favour. Mesery himself, of the noble
I'amUy of De Crousaz, was a man of the world, a jovial
companion, whose easy manners and natural saUies
maintained the cheerfulness of his house. His wit
could laugh at his own ignorance ; , he disguised, by
an air of profusion, a strict attention to his interest ; and
in this situation, he appeared like a nobleman who spent
his fortune and entertained his friends. In this agreeable
society I resided nearly eleven months (May, 1763 — April
1764) ; and in this second visit to Lausanne, among a
crowd of my English companions, I knew and esteemed
Mr. Holroyd (now Lord Sheffield); and our mutual attach
ment was renewed and fortified in the subsequent stages
of our Italian journey. Our lives are in the power of
chance, and a slight variation on either side, in time or
place, might have deprived me of a friend, whose activity
in the ardour of youth was always prompted by a be
nevolent heart, and directed by a strong understanding.*
* Journal, September 16, 1763.]—**** and *»** have left us. The
former is a vile beast, gross, ignorant, and unmannerly. His violence has
got him into twenty scrapes here. However, they would have had him
make the journey to Italy, but **** refusing to accompany him, they havo
resolved to send for him back again to England via Paris. **** is a phi
losopher, aud very well read, but cold aud not at all a maVi of talent. He is
weary of running over the world with young blockheads. After having
returned this one back to his family, he expects to come and seek repose
and seclusion in this country. Hovv right be is !
September 31.] — I have sustained a slight mortification at the sogiety.

MR. GIBBON AT PARIS. 157
Prey's departure had occasioned the oflSce of strangers' director to bo va
cant. Il was intimated that it was intended for me, aud my natural frank
ness had not permitted roe to conceal fhat I should be glad to accept it,
and that I was in expectation of it. Nevertheless, the majority of votes
gave it to M. Koel HoUandois. I saw that they had taken advantage of
the very first moment the laws aUowed for balloting, and that, if I had
wished to assemble my fiiends, I might have gained it; but I know, at tiie
same time, that I should have had it three months ago without a moment's
care about it. My reputation is, with some reason, decUning here, and I
have enemies.
September 25.] — I have passed the afternoon at Madame de ''"""s.
I had not seen her since the 14th ofthis month. She has not spoken a single
word about me, or appeai'ed to have noticed my absence. This silence
has hurt me. I had a very good reputation here for morality, but I see
they now begin to confound me with my fellow-countrymen, and to look
npon me as a man who loves wine and dissipation.
October 15.] — I have passed the afternoon at Madame de Mesery's. She
wished to introduce me to a young French lady, whom she had invited to
supper. This young lady, who calls herself Le Franc, is six feet high. Her
stature, countenance, voice, and conversation, all announce the most de.
termined grenadier, but a grenadier who has talent, intelligence, and
knowledge of the world. So that her sex, name, and condition are aU a
mystery. She says she is a Parisian lady of quality, who has retired into
this country on account of her reUgion May it not rather be on account
of an affair of honour ?
Lausanne, December 1763.] — I got up late, and a very friendly visit
from M. de Chandieu Villars* took away what was left of the morning.
M. de. Chandieu has served with distinction in France, and retired with
the rank of field-marshal. He is a man of great poUteness, of a free and
Uvely spirit ; and now, at sixty, he would form the agreeable attraction in
a company of young ladies. He is almost the only foreigner who has suc
ceeded in acquiring the ease of French manners, without at the same time
falling into bullying and blustering airs.
Lausanne, December, 18, 1763,] — This was Communion Sunday. Re
ligious ceremonies are well observed in this country. They are rare, and
* The father of Madame de Severy, whose family were Mr. Gibbon's
most intimate friends, after ha had settied at Lausanne iu the year 1783. — S.

158 MR. GIBBON AT PARIS.
___^   LJL
on that very account more respected. Old folks complain, indeed, of thfe
cooUng of devotion ; but a day Uke this stiU affords an edifying spectacle;
There is neither business nor parties ; and they interdict even whist, so
necessary to the very existence of a Lausannese.
December 31.] — Let us glance back at this year 1763, and see how I
have employed this portion of my existence, which is passed away, and
will never return. The month of January was sfent in the bosom of my
family, to whom I was forced to sacrifice all my time, for it was the last
part of my stay, and mingled with the cares of departure and the bustle of
a journey. In that journey , however, I found means of reading the letters
of Busequius, imperial minister at the Port. They are equally interesting
and instructive. I remained at Paris from the 28th of January to the Oth
of May. During all this time, I did not study at all. Amusements took up
a great deal of my time, and the habit of dissipation, which is so easily ac-
quu-ed in large cities, did not aUow me to profit by what remained. In
deed, if I turned over but few books, the observation of all the curious ob
jects which are presented to view in a large metropolis, and conversation
with the greatest men of the age, taught me many things that are not to
be found in books. The last seven or eight months of the year have been
more tranquil. When I found myself settled at Lausanne, 1 undertook a
consecutive course of study ou the ancient geography of Italy. My enthu
siasm kept up very weU for six weeks, till the end of the month of June.
Then, a journey to Geneva a littie interrupted my diUgeuce. Mesery's
dweUing presented a thousand attractions, and Saussure's society put the
finishing stroke to the loss of my time. I resumed my work at this Jour
nal about the middle of August, and from that time to the beginning of
November, I put every instant to profit. I must confess, that during the
last two . months my ardour is a littlo slackened. I. In this course of
study I read, I, Nearly two books of Strabo's Geography upon Italy, twice
over. 2. Part of the second book of PUiiy's Natural Histoiy. 3. The
fourth chapter of the second book of Pomponious Mela. 4. The Itineraries
of Antoninus and Jerusalem, as far as regards Italy. I read them with tho
Commentaries of Wesselling, &c. I have extracted tables of all the great
roads in Italy, every where reducing the Roman into English miles, ac
cording to the calculations of M. d'AnviUe. 5. The History of the Great
Roman Empire, by M. Bergier, 2 vols. 4to. 6. Some select extracts from
Cicero, Livy, Velleius Paterculus, Tacitus, and the two PUnies. The
Roma VetuB of Nardini, and several other little treatises on the same sub-

MR. GIBBON AT PARIS. 159
ject, which compose almost all the fourtli volume of Graevius' Tr^sor dea
Antiquites Romaines. 7. The Italia Antiqua of Cluverius, 2 vols, folio.
8^ The Iter (or Journey) of Claudius Rutilius Numatianua among tiio
Gauls. 9. Virgil's Catalogues. 1 0. That of SiUus Italicus. 11. Horace's
Journey to Brundusium. N. B. These last three I read twice over. 12.
U'Anville's Treatise ou the Itinerary Measures, and some IMemoires of the
Acad4mie des Belles Lettres. II. I had to wait for Nardini from the
library of Geneva ; I wished to fill up this spare moment in reading Ju
venal, a poet whom I as yet knew only by reputation. I read him twice
over carefully, and with pleasure. HI. During the year, I have read
some periodicals ; among others, the Journal Etranger, from its commence
ment, a volume of Bayle's Nouvelles, and the first 35 volumes of the
Bibliotbeque raisonnee. IV. I have written a great deal of my Eecueil
Gfegarphique d'ltalie, which is already very ample, and tolerably curious.
V. I ought not to forget this very Journal, which has grown Into a book;
214 well filled pages, in four montiis and a half, are a considerable object.
For, without reckoning a great number of detached observations, there are
in it several learned and orderly dissertations. That upon Hannibal's
expedition includes ten pages, and that on the civil war twelve. But
these pieces are too long, and the Journal itself stands in need of a reform,
which should retrench from it a number of pieces that are foreign to its
real plan. After having reflected some time upon the subject, hero are
some rules that I have made on the objects that are proper for it. I.
All my domestic aud private Ufe, my amusements, connexions, and even
my rambles ; as well as aU the reflections that strike me on subjects that
are merely personal. I allow that all this is interesting only to myself,
but then it is only for myself that . I write this Journal. II. All that I
learn by observation and conversation. With respect to this, I shall only
put down what I have fi-om persons, who are at once both perfectiy well
uiformed and honest, when it regards facts, or from that smaU number who
merit' the title of great men, when it regards sentiments and opinions. III.
I shall carefully put iu it all that may be termed the material part of my
Studies ; how many hours I have worked, how many pages I have written
or read, with a short notice of their contents. IV. I should be sorry to
read without reflecting on my readings, giving con-ect judgments upon my
authors, and carefully culling their ideas and expressions. But aU reading
does not alike furnish them. There are books to be skimmed over, and
books to be read. My observations on those of the first class can only

160 MR. GIBBON AT PARIS.

be short and detached. These wiU be proper for the Journal. Those
on the second class will only enter it so far as they may come under the
same character. V. My reflections on those few classic authors that are to
be carefuUy meditated upon, will naturaUy be deeper, and more consecu
tive. For them, and for more lengthy and original dissertations, which
reading or reflection may give rise to, I shall make a separate coUection.
I shall, nevertheless, preserve its connexion with the Journal by constant
references which will mark the number of each treatise, together with
the time and occasion of its composition. Making use of these precau
tions, my Journal cannot but be useful to me. This exact account of my
time wiU make me more justly appreciate its value it wiU, by its minute
ness, dissipate the iUusion that we fall into of looking only at months
and years, and neglecting hours and days. I say nothing of the
pleasure of it. It is, however, a very great one to be able to review each
epoch of one's life, and, whenever we please, to place ourselves in the
midst of aU the Uttle scenes that we have formerly acted, or seen
acted. April 6, 1764.] — I was awakened by PavUUard and H****, in order
to put a stop to an unfortunate affair, which took place at the baU after
we left. G****, who has for a long time paid his addresses to Miss ****,
was grieved to see that **** threatened to supplant him. He replied to
his rival's politeness only by rudeness ; aud, at last, on a dispute for Miss
****'s hand, he treated him in the worst possible manner, and called him,
before every body, " a fool," &c. I understood from Pavilliard, that
**** had sent him a chaUenge, and, that G*'***'s answer not having
satisfied him, they were to have a meeting at five o'clock this evening.
Being exceedingly vexed to see my friend engaged in an afiair which
could not but do him wrong, I hastened to the house of M. de Crousaz,
where **** Uved. I soon saw that it merely needed a very slight ex
planation, added to some sort of apology from G****, to appease him, and
I went to fhe house of the latter with H*"**, to request him to give it.
We Convinced him that the acknowldgment of a real fault was never
injurious to honour, and that his insult to the ladies, as well as to **•*, was
iiiexcusable. I dictated to him an appropriate note, but without the least
meanness, which I carried to the Dutchman. He laid down his arms
immediately, returned him the most polite answer, and thanked me a
thousand times for the part I had acted. Indeed, he is by no means an
untractable man. After dinner, I saw the ladies, to whom I took an

MR. GIBBON AT PARIS. 161
apologizing note. The motiier was wiUing to accept G"***'s excuses ;
but Miss *•** is afilieted at the injury this affair may do her with the world.
This business has occupied me the whole day ; but could it have been
better employed than in saving the life, perhaps, of two persons, and ia
preserving a friend's reputation 1 Besides, I have seen deeply into more
than one character, g**** is brave, tme, and sensible, bnt has an impe
tuosity that is only the more dangerous for being ordinarily suppressed.
C**** is as rude as a school-boy. De S**** has an indifference, which is
much more attributable to a defect of sensibility than to an excess of
reason. I have conceived a real friendship for H**'**- He has a high
degree of rationaUty and honourable sentiments, with one of the best regu
lated hearts,

CHAP. XVII.
MR. GIBBON PREPARES FOR HIS ITALIAN JOURNEY.
If my studies at Paris had been confined to the
study of the world, three or four months would not
liave been unprofitably spent. My visits, however super
ficial, to the Academy of Medals and the public libraries,
opened a new field of inquiry ; and the view of so many
manuscripts of different ages and characters induced me
to consult the two great Benedictine works, the Diplo-
matica of MabUlon, and the Palseographia of Montfaueon.
I studied the theory without attaining the practice of the
art ; nor should I complain of the intricacy of Greek
•'abbreviations and Gothic alphabets, since every day, in
a familiar language, I am at a loss to decypher the hiero
glyphics of a female note. In a tranquil scene, which
revived the memory of my first studies, idleness would
have been less pardonable : the public libraries of Lau
sanne and Geneva liberally supplied me with books ; and
if many hours were lost in dissipation, many more were
employed in literary labour. In the country, Horace and
VirgU, Juvenal and Ovid, were my assiduous compa
nions : but, in town, I formed and executed a plan ot
study for the use of my transalpine expedition : the topo
graphy of old Rome, the ancient geography of Italy, and
the science of medals. 1, I diligently read, almost always

Mr. GiBBOlS! PREPARES FOR HIS ITaLIaN JOtJRNE't IgS
with my pen in my hand, the elaborate treatises of
Nardini, Donatus, &c., which fill the fourth volume of
the Roman Antiquities of Graevius- 2. I next undertook
and finished the Italia Antiqua of Cluverius, a learned
native of Prussia, who had measured, on foot, every spot,
and has compUed and digested every passage of the
ancient writers. These passages in Greek or Latin
authors I perused in the text of Cluverius, in two foUo
volumes : but I separately read the descriptions of Italy
by Strabo, Pliny, and Pomponius Mela, the Catalogues ol
the Epic poets, the Itineraries of WesselUng's Antonius,
and the coasting Voyage of Rutilius Mumatianus ; and I
studied two kindred subjects in the Mesures Itineraires of
D'AnviUe, and the copious work of Bergier, Histoire des
grands Chemins de I'Empire Romain. From these mate-
vials I formed a table of roads and distances reduced to
our English measure ; filled a folio common-place book
with my collections and remarks on the geography of
Italy, and inserted in my journal many long and learned
notes on the insulse and populousness of Rome, the social
war, the passage of the Alps by Hannibal, &c. 3. After
glancing my eye over Addison's agreeable dialogues, I
more seriously read the great work of Ezechiel Span-
helm de PrsBstantia et Usi5 Numismatum, and applied
with him the medals of the kings and emperors, the fami
lies and colonies, to the illustration of ancient history.
And thus was I armed for my Italian journey,*
Journal, Lausanne, April 17, 1764.] — Guise and myself gave an ex
cellent dinner and plenty of wine to Dupleix and several others. After
dinner, we made our escape to pay some visits to the ****, the •*•*, and
the ****. I leave with some regret: but a littie wine, and a cheerfulness

iei MR. GIBBON PREPARES FOR HIS ITALIAN JODRNEY.
that I could not account for, gave me an unparralleled impudence with these
littie lasses. I said a hundred nonsensical things to them, and we em
braced each other with a laugh. Mesery gave us a very prime supper,
with some of the morning's company, increased by the addition ofBooc-
geois and PavUliard. This supper, the adieux to PaviUiard especially,
(whom I sincerely love,) and the preparations for departure, occupied me
tiU two in the morning. I leave Lausanne with less regret than at the first
time. I now only leave acquaintances there. Then, it was the loss of the
mistress and the friend that I deplored. Formerly, I saw Lausanne with
tha inexperienced eyes of a youth, who owed to it the rational part of his
existence, and who judged without comparison of objects. Now I see in
V it an iU-buUt town, in the midst of a delightful coimtry, which enjoys
peace and repose, and takes them to be Uberty ; a numerous and well-
educated population, who are fond of society, and judicious in the conduct
of it, and who admit strangers into their circles, which would be mnch
more agreeable if conversation had not give^ place to play. The women
are pretty, and notwithstanding their extensive liberty, are very prudent
At the farthest, they can only be a Uttie complaisant in the innocent but
uncertain hope of entangUng a stranger in their nets. Affectation is tha
original sin of the Lausannese ; affectation of magnificence, nobiUty, and
talent ; the two first are very common, while the latter is extremely rare.
As this vice is coustantiy clashing with the same quality in others, Lausanne
is divided into a great number of states, whose principles and language are
infinitely varied, and whioh have nothing in common but their reciprocal
hatred for each other. Their taste for expense accords but badly with
that fbr nobiUty. They wonld perish sooner than renounce their grandeur,
or embrace the only profession that would support them. M. Mesery's is
a dehghtful house ; the open and generous character of the husband, tbe
engaging qualities of the wife, a charming situation , excellent cheer, the
company of his feUow-countrymen, and an unresti'aiiied freedom, make
every EngUsh love the dwelling. Oh, that I could find a similar one in
London ! I regret leaving Holroyd, who is, however, fojlowing us close.

CHAP. XVIIL
MR. GIBBON'S TOUR IN ITALY.
I shaU advance with rapid brevity iri the liartative of
this tour, in ¦Which somewhat more than a year (April>
1764 — May, ;1765) Was agreeably eifnployed. Content
with tracing tny line of march, and slightly touching oil
my personal feeling^, I shall waive the minute investiga
tion of the scenes which have been viewed by thousands;
and described by hundreds, of our moderfa travellers,
Rome is the great object of our pilgrimage: 1st, the
journey ; Sid, the residehce ; and 3d, the return, wUl form
the most pf oper and conspicuous division. 1. I climbed
Mount Cenis, and descended into the plain of Piedmontj
not on the back of an elephant, but on a light osier seatj
in the hands of the dexterous and intrepid Chairman of
the Alps. The architecture and governmeiit of Turin
presented the same aspect of tame and tiresome uni
formity ; but the Cburt was regulated with decent and
splendid economy ; and I was introduced to his Sardinian
Majesty,* Charles Emanuel, who, after the incomparable
Frederic, held the second rank (proximus longo tamen
fntervaUo) among the kings of Europe. The size and
)3opulousness of Milan could not surprise an inhabitant of
• See Letter, No. XVItt. ;

166 MR. GIBBON'S TOUR IN ITALY.
London : but the fancy is amused by a visit to the Borro
mean islands, an enchanted palace, a work of the fairies
in the midst of a lake encompassed with mountains, and
far removed from the haunts of men. I was less amused
by the marble palaces of Genoa than by the recent
memorials of her deliverance (in December, 1746) from
the Austrian tyranny ; and I took a military survey of
every scene of action within the enclosure of her double
walls. My steps were detained at Parma and Modena,
by the precious relics of the Farnese and Este collec
tions: but, alas ! the far greater part had been already
transported, by inheritance or purchase, to Naples and
Dresden. By the road of Bologna and the Appenines, 1
at last reached Florence, where I reposed from June to
September, during the heat of the summer months. In
Vi/'the Gallery, and especially in the Tribune, I first acknow
ledged, at the feet of the Venus of Medicis, that the
chisel may dispute the pre-eminence with the pencil, a
truth in the fine arts which cannot on this side of the
Alps be felt or understood. At home I had taken some
lessons of ItaUan: on the spot I read, with a learned
native, the classics of the Tuscan idiom : but the short
ness of my time, and the use of the French language,
prevented my acquiring any facUity of speaking ; and I
was a silent spectator in the conversations of our envoy.
Sir Horace Mann, whose most serious bus'ness was that
of entertaining the EngUsh at his hospitable table.*
* Journal, Florence, August 9, 1764.] — Cocchi dined with ng. We
chatted a good deal, but I did not find in him the geaias that is attributed to
trim ; perhaps because our minds are not analogous. I can perceive extra-
- - ?agaoice in his ideas, and afiectation in his maimers. He is every moment

MR. GIBBON'S TOUR IN ITALY, 167

After leaving Florence, I compared the solitude of Pisa
with the industry of Lucca and Leghorn, and continued
my journey through Sienna to Rome, where I arrived in
the beginning of October. 2. My temper is not very
susceptible of enthusiasm ; and the enthusiasm which I
do not feel, I have ever scorned to affect. But, at the
distance of twenty-five years, I can neither forget nor
• express the strong emotions which agitated my mind as I
first approached and entered the eternal city. After a sleep
less night, 1 trod, with a lofty step, the ruins of the
Forum ; each memorable spot where Romulus stood, or
Tully spoke, or Csesar fell, was at once present to my
eye ; and several days of intoxication were lost or enjoyed
before I could descend to a cool aud minute investiga
tion. My guide was Mr. Byers, a Scotch antiquary of
experience and taste ; but, in the daily labour of eighteen
weeks, the powers of attention were sometimes fatigued,
tiU I was myself qualified, in a last review, to select and
study the capital works of ancient and modern art. Six
weeks were borrowed for my tour of Naples, the most
populous of cities, relative to its size ; whose luxurious
inhabitants seem to dwell on the confines of paradise and
heU-fire. I was presented to the boy-king by our new
envoy. Sir WUliam Hamilton ; who, wisely diverting his
correspondence from the Secretary of State to the Royal
Society and British Museum, has elucidated a country of
complaining of his poverty. He knows but Uttle of the true dignity of a
man of letters. If his knowledge is extensive, it is incUned towards phy
sics. He asked me if Lord Spenser could not make bishops, and told me
a story about Lord Lytdeton (whose son he cannot bear) whUe we wera
talking about country parliaments.

168 MR. GIBBON'S TOUR IN ITALY.
such inestimable vajue to the naturalist and antiquarian.
On my return, I fondly embraced, for the last time, the
miracles of Rome ; but I departed without kissing the
feet of Rezzonlco (Clement XIII,), who neither possessed
the wit ofhis predecessor Lambertini, nor the virtues of
his successor Ganganelli. 3. In my pilgrimage from
Rome to Loretto, I again crossed the Appenine ; from
the coast of the Adriatic I traversed a fruitful and popu
lous country, which could alone disprove the paradox of
Montesquieu, that modern Italy is a desert. Without
adopting the exclusive prejudice of the natives, I sin
cerely admire the paintings of the Bologna school, I
hastened to escape from the sad solitude of Ferrera,
which in the age of Csesar was still more desolate. The
spectacle of Venice afforded some hours of astonishment ;
the university of Padua is a dying taper : but Verona still
boasts her amphitheatre, and his native Vicenza is
adorned by the classic architecture of Balladla ; the road
of Lombardy and Piedmont (did Montesquieu find them
without inhabitants ?) led me back to Milan, Turin, and
the passage of Mount Cenis, where I again crossed the
Alps in my way to Lyons.
The use of foreign travel has been often debated as a
general question; but the conclusion must be finally
applied to the character and circumstances of each indi
vidual. With the education of boys, where or how they
may pass over some juvenile years with the least mis
chief to themselves or others, I have no concern. But
after supposing the previous and indispensable requisites
of age, judgment, a competent knowledge of men and
books, and a freedom from domestic prejudices, I will

MR. GIBBON'S TOUR IN ITALY. 169
briefly describe the qualification which I deeni most-^
essential to a traveller. He should be endowed with an
active, indefatigable vigour of mind and body, which can
seize every mode of conveyance, and support, with a
careless smile, every hardship of the road, the weather,
or the inn. The benefits of foreign travel will corres
pond with the degrees of these qualifications : but, in this
sketch, those to whom I am known will not accuse me
of framing my own panegyric. It was at Rome, on the
15th of October, 1764, as I sat musing amidst the ruins
of the Capitol, while the bare-footed friars were singing
vespers in the temple of Jupiter,* that the idea of writing
the decline and fall of the city first started to my mind.
But my original plan was circumscribed to the decay of
the Qity rather than of the empire : and, though my
reading and reflections began to point towards that
object, some years elapsed, and several avocations inter
vened, before I was seriously engaged in the execution of
that laborious work,
I had not totally renounced the southern provinces of
France, but the letters which I found at Lyons were
expressive of some impatience. Rome and Italy had
satiated my curious appetite, and I was now ready to
return to the peaceful retreat of my family and books.
After a happy fortnight I reluctantly left Paris, embarked
at Calais, again landed at Dover, after an interval of two
years and five months, and hastily drove through the
summer dust and solitude of London, On the 25th of
June, 1765, 1 arrived at my father's house : and the five
* flow the church ofthe Zoccolauts, or Franciscan Friars.

170 MB. GIBBON'S TOUR IN ITALY.

years and a half between my travels and my father's
death (1770) are the portion of my life which I passed
with the least enjoyment, and which I remember with
the least satisfaction. Every spring I attended the
monthly meeting and exercise of the militia at South
ampton ; and by the resignation of my father, and the
death of Sir Thomas Worsley, I was successively pro
moted to the rank of major and Ueutenant-colonel com
mandant : but I was each year more disgusted with the
inn, the wine, the company, and the tiresome repetition
of annual attendance and daily exercise. At home, the
economy of the family and farm still maintained the same
creditable appearance. My connexion with Mrs. Gibbon
was mellowed into a warm and solid attachment: my
growing years abolished the distance that might yet
remain between a parent and a son, and my behaviour
satisfied my father, who was proud of the success, how
ever imperfect in his own Ufe-time, of my literary talents.
Our solitude was soon and often enlivened by the visit of
•the friend of my youth, Dr, Deyverdun, whose absence
-from Lausanne I had sincerely lamented. About three
years after my first departure, he had emigrated from
/his native lake to the banks of the Oder in Germany,
The res angiista domi, the waste of a. decent patrimony,
by an improvident father, obliged him, like many of his
jcountrymen, to confide in his own industry ; and he was
.entrusted with the education of a young prince, the
^grandson of the Margrave of Schavedt, of the roya.
family of Prussia, Our friendship was never cooled, our
correspondence was sometimes interrupted ; but I rather
wished than hoped to obtain Mr Deyverdun for the com

MR. GIBBON'S 'f-OUR IN ITALi'. l7l
panion of my Italian tour. An unhappy, though honour
able passion, drove liim from his German court ; and the
attractions of hope and curiosity were fortified by the
expectation of my speedy return to England. During
four successive summers he passed several weeks or
months at Beriton, and oUr free conversation, on every
topic that could interest the heart or understanding,
would have reconcUed me to a desert or a prison. In
the vrinter months of London my sphere of knowledge
and action were somewhat enlarged, by the many new
acquaintances which I had contracted in the mUitia and
abroad ; and I must regret, as more than an acquaint
ance, Mr. Godfrey Clarke of Derbyshire, an amiable and
Worthy young man, who was snatched away by an
tmtitnely death. A weekly convivial meeting was es
tablished by myself and travellers, under the name of the
Roman Club.*
The reneival, or perhaps the improvement of my
English life embittered by the alteration of my own feel
ings. At the age of twenty-one I was, in my proper
station of a youth; delivered from the yoke of education,
and delighted with the comparative state of liberty and
affluence. My filial obedience was natural and easy;
and in the gay prospect of futurity, my ambition did not
extend beyond the enjoynient of my books, my leisure,
and my patrimonial estate, undisturbed by the cares of a
* The members were Lord Mountstaart (now Earl of Bute), Colonel Ed
monstone, Weddal, Palgrave, Lord Berkley, Godfrey Clark, Holroyd
{Lord Sheffield), Major Ridley, Su: WilUam Guise, Sir John Aubrey, Lord
Abingdon, Hon. Peregrine Bertie, Cleaver, Hon. John Damer, Hon. George
Damer (Lord Milton), Sir Thomas Gascoyne, ShrJohe Hort, E. Gibbon, Esq.

172 MR. dlBBON'S TOUR IN ITALY.
family and the duties of a profession. But in the mUitia
I was armed with power ; in my travels, I was exempt
from control ; and as I approached, as I gradually passed
my thirtieth year, I began to feel the desire of being
master in my own house. The most gentle^ authority
will sometimes frown without reason, the most cheerful
submission will sometimes murmur without cause ; and
such is the law of our imperfect nature, that we must
either command or obey ; that our professional liberty is
supported by the obsequiousness of our own dependants,
/While so many of my acquaintance were married or in
parliament, or advancing with a rapid step in the various
roads of honour and fortune, I stood alone, immoveable
and insignificant ; 'for after the monthly meeting of 1770,
I had even withdrawn myself from the militia, bythe
resignation of an empty and barren commission. My
temper is not susceptible of envy, and the view of suc
cessful merit has always excited my warmest applause.
The miseries of a vacant life were never known to a man
whose hours were insufficient for the inexhaustible
pleasures of study. But I lamented that at the proper
age I had not embraced the lucrative pursuits of the law
or of trade, the chances of civil office or India adventure,
or even the fat slumbers of the church ; and my repentance
became more lively as the loss of time was more irre
trievable. Experience showed me the use of grafting my
private consequence on the importance of a great profes
sional body ; the benefits of those firm connexions which
are cemented by hope and interest, by gratitude and
emulation, by the mutual exchange of services and
favours. From the emoluments of a profession I might

MR GIBBON'S TOUR IN ITALY. 173
have derived an ample fortune, or a competent income,
ihstead of being stinted to the same narrow allowance, to
be increased only by an event which I sincerely depre
cated. The progress and the knowledge of our domestic
disorders aggravated my anxiety, and 1 began to appre
hend that I might be left in my old age without the fruits
either of industry or inheritance.
In the first summer after my return, whilst I enjoyed
at Beriton the society of my friend Deyverdun, our daily
conversations expatiated over the field of ancient and
modern literature ', and we freely discussed my studies,
my first essay, and my future projects. The Decline and
Fall of Rome I still contemplated at an awful distance :
but the two historical designs which had balanced my
choice were submitted to his taste ; and in the parallel
between the Revolutions of Florence and Switzerland,
our common partiality for a country which was his by
birth, and mine by adoption, inclined the scale in
favour of the latter. According to the plan, which was
soon conceived and digested,! embraced a period of two
hundred years, from the association of three peasants of
the Alps to the plenitude and prosperity of the Helvetic
body in the sixteenth century. I should have described
the deliverance and victory of the Swiss, who have never
shed the blood of their tyrants but in the field of battles
the laws and manners of the confederate states; the
splendid trophies of the Austrian, Burgundian, and Italian
wars ; and the wisdom of a nation, who, after some
sallies of martial adventure, has been content to guard
the blessings of peace with the sword of freedom.
¦-Manus hac inimica tyranuis

Suse petit placidam aab libertale quietem.

174 MR. GIBBON''S TOUR IN ITALY.
My judgment, as well as my enthosiasm, was satisfied
with tbe glorious theme ; and the assistance of Deyverdun'
seemed to remove an insuperable obstacle.. The French
or Latip memorials, of which I was not igntirant, are
inconsiderable in number and weight : but in the per^ct
acquaintance of ray friend with the German laaigua,ge, I
¦ found the key of a more valuable collection. 1- he most
necessary books were procured ; he tran^lated> for my
use, the folio volume of Schilling, a copious and contemr
porary relation of the war of Burgundy; we rea4 and,
marked the most interesting parts of the great chronicle.
of Tschudi ; and by his labour,, or that of an inferipr
assistant, large extracts were made from the History
of Lauffer, and the Dictionary of Lew ;, yet sych was tbe,
d/st,ance and delay, that two years elapsed in these pre
paratory steps ; and it was late in the third sumnaer
( 1 767) before I entered, with these slender materials,, on
the more agreeable task of composition. A specimeiji of
my history, the first Ijook, was read the following winter
in a Uterary society of foreigners in London ; wd, as the .
author was unknown, I listened, without observation, to
the fi;e^ strictures and unfavourable sentence of my
judges.* The momentary sensatipn was paiftfi:!! ; l?qt their
* Mr. Hume seems to have had a diSerent opinion of this work.
From. Mr. Hume te Mr. Gibbon.
"S»r,-rrltis but a, fesw days ago stnfio Mr. Deyverdun put your manuscript
>Dt9 my h^ds, an^-, l;hay,e.pe^ed; it with great pleasure and sati^fi^c^on^,
I have only one objection, derived from the language in which it is writtgi),.
Why do you compose in French, and carry faggots into the wood, qs
Horace says with regard to Romans who wrote iu Greek? I grant that
you have a Uke motive to those. Romana, aud adopt a language, much moro
generally diffused than your native tongue ; but have you not remarked
tbe fate of those two ancient languages in foUowing agejl The Latin,

MR. GIBBON'S TOUR IN ITALY. 175
cohdemnation was ratified by my cooler thoughts. I
delivered my imperfect sheets to the flaines,* and forever
renounced a design in which some expense, much laboiiir,
and more time, had been so Vaihly cohsumed. I cannot
regret the loss of a slight and superficial essay ; for Su6h
the Work must have been in the hands of a stranger,
uninformed by thc scholars and statesmen, and rertiote
from the libraries and archieves of ihe SwlSs republics.
My ancient habits, and the presence of Deyverdun,
encouraged me to write in French for the Continent of
Europe ; but I was conscious myself that my style, above
though then less celebrated, and confined to more narrow Umits, has in
eome measure outiived the Greek, and is now more generaUy understood
by men of letters. Let the French, therefore, triumph in the present dif
fusion of their tongue. Our solid and increasing establishments in America,v'
where we need less dread the inundation of barbarians, promise a superior
stabiUty and duration to the EngUsh language.
" Your use ofthe French tongue has also led you into a style more poeti
cal and figurative, and more highly coloured, than our language seems to
admit of in historical productions ; for such is the practice of French
writers, particularly the more recent ones, who illuminate their pictures
more than custom will permit us. Ou the whole, your history, in my
opinion, is written with spirit and judgment ; and I exhort you earnestly
to continue it The objections that occurred to me on reading it, were so
fi'ivolbus, that I shall not trouble you with them, and should, I believe, have
a difficulty to recoUect them. 1 am, with great esteem, sir, your most
obedient and most humble servant, (Signed) David Home."
" London, 24th of Oct. 1767.
* He neglected to bum them. He left at Shefiield-place the introduc
tion, or first book, in forty-three pages foUo, written in a very small hand,
besides a considerable number of notes. If Mr. Gibbon bad not declared
hisjudgment, perhaps Mr. Hume's opinion, expressed in the letter in the last
note, might Iiave justified the publication of it. — S.

1?« MR. GIBBON'S TOUR IN ITALY.

prose and below poetry, degenerated into a verbose and
turgid declamation. Perhaps I may impute the failure to
an injudicious choice of a foreign language. Perhaps I
may suspect that the language itself is ill adapted to sus
tain the vigour and dignity of an important narrative.
But if France, so rich in literary merit, had produced a
great original historian, his genius would have formed
and fixed the idiom to the proper tone, the peculiar mode
of historical eloquence.

CHAP. XIX.
MR. GIBBON COMMENCES A PERIODICAL,
It was in search of some liberal and lucrative employ
ment that my friend Deyverdun had visited England.
His remittances from home were scanty and precarious.
My purse was always open, but it was often empty ; and
I bitterly felt the want of riches and power, which might
have enabled me to correct the errors of his fortune.
His wishes and qualificati&ns solicited the station of the
travelling governor of some wealthy pupil ; but every
vacancy provoked so many eager candidates, that for a
long time I struggled without success ; nor was it till
after much appUcation that I could even place him as a
clerk in the office of the secretary of state. In a resi
dence of several years he never acquired the just pronun
ciation and familiar use of the English tongue, but he
read our most difficult authors with ease and taste : his
critical knowledge of our language and poetry was such
as few foreigners have possessed ; and few of our coun
trymen could enjoy the theatre of Shakspeare and Gar
rick with more exquisite feeling and discernment. The
consciousness of his own strength, and the assurance of
my aid, emboldened him to imitate the example of Dr.
Maty, whose Journal Britannique was esteemed and

178 MR. GIBBON COMMENCES A PERIODICAL.
regretted ; and to improve his model, by uniting with the
transactions of literature a philosophic view of the arts
and manners of the British nation. Our journal for the
year 1767, under the title of M^moires Litteraires de la
Grande Bretagne, was soon finished and sent to the
press. For the first artick, Lord Lyttleton's History of
Henry IL, I must own myself responsible ; but the public
has ratified my judgment of that voluminous work, in
which sense and learning are not iUuminated by a ray of
genius. The next specimen was the Choiceofitty friend,
the Bath Guide, a Ught arid whimsical performance, oif
local, and ev^n verbal, pleasantry. I started at the
attempt : he smiled at my fears : his courage was justi
fied by success; and a master of both languages Will
applaud the curious felicity with which he has transfused
into French prose the spirit, and evefi the humour, of the
English verse. It is not my wish to deny how deeply I
was interested in these Memoirs, of Which I need not
surely be ashamed; but at the distance of more thaa
twenty years, it Would be impossible for: me to ascerta'iil'
the respective shares of the two assoc'iaTes. A lowg and
intimate communication of ideas had cast our sentiments
and style in the same mould. In our social labours WC
composed' and corrected by turns ; and the praisC which
r might honestly besfow would fall perhaps upon some
article or passage most properly my own. A secO'nd
volume (for the year 1768) was published of these
Memoirs. I will presume fo say, that their merit Was
superior to their reputaUon ; but it is not fcsS trTie, thaT
they were productive of more reputation tfran emoltirrierit'.
They introduced my friend to the protection, and' myself

MR. GIBBON COMMENCES A PERIODICAL. 179
to the acquaintance of the Earl of Chesterfield, whose
age and infirmities secluded him from the world ; of Mr.
David Hume, who was under secretary to the office in
which Deyverdun was more humbly emploj'ed. The
former accepted a dedication (April 12th, 1769,) and re
served the author for the future education of his suc
cessor ; the latter enriched the journal with a reply to
Miv Walpole's Historical Doubts, which he afterwards
shaped into the form of a note. The materials of the
third volume were almost completed, when I recom
mended Deyv«rdun as governor to Sir Richard Worsley,
a youth, tlie son of my old lieutenant-colonel, who was
lately deceased. They set forwards on their travels ;
nor did they return to England tUi some time after my
father's death.
My next publication was an accidental sally of love and
resentment ; of my reverence for modest genius, and my
aversion for insolent pedantry. The sixth book of
Mtte'id is the most pleasing and perfect composition of
Latin poetry. The descent of ^Eneas and the Sybil to
the internal regions, to the world of spirits, expands an
awful and boundless prospect, from the nocturnal gloom
ofthe Cumsean grot,
Ibant obscuri sold sub nocte per umbram,
to the meridian brightness ofthe Elypian fields ;
L,argjLor hjc campos aither et lumine, vestit
Purpureo 
fijom th© dreams' of simple natur©, to the dreams, alas f
of Egyptian theology, and the philosophy of the Greeks.

18t) MR. GIBBON COMMENCES A PERIODICAL.

But the final dismission of the hero through the ivory
gate, whence Falsa ad coelum mittnnt insomnia manes,
seems to dissolve the whole enchantment, and leaves
the reader in a state of cold and anxious scepticism.
This most lame and impotent conclusion has been
variously imputed to the taste or irreligion of Virgil j
but, according to the more elaborate interpretation ol
Bishop Warburton, the descent to hell is not a false but
a mimic scene ; which represents the initiation of ./Eneas
in the character of a lawgiver, to the Eleusinian mys
teries. This hypothesis, a singular chapter ui the Divine
Legation of Moses, had been admitted by many as true ;
it was praised by all as ingenius ; nor had it been ex
posed, in a space of thirty years, to a fair and critical
discussion. The learning and the abilities of the author
had raised him to a just eminence ; but he reigned the
dictator and tyrant of the world of literature. The real
V merit of Warburton was degraded by the pride and pre
sumption with which he pronounced his infallible decrees j
in his polemic writings he lashed his antagonists without
mercy or moderation ; and his servile flatterers, (see the
base and malignant Essay on the Delicacy of Friendship,)
exalting the master critic far above Aristotle and Lon
ginus, assaulted every modest dissenter who refused to
consult the oracle, and adore the idol. In a land of
liberty, such despotism must prdvoke a general opposi
tion, and the zeal of opposition is seldom candid or im
partial. A late professor of Oxford (Dr. Lowth), in a
pointed and poUshed epistle, (August 31st, 1765,) de-

Ms. GIBBON COMMENCES A PERIODICAL. 181
ri  , — ._  . — —  — ^— _
fended himself, and attacked the bishop ; and, whatsoever
might be the merits of an insignificant controversy, his
victory was clearly established by the silent confusion of
Warburton and his slaves. I, too, without any private
offence, was ambitious of breaking a lance against the
giant's shield ; and in the beginning ofthe year 1770, my
Critical Observations on the Sixth Book of the iEneid
Were sent, without my name, to the press. In this short
essay, my first English publication, I aimed my strokes
against the person and the hypothesis of Bishop War
burton, I proved, at least to my own satisfaction, that
the ancient lawgivers did not invent the mysteries, and
that MnesiS was never invested with the office of law
giver ; that there is not any argument, any circumstance,
which can melt a fable into allegory, or remove the
scene from the Lake Avernus to the Temple of Ceres :
that such a wUd supposition is equally injurious to the
poet and the man ; that if Virgil was not initiated he
could not, if he were he would not, reveal the secrets of
the initiation : that the anathema of Horace (" vetabo qui
Cereris sacrum vulgarit," &c.) at once attests his own
ignorance and the innocence of his friend. As the Bishop
of Gloucester and his party maintained a discreet
sUence, my critical disquisition was soon lost among the
pamphlets of the day ; but the public coldness was over
balanced to my feelings by the weighty approbation of
the last and best editor of Virgil, Professor Heyne, of
Gottingen, who acquiesces in my confutation, and styles
the unknown author, "doctus . . . . et elegantisimus
Brittannus." But I cannot resist the temptation of tran
scribing the favourable judgment of Mr. Hayley, himself

188 MR. GIBBON COMMENCES A PERIODICAL.
a poet and a scholar : " An uitricate hypothesis, twisted
into a long and laboured chain of quotation and argument,
the Dissertation on the Sixth Book of Virgil remained
some time unrefuted  At length a superior, but
anonymous, critic arose, who, in one of the most judicious
and spirited essays that our nation has produced, on a
point of classical literature, completely overturned this
ill-founded edifice, and exposed the arrogance and futility
of its assuming architect." He even condescends to
justify an acrimony of style, which had been gently
blamed by the more unbiassed German ; " Paullo acrius
^ quam veils .... perstrinxit,"* But I can never forgive
myself the contemptuous treatment of a man who
with aU his faults, was entitled to my esteem ;f and I
can less forgive, in a personal attack, the cowardly con
cealment of my name an'd character.
In the fifteen years between my Essay on the Study
of Literature and the first volume of the Declme and
Fall, (1761 — 1776,) this criticism on Warburton, and
some articles in the journal, were my sole publications.
* The editor of the Warburtonian Tracts, Dr. Parr (p. 192), considers tha
aUegorical interpretation " as'completely refiited in a most clear, elegant,
and decisive work of criticism ; which could not, indeed, derive authority
from the greatest name ; bnt to which the greatest name might with prot.
priety have been affixed."
f The Divine Legation of Moses is a monument already crumbling in
the dust, of the vigour and weakness of the human mind. If Warbnrton'a
new argument proved anything, it would be a demonstration against the'
legislator who left his people without the knowledge of a future state. But
some episodes of the work, on the Greek philosophy, the hieroglyphics of
Egypt, &e. are entitied to the praise of learning, imagisBtion and discern-
ment.

MR. GIBBON COM.MENCES A PERIODICAL. 183
It is more especially encumbent on me to mark the em
ployment, or to confess the waste of time, from my
travels to my father's death, an interval in which I was
not diverted by any professional duties from the labours
and pleasures of a studious life, 1, As soon as I was re
leased from the fruitless task of the Swiss revolutions,
(1768,) I began to advance graduaUy from the wish to
the hope, from the hope to the design, from the de
sign to the execution, of my historical work, of whose
limits and extent I had yet a very inadequate notion.
The classics, as low as Tacitus, the younger Pliny, and
Juvenal, were my old and familiar companions, I in
sensibly plunged into the ocean of the Augustan history ;
and in the descending series I investigated, with my pen
almost always in my hand, the original records both
Greek and Latin, from Dion Cassius to Ammianus Mar-
celUnus, from the reign of Trajan to the last age of the
Western Caesars, The subsidary rays of medals and
inscriptions, of geography and chronology, were thrown
on their proper objects ; and I applied the collections of
TUlemont whose inimitable accuracy almost assumes the
character of genius, to fix and arrange within my reach
the loose and scattered atoms of historical information.
Through the darkness of the middle ages I explored my
way in the Annals and Antiquities of Italy of the learned
Muratori; and diligently compared them with the
parallel or transverse lines of Sigonius and Maffei,
Baronius and Pagi, till I almost grasped the ruins of
Rome in the fourteenth century, without suspecting that
this final chapter must be attained by the labour of
six quartos and twenty years; Among the books which

184 MR. GIBBON COMMENCES A PERIODICAL.
I purchased, the Theodosian Code, with the commen
tary of James Godefroy, must be gratefully remembered.
I used (and much I used it) as a work of history, rather
than of jurisprudence : but in every light it may be con
sidered as a full and capacious repository of the political
state of the empire in the fourth and fifth centuries. As
I believed, and as I still believe, that the propagation of
the Gospel and the triumph of the church are insepara
bly connected with the decline of the ^oman monarchy,
I weighed the causes and effects of the revolution, and
contrasted the narratives and apologies of the Christians
themselves, with the glances of candour or enmity which
the Pagans have cast on the rising sects. The Jewish
and Heathen testimonies, as they are collected and illus
trated by Dr, Lardner, directed, without superseding, my
search of the originals ; and in an ample dissertation on
the miraculous darkness of the passion, I privately drew
my conclusions from the silence of an unbelieving age.
I h^ve assembled the preparatory studies, directly or in-
direcvtly, relative to my history ; but in strict equity, they
must be .spread beyond this period of my life, over the
tyro summers (1771 and 1772) thfit elapsed between my
father's death and my settlement in London. 2. In a
free conversation with books and men, it would be
endless to enumerate the names an^ ^characters of all
who are introduced to our acquaintance : but in this
general acquaintance we may select ..the degrees of
friendship and est,eem. According to the wise maxim,
" Multum legere potius quam multa," I reviewed, again
and again, the immortal works of the French and
EngUsh, the Latin and Italian classics. My Greek

MR. GIBBON COM.MENCES A PERIODICAL. 185
studies (though less assiduous than I designed) maintained
and extended my knowledge of that incomparable idiom.
Homer and Xenophon were still my favourite authors ;
and I had almost prepared for the press an Essay on the
Cyropoedia, which, in my own judgment, is not unhap
pily laboured. After a certain age, the new publications
of merit are the sole food of the many; and the most
austere student will be often tempted to break the line,
for the sake of indulging his own curiosity, and of pro
viding the topics of fashionable currency. A more re
spectable motive may be assigned for the third perusal of
Blackstone's Commentaries, and a copious and critical
abstract of that English work was my first serious pro
duction in my native language. 3. My literary leisure
was much less complete and independent than it might
appear to the eye of a stranger. In the hurry of London
I was destitute of books ; in the solitude of Hampshire I
was not master of my time. My quiet was gradually
disturbed by our domestic anxiety, and I should be
ashamed of my unfeeling phUosophy, had I found much
time or taste for study in the last fatal summer (1770) of
my father's decay and dissolution.
The disembodying of the militia at the close of the
war (in 1763) had restored the Major (a new Cincin-
natus) to a life of agriculture. His labours were useful,
his pleasures innocent, his wishes moderate; and my
father seemed to enjoy the state of happiness which is
celebrated by poets and philosophers, as the most agree
able to nature, and the least accessible to fortune.

J86 MR. GIBBON COMMENCES A PERIODICAL.
Beatus file, qui procul negotiis
(Utprisca gens mortaUum)
Patema rura bubus exercet suis,
Solutus omni foeuore.* Hor. Epod. ii.
But the last indispensable condition, the freedom from
debt, was wanting to my father's felicity ; and the vani
ties of his youth were severely punished by the solici
tude and sorrow of his declining age. The first mort
gage, on my return from Lausanne (1758), had afforded
him a partial and transient relief. The annual demand
of interest and allowance was a heavy deduction from
his income ; the militia was a source of expense, the
farm in his hands was not a profitable adventure, he was
loaded with the costs and damages of an obsolete law
suit ; and each year multiplied the number and exhausted
the patience of his creditors. Under these painful cir
cumstances I consented to an additional mortgage, to
the sale of Putney, and to every sacrifice that could
alleviate his distress. But he was no longer capable of
a rational effort, and his reluctant delays postponed
not the evils themselves, but the remedies of those
evUs (" remedia malorum potius quam mala differebat").
The pangs of shame, tenderness, and self-reproach, in
cessantly preyed on his vitals ; his constitution was
broken; he lost his strength and his sight; the rapid
progress of a dropsy admonished him of his end, and he
sunk into the grave on the 10th of November, 1770, in
* Like the first mortals blest is he.
From debts, and usury, and business free,
With his own team who ploughs the soil,
Which grateful once confess'd his father's toU. Francis.

MR. GIBBON COMMENCES A PERIODICAL. 18?
the sixty-fourth year of his age. A family tradition in
sinuates that Mr. William Law had drawn his pupil
in the light and inconstant character of Flatus, who is
ever confident and ever disappointed in the chase oi
happiness. But these constitutional failings were hap
pily compensated by the virtues of the head and heart, by
tbe warmest sentiments Of honour and humanity. His grace
ful person, polite address, gentle manners, and unaffected
cheerfulness, recommended him to the favour of every
company ; and in the change of times and opinions, his
liberal spirit had long .since delivered him from the zeal and
prejudice of a Tory education. I submitted to the order of ?
Nature ; and my grief was soothed by the conscious satis
faction that I had discharged all the duties of fiUal piety.

CHAP. XX.
MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON.
As soon as I had paid the last solemn duties to my
father, and obtained, from time and reason, a tolerable
composure of mind, I began to form the plan of an inde
pendent life, most adapted to my circumstances and
inclination. Yet so intricate was the net, my efforts were
so awkward and feeble, that nearly two years (Novem
ber, 1770 — October, 1772) were suffered, to elapse before
I could disentangle myself from the management of the
farm, and transfer my residence from Beriton to a house
in London. During this interval I continued to divide
my year between town and the country ; but my new
situation was brightened by hope ; my stay in London
was prolonged into the summer ; and the uniformity of
the summer was occasionally broken by visits and excut-
sions at a distance from home. The gratification of my
desires (they were not immoderate) has been seldom
disappointed by the want of money or credit ; my pride
Was never insulted by the visit of an importunate trades
man ; and my transient anxiety for the past or future has
been dispelled by the studious or social occupation of the
present hour. My conscience does not accuse me of an
act of extravagance or injustice, and the remnant of my
estate affords an ample and honourable provision for my

MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON. l89
declining age, I shall not expatiate on my economical
affairs, which cannot be instructive or amusing to the
reader. It is a rule of prudence, as well as of politeness,
to reserve such confidence for the ear of a private friend,
without exposing our situation to the envy or pity of
strangers; for envy is productiMBpf hatred, and pity
borders too nearly on contempt. Yet I may believe, and
even assert, that in circumstances more indigent or more v
wealthy, I should never have accomplished the task, or
acquired the fame, of an historian ; that my spirit would
have been broken by poverty and contempt, and that my
industry might have been relaxed in the labour and lux
ury of a superfluous fortune,
I had now attained the first of earthly blessings, inde
pendence : I was the absolute master of my hours and
actions : nor was I deceived in the hope that the estab
lishment of my library in town would allow me to divide
the day between study and society. Each year the
circle of my acquaintance, the number of my dead and
living companions, was enlarged. To a lover of books,
the shops and sales of London present irresistible temp
tations ; and the manufacture of my history required a
various and growing stock of materials. The militia, my
travels, the House of Commons, the fame of an author,
contributed to multiply my connexions : I was chosen a
member of the fashionable clubs ; and, before I left Eng
land in 1783, there were fe\K persons of any eminence in
the literary or political world to v»^hom I was a stranger,*
* From the mixed, though poUte, company of Boodle's, White's, and
Brookes's, I' must honourably distinguish a weekly society which was
instituted in the year 1764, and which stiU continues to flourish, imder tha

190 MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN I/DNDON.
It would most assuredly be in my power to amuse the
reader with a gallery of portraits and a coUection of
anecdotes. But I have always condemned the practice
of transforming a private memorial into a vehicle of sa
tire or praise. By my own choice I passed in town the
greatest part of the ^ar ; but whenever I was desirous
of breathing the air oithe country, I possessed an hospi
table retreat at Sheffield-place in Sussex, in the family of
my valued friend Mr. Holroyd, whose character, under
the name of Lord Sheffield, has since been more conspi
cuous to the public.
No soonei: was I settled in my house and library, than
I undertook the composition of the first volume of my
histpry^. At the outset all was dark and doubtful ; even
the title of the wor£, the true sera of the decUne and fall
of the empire, the limits of the introduction, the division
of the chapters, and the order of the narrative : and I
was often tempted to cast away the labour of seven
w' years. The style of an author should be the image of
his mind, but the choice and command of language is the
fruit of exercise. Many experiments were made before
I could hit the middle tone between a dull chronicle and
a rhetorical declamation : three times did I compose the
first chapter, and twice the second and third, before I
was tolerably satisfied with their effect. In the remain-
title of tho Literary Club, (Hawkins's Life of Johnson, p. 415. Bos
weU's Tour to the Hebrides, p. 97.) The names of Dr. Johnson, Mr.
Burke, Mr. Tophan Beauclerc, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Goldsmith, Sir Joshua
Reynolds, Mr. Colman, Sir WilUam ' Jones, Dr. Percy, Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheri
dan, Mr. Adam Smith, Mr. Steevens, Mr. Dunning, Sir Joseph Banks, Dr.
Wharton, and his brother, Mr. Thomas Wharton, Dr. Bwney, &c., form
a large and luminous constellation of British stars.

MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON. 191
der of the way I advanced with a more equal and easy
pace ; but the fifteenth and sixteenth chapters have been
reduced, by three successive revisals, from a large
volume to their present size ; and they might still be com
pressed, without any loss of facts or sentiments. An
opposite fault may be imputed toJj|^ concise and super
ficial narrative of the first reigns from Commodus to
Alexander ; a fault of which I have never heard, except
from Mr, Hume in his last journey to London, Such an
oracle might have been consulted and obeyed with
rational devotion ; but I was soon disgusted with the
modest practice of reading the manuscript to my friends.
Of such friends some will praise from politeness, and
some will criticise from vanity. The author himself is ^
the best judge of his own performance ; -no one has so
deeply meditated on the subject ; no one is so sincerely
interested in the event.
By the friendship of Mr. (now Lord) Eliot, who had
married my first cousin, I was returned at the general
election for the borough of Liskeard, I took my seat at
the beginning of the memorable contest between Great
Britain and America, and supported with many a sincere
and silent vote, the rights, though not, perhaps, the
interest, of the mother country. After a fleeting illusive
hope, prudence condemned me to acquiesce in the hum
ble station of a mute. I was not armed by nature and
education with the intrepid energy of mind and voice.
Vincentem strepitus, et natum rebus agendis
Timidity was fortified by pride, and even the success of ^

19? MR, GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON.
my pen discouraged the trial of my voice,* But I
assisted at the debates of a free assembly ; I listened to
the attack and defence of eloquence and reason ; I had a
near prospect of the characters, views, and passions of
the first men of the age. The cause of government was
ably vindicated by Lord North, a statesman of spotless
integrity, a consummate master pf debate, who could
wield, with equal dexterity, the arms of reason and of
ridicule. He was seated on the treasury bench, between
his attorney and solicitor general, the two pillars of the
law and state, "magis pares quam similes;" and the
minister might indulge in a short slumber, whUst he was
upholden on either hand by the majestic sense of Thur
low, and the skilful eloquence of Wedderburne. From
the adverse side of the house an ardent and powerful
opposition was supported, by the lively declamation of
Barr^, the legal acuteness of Dunning, the profuse and
phUosophic fancy of Burke, and the argumentative vehe
mence of Fox, who in the conduct of a party approved
himself equal to the conduct of an empire. By such
men every operation of peace and war, every principle of
* A French sketch of Mr. Gibbon's Life, written by himself, probably for
the use of some foreign journalist or translator, contains no fact not men
tioned in his English Life. He there describes himself with his usual cau-
dotu:. Forthe last eight years he has assisted at the most important delibe
rations, but he never found in himself either courage or talent sufficient to
speak in a public assembly. This sketch was written before the pubUca
tion ofhis three last volumes, as in closing it he says of his history — this
enterprise still requires from him several years of continued appUcation ;
but whatever may be its success, he finds in this very application a plea
sure ever varied and ever new.

MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON. 193
justice or policy, every question of authority and free
dom, was attacked and defended ; and the subject of the
momentous contest was the union or separation of Great
Britain and America. The eight sessions that I sat in
parliament were a school of civil prudence, the first and
most essential virtue of an historian.
The volume of my history, which had been somewhat
delayed by the novelty and tumult of a first session, was
now ready for the press. After the perilous adventure
had been declined by my friend Mr, Elmsly, I agreed,
upon easy terms, with Mr. Thomas Cadell, a respectable
bookseller, and Mr. William Strahan an eminent printer ;
and they undertook the care and risk of the publication,
which derived more credit from the name of the shop
than from that of the author. The last revisal qf the
proofs was submitted to my vigilance ; and many blem
ishes of style, which had been invisible in the manuscript,
were discovered and corrected in the printed sheet. So
moderate were our hopes, that the original impression
had been stinted to five hundred, till the number was
doubled by the prophetic taste of Mr, Strahan, During
this awful interval I was neither elated by the ambition
of fame, nor depressed by the apprehension of contempt.
My diligence and accuracy were attested by my ownv
conscience. History is the most popular species of
writing, since it can adapt itself to the highest or the
lowest capacity, I had chosen an illustrious subject,
Rome is familiar to the school-boy and the statesman ;
and my narrative was deduced from the last period of
classical reading. I had likewise flattered myself, that
an age of light and liberty would receive, without scan-

194 MB. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON.
dal, an inquiry into the human causes of the progress
and establishment of Christianity,
I am at a loss how to describe the success of the worfe
without betraying the vanity of the writer. The first
impression was exhausted in a few days ; a second and
third edition were scarcely adequate to the demand ; and
the bookseller's property was twice invaded by the
pirates of Dublin, My book was on every table, and
almost on every toilette ; the historian was crowned by
the taste or fashion of the day ; nor was the general
voice disturbed by the barking of any profane critic.
The favour of mankind is most freely bestowed on a
new acquaintance of any original merit ; and the mutual
surprise of the public and their favourite is productive
of those warm sensibilities, which at a second meeting
can no longer be rekindled. If I listened to the music of
praise, I was more seriously satisfied with the approba
tion of my judges. The candour of Dr. Robertson em
braced his disciple, A letter from Mr, Hume overpaid
the labour of ten years ; but I have never presumed to
accept a place in the triumverate of British historians.
That curious and original letter will amuse the reader,
and his gratitude should shield my free communication,
from the reproach of vanity. "Edinburgh, 18th March 1776.
" Dear Sir, — As I ran through your volume of history
with great avidity and impatience, I cannot forbear dis
covering somewhat of the same impatience in returning
you thanks for your agreeable present, and expressing the
satisfaction which the performance has given me.
Whether I consider the dignity of your style, the depth

MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDOiV. I95
of your matter, or the extensiveness of yotu* learning, I
must regard the work as equaUy the object of esteem ;
and I own that if I had not previously had the happiness
of your personal acquaintance, such a performance from
an Englishman in our age would have given me some
surprise. You may smile at this sentiment ; but as it
seems to me that your countrymen, fbr almost a
whole generation, have given themselves up to bar
barous and absurd faction, and have totally neglected
all polite letters, I no longer expected any valuable pro
duction ever to come from them, I know it wlU give
you pleasure, as it did me, to find that all the men of
letters in this place concur in their admiration of your
work, and in, their anxious desire of your continu
ing it,
"When I heard of your undertaking, which was
some time ago, I own I was a little curious to see how
you would extricate yourself from the subject of your
two last chapters. I think you have observed a very
prudent temperament ; but it was impossible to treat
the subject so as not to give grounds of suspicion against
you, and you may expect that a clamour wUl arise.
This, if any thing, will retard your success with the
public ; for in every other respect your work is calcu
lated to be popular. But among many other marks of
decline, the prevalence of superstition in England prog
nosticates the fall of philosophy and decay of taste?
and though nobody be more capable than you to revive
them, you will probably find a struggle in your first ad
vances, "I see you entertain a great doubt with regard to the I

196 MB. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON.
authenticity of the poems of Ossian, You are certainly
right in so doing. It is indeed strange that any men of
sense could have imagined it possible, that above twenty
thousand verses, along with numberless historical facts,
could have been preserved by oral tradition during
fifty generations, by the rudest, perhaps, of all the
European nations, the most necessitous, the most turbu
lent, and the most unsettled. Where a supposition is so
contrary to common sense, any positive evidence of it
ought never to be regarded. Men run with great
avidity to give their evidence in favour of what flatters
their passions and their national prejudices. You are
therefore over and above indulgent to us in speaking of
the matter with hesitation.
" I must inform you that we are all very anxious to
hear that you have fully collected the materials for your
second volume, and that you are even considerably ad
vanced in the composition of it, I speak this more in
the name of my friends than in my own ; as I cannot
expect to live so long as to see the publication of it.
Your ensuing volume wUl be more deUcate than the pre
ceding, but I trust in your prudence for extricating you
from the difficulties ; and at all events, you have
courage to despise the clamour of bigots. I am, with
great regard, dear sir, your most obedient, and most
humble servant, " David Hume."
Some weeks afterwards I had the melancholy pleasure
of seeing Mr. Hume in his passage through London ; his
body feeble, his mind firm. On the 25th of August of the
same year, 1776, he died at Edinburgh the death of a
philosopher.

MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON. 197
My second excursion to Paris was determined by the
pressing invitation of M. and Madame Necker, who had
visited England in the preceding summer. On my arri
val I found M. Necker director-general of the finances, in
the first bloom of power and popularity. His private
fortune enabled him to support a liberal establishment ;
and his wife, whose talents and virtues I had long
admired, was admirably qualified to preside in the con
versation of her table and drawing-room. As their
friend, I was introduced to the best company of both
sexes; to the foreign ministers of all nations, and to the
first names and characters of France ; who distinguished
me by such marks of civUity and kindness, as gratitude wUl
not suffer me to forget, and modesty wiU not allow me
to enumerate. The fashionable suppers often broke into
the morning hours ; yet I occasionally consulted the
royal library, and that of the abbey of St. Germain, and
in the free use of their books at home, I had always
reason to praise the liberality of those institutions, " The
society of men of letters I neither courted nor declined ;
but I was happy in the alcquaintance of M, de Buffon,
who united with a sublime genius the most amiable sim
plicity of mind and manners. At the table of my old
friend, M. de Foncemagne, I was uivolved in a dispute
with the Abb^ de Mably ; and his jealous, irascible spirit
revenged itself on a work which he ^was incapable of
reading in the original.
As I might be partial in my own cause, I shaU trans
cribe the words of an unknown critic, observing only,
thatthis dispute had, been preceded by another on the
English constitution, at the house of the Countess de
Froulay, and- old Jansenist lady.

198 MB. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON
" You were, my dear Theodon, at M. de Foncemagne'a
house when the Abb^ Mably and Mr. Gibbon dined there
with a number of guests. The conversation ran almost
entirely upon history. The Abbe, being'a profound poli
tician, turned it, while at the dessert, upon the adminis
tration of affairs ; and as by genius, temper, and a habit
of admiring Livy, he values only the republican system,
he began to boast of the excellence of republics ; being
well persuaded that the learned Englishman would -
approve of all he said, and admire the profundity of
genius that had enabled a Frenchman to discover all
these advantages. But Mr. Gibbon, knowing by expe
rience the inconveniences of a popular government, was
not at all of his opinion, and generously took up the
defence of monarchy. The Abbe wished to convince
him out of Livy, and by some arguments drawn, from
Plutarch in favour of the Spartans, Mr. Gibbon, being
endowed with a most excellent memory, and having all
events present to his mind, soon got the command of the
conversation. The Abbe grew angry, they lost posses
sion of themselves, and said hard things of each other 5
the Englishman, retaining his native coolness, watched
for his advantages, and pressed the Abb^ with increasing
success, in proportion as he was more disturbed by pas
sion. The conversation grew warmer, and was broken
off by M. de Foncemagne's rising from table and passing
into the parlour, where no one was tempted to renew it,"
— Supplement de la Maniere d'ecrire I'Histoire, page
12f>, &c,*
* Ofthe voluminous writings of the Abbe de Mably, (see his Eloge by
the Abbe Brizard,) the Principes du Droit pubUc de I'Europe, and tha
first part of the Observations sur I'Histoire de France, may be deservedly

MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON. 199
Nearly two years had elapsed between the pubhcation
of my first and the commencement of my second vo
lume : and the causes must be assigned of this long
delay, 1 , After a short holiday, I indulged my curiosity
in some studies of a very different nature, a course of
anatomy, which was demonstrated by Dr. Hunter ; and "
some lessons of chymistry, which were delivered by Mr.
Higgins. The principles of these sciences, and a taste
for books of natural history, contributed to multiply my
ideas and images ; and the anatomist and chymist may
sometimes track me in their own snow. 2. I dived,
perhaps too deeply, into the mud of the Arian contro
versy ; and many days of reading, thinking, and writing
were consumed in the pursuit of a phantom. 3. It is
difficult to arrange, with order and perspecuity, the va
rious transactions of the age of Constantine ; and so much
was I displeased with the first essay, that I committed to
the flames about fifty sheets. 4. The six months of Paris
and pleasure must be deducted from the account. But
praised ; and even the Maniere d'ecrire I'Histoire contains several useful
precepts and judicious remarks. Mably was a lover of virtue and freedom;
but his virtue was austere, and his freedom was impatient of au equal.
Kings, magistrates, nobles, aud successful writers, were the objects of his
contempt, or hatred, or envy ; but his illiberal abuse of Voltaire, Hume
Buffon, the Abbe Baynal, Dr Robertson, and tutti quanti, can be injurious
only to himself.
" Is anything more tedious," says the poUte censor, " than a Mr Gibbon,
who, in his never ending history of tiie Roman Emperors, interrupts every
instant his slow and, insipid narration to explain to you tiie causes of events
that you are going to read." (Maniere d'ecrire I'Histoire, p. 184. See
another passage, p. 280.) Yet I am indebted to the Abbe de Mably for
two such advocates as the anonymous French critic and my friend Mr.
Hayley. (Hayley's Works, 8vo. edit. vol. ii. p. 261—263.)

200 MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON.
when I resumed my task I felt my impiovement ; I was
now master of my style and subject, and while the mea
sure of my daUy performance was enlarged, I discovered
less reason to cancel or correct. It has always been my
practice to cast a long paragraph in a single mould, to
try it by my ear, to deposit it in my memory, but to sus
pend the action of the pen till I had given the last polish
to my work, ^all I add, that I never found my raind
more vigorous, nor my composition more happy, than in
the winter hurry of society and parUament ?
1/ Had I believed that the majority of English readers
were so fondly attached even to the name and shadow of
Christianity ; had I foreseen that the pious, the timid, and
the prudent, would feel, or affect to feel,' with such exqui
site sensibility ; I might, perhaps, have softened the two
invidious chapters, which Would create many enemies,
and concUiate few friends. But the shaft was shot, the
alarm was sounded, and I could only rejoice, that if the
voice of our priests was clamorous and bitter, their
hands were disarmed from the power of persecution, I
adhered to the wise resolution of trusting myself and my
writings to the candour of the public, till Mr, Davis of
Oxford presumed to attack, not the faith, but the fidelity
of the historian. My Vindication, expressive of less
anger than contempt, amused for a moment the busy and
idle metropolis ; and the most rational part of the laity,
and even of the clergy, appear to have been satisfied of
my innocence and accuracy, I would not print this Vin
dication in quarto, lest it should be bound and preserved
with the history itself. At the distance of twelve years,
I calmly affirm my judgment of Davis, Ghelsum, &c. A

MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON. 201
victory over such antagonists was a sufficient humilia
tion. They, however, were rewarded in this world.
Poor Chelsum was indeed neglected; and I dare not
boast the making Dr, Watson a bishop ; he is a prelate
of a large mind and liberal spirit:* but I enjoyed the
pleasure of giving a Royal pension to Mr, Davis, and of
Collating Dr, Apthorpe to an archi-episcopal living. Their
success encouraged the zeal of Taylor the Arian,t and
Milner the Methodist,J with many others, whom it would
be difficult to remember, and tedious to rehearse. The
list of my adversaries, however, was graced with the
more respectable names of Dr. Priestly, Sir David Dal
rymple, and Dr. White ; arid every polemic, of either
university, discharged his sermon or pamphlet against the "
impenetrable silence of the Roman historian. In his His
tory of the Corruptions of Christianity, Dr, Priestly threw
down his two gauntlets to Bishop Hurd and Mr, Gibbon.
I declined the chaUenge in a letter, exhorting my oppo
nent to enlighten the world by his philosophical dis
coveries, and to remember that the merit of his predeces
sor Servetus is now reduced to a single passage, which
* See Letters, No. LXXXIII. LXXXVIII. aud CXIV.
t The stupendous titie. Thoughts on the Causes of the grand Apostacy,
at first agitated my nerves, tiU I discovered that it was the apostacy of tho
whole church, since tbe Council of Nice, from Mr. Taylor's private religion.
His book is a thorough mixture of high enthusiasm aud Zow buffoonery, and
the MiUenium is a fundamental article of his creed.
X From his grammar-school at Kingston-upon-HuU, Mr. Joseph Milner
pronounces an anathema against all rational reUgion. His faith is a divine
taste, a spiritual inspiration ; Ms church is a mystic and invisible body : the
natural Christians, such as Mr. Locke, who beUeve and interpret tbe
Scriptures, are, in hisjudgment, no better than profane infidels.

i!02 MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON.
-.. - . I— .1 ¦—— — - - .— . — ' ¦ — ¦  I—— ' — ¦'¦  '— - I*
indicates the smaller circulation of the blood through the
lungs, from and to the heart.* Instead of listening to
this friendly advice, thc dauntless phUosopher of Birming
ham continued to fire away his double battery against
those who believed too little, and those who believed too
much. From my replies he has nothing to hope or fear :
but his Socinian shield has repeatedly been pierced by the
spear of Horsley, and his trumpet of sedition may at
length awaken the magistrates of a free country.
The profession and rank of Sir David Dalrymple (now
a Lord of Session) has given a more decent colour to his
style. But he scrutinized each separate passage of the
two chapters with the dry minuteness of a special
pleader ; and as he was always solicitous to make, he
may have succeeded sometimes in findmg a flaw. In his
Annals of Scotland, he has shown himself a dihgent col
lector and an accurate critic.
I have praised, and I still praise, the eloquent sermons
which were preached in St. Mary's pulpit at Oxford by
Dr. White. If he assaulted me with some degree of
illiberal acrimony, in such a place, and before such an
audience, he was obliged to speak the language of the
country, I smiled at a passage in one of his private let
ters to Mr, Badcock : " The part where we encounter
Gibbon must be brilliant and striking,"
In a sermon preached before the University of Cam
bridge, Dr, Edwards complimented a work, "which can
only perish with the language itself;" and esteems the
author a formidable enemy. He is, indeed, astonished
that more learning and ingenuity has not been shown in
* Astiuc, de la Struchire du Cojur, tom. i. 77, 79, Letter CXLIV.

MR. GIBBON SETTLES IN LONDON. 203
the defence of Israel ; that the prelates and dignitaries of
the church (alas, good man !) did not vie with each other
whose stone should sink the deepest in the forehead of
this Goliahi
" But the force of truth wUl oblige us to confess, that
in the attacks which have been levelled against our scep
tical historian, we can discover but slender traces of
profound and exquisite erudition, of solid criticism and
accurate investigation ; but we are too frequently dis
gusted by vague and inconclusive reasoning ; by unsea
sonable banter and senseless witticisms ; by embittered
bigotry and enthusiastic jargon ; by futile cavUs and
illiberal invectives. Proud and elated by the weakness
of his antagonists, he condescends not to handle the
sword of controversy."'*
Let me frankly own that I was startled at the first dis
charge of ecclesiastical ordinance ; but as soon as I found
that this empty noise was mischievous only in the inten
tion, my fear was converted into indignation ; and every>/
feeling of indignation or curiosity has long since subsided
in pure and placid indifference.
• Monthly Review, Oct. 1790.

CHAP. XXL
MR. GIBBON ENGAGES IN POLITICS.
The prosecution of my history was soon afterwards
checked by another controversy of a very different kind.
At the request of the Lord Chancellor, and of Lord
Weymouth, then secretary of state, I vindicated, against
the French manifesto, the justice of the British arms. The
jvhole correspondence of Lord Stormont, our late am
bassador at Paris, was submitted to my inspection, and
the Memoire Justificatif, which I composed in French,
was first approved by the cabinet ministers, and then
delivered as a state papei; to the courts of Europe. The
Style and manner are praised by Beumarchais himself,
who, in his private quarrel, attempted a reply ; but he
flatters me, by ascribing the memoir to Lord Stormont;
and the grossness of his invective betrays the loss of
temper and of wit ; he acknowledged,* that " the style
would not be ungraceful, nor the reasoning unjust," &c.,
if the facts were true which he undertakes to disprove.
For these facts my credit is not pledged ; I spoke as a
* GEuvres de Beaumarchais, tom. iii, p. 299, 3SS,

MR. GIBBON ENGAGES IN POLITICS. 205
lawyer from my brief. But the veracity of Beaumar
chais may be estimated from the assertion that France,
by the treaty of Paris (1763), was limited to a certain
number of ships of War, On the application of the
Duke of Choiscul, he was obliged to retract this daring
falsehood. Among the honourable connexions which I had formed,
I may justly be proud of the friendship of Mr, Wedder
burne, at that time attorney-general, who now illustrates
the title of Lord Loughborough, and the office of Chief
Justice of the Common Pleas. By his strong recom
mendation, and the favourable disposition of Lord North,
I Was appointed one of the lords commissioners of trade
and plantations ; and my private income was enlarged by
a clear addition of between seven and eight hundred
pounds a year. The fancy of an hostUe orator may paint,
in the strong colours of ridicule, " the perpetual virtual
adjournment, and the unbroken sitting vacation of the
board of trade."* But it must be allowed that our duty
was not intolerably severe, and that I enjoyed many
days and weeks of repose, without being called away
from the library to the office. My acceptance of a place
provoked some of the leaders of opposition, with whom I
had lived in habits of intimacy ; and I was most unjustly
* 1 can never forget the delight with which that diffusive and ingenious
orator, Mr. Burke, was heard by all sides of the house, and even by those
whose existence he proscribed. (See Mr. Burke's speech on the BiU of
Reform, p. 72 — 80.) The lords of trade blushed at their insignificancy,
and Mr. Eden's appeal to the 2500 volumes of our Reports, served only to
excite a general laugh. I take this opportunity of certifying the correct
ness of Mr. Burke's prmted speeches, whieh I bare he^rd and read, ,

20G MR. GIBBON ENGAGES IN POLITICS.
accused of deserting a party, in which I had never en
listed,* * From Eiioard Gibbon, Esq. to  Esq. " 2nd July, 1779.
" Dear Sir, — Yesterday I received a very interesting communication
from my friend, the attorney -general, whose kind and honourable behaviour
towards me I must always remember with the highest gratitude. He in
formed me that, iu consequence of an an-angement, a place at the board of
trade was reserved for me, and that as soon as I signified my acceptance
ofit, he was satisfied uo farther difBculties would arise. My answer to him
was sincere aud expUcit. I told him that I was far from approving all Ihe
past measures of the administration, even some of those in which I myself
had silently concurred : that I saw, with the rest of the world, many
capital defects in the ehai-acters of some of the present ministe.'s, and was
sorry that iu so alarming a situation of pubUc afiairs, the country had not
the assistance of several able and honest men who are now in opposition.
But that I had not formed with any of those persons in opposition any
engagements or connexions which could in the least restrain or affect my
parliamentary conduct ; that I coiUd not discover among them such supe-
rior advantages, either of measures or of abilities, as could make me con
sider it as a duty to attach myself to theu: cause ; and that I clearly un
derstood, from the public and private language of  , one of their
leaders, that in the actual state of the country, he himself was seriously of
opinion that opposition could not tend to auy good purpose, and might bo
productive of much mischief; that, for those reasons, I saw no objections
which could prevent me from accepting an office under thp present
government, aud that I was ready to take a step which I found to be con
sistent both witil my interest and my honour.
" It must now be decided, whether I may contiuiie to five in England,
or whether I must soon withdraw myself into a kind of phUosophicaJ exile
in Switzerland. My father left his affairs iu a state of embarrassment, and
even of distress. My attempts to dispose of a part of my landed property
have hitherto been disappointed, and are not likely at present to be mora
Bucoessful ; and my plan of expense, though moderate in itself, deserves
the name of extravagance, since it exceeds my real income. The addition
ofthe salary which is now offered will make my situatipn perfectiy easy ;
but I hope you will do me the justice to beUeve that my mind could not
be so, unless I were satisfied ofthe rectitude of my own conduct."

MR. GIBBON ENGAGES IN POLITICS. 207
The aspect of the next session of parliament was
stormy and perUous ; county meetings, petitions, and
committes of correspondence, announced the public dis
content ; and instead of voting with a triumphant majority^
the friends of government were often exposed to a
struggle, and sometimes to a defeat. The House of
Commons adopted Mr, Dunning's motion, " That the in
fluence of the Grown had increased, was increasing,
and ought to be diminished:" and Mr, Burke's bUl of
reform was framed with skiU, introduced with eloquence,
and supported by numbers. Our late president, the
American secretary of state, very narrowly escaped the
sentence of proscription ; but the unfortunate board of
trade was abolished in the committee by a small majority
(207 to 199) of eight votes. The storm, however, blew
over for a time ; a large defection of country gentlemen
eluded the sanguine hopes of the patriots : the lords of
trade were revived ; adminstration recovered their
strength and spirit ; and the flames of London, which
were kindled by a mischievous madman, admonished all
thinking men of the danger of an appeal to the people.
In the premature dissolution which followed this session
of parliament, I lost my seat, Mr, EUot was now deeply
engaged in the measures of opposition, and the electors
of Liskeard* are commonly of the same opinion as Mr.
Eliot. In this interval of my senatorial life, I pubUshed fhe
second and third volumes of the Decline and Fall. My
ecclesiastical history stUl breathed the same spirit of free-
* The borough which Mr. Gibbon had represented in Parliament.

208 MR. GIBBON ENGAGES IN POLITICS.
dom ; but protestant zeal is more indifferent to the charac
ters and controversies of the fourth and fifth centuries. My
obstinate silence had damped the ardour of the polemics.
Dr. Watson, the most candid of my adversaries, assured
me that he had no thoughts of renewing the attack, and
my impartial balance of the virtues and vices of Julian
was generally praised. This truce was interrupted only
by some animadversions of the CathoUcs of Italy, and
by some angry letters of Mr. Travis, who made me
personally responsible for condemning, with the best
critics, the spurious text of the three heavenly witnesses.
The piety or prudence of my Italian translator has pro
vided an antidote against the poison of his original. The
Sth and 7th volumes are armed with five letters from an
anonymous divine to his friends, Foothead and Kii'k, two
English students at Rome ; and this meritorious service is
commended by Monsignor Stonor, a prelate of the same
nation, who discovers much venom in the fiuid and ner
vous style of Gibbon. The critical essay at the end of
the third volume was furnished by the Abbate Nicola
Spedalieri, whose zeal has graduaUy swelled to a more
solid confutation in two quarto volumes. — Shall I be
excused for not having read them 1
The brutal insolence of Mr. Travis's challenge can
only be excused by the absence of learning, judgment,
and humanity ; and to that excuse he has the fairest or
foulest pretension. Compared with Archdeacon Travis,
Chelsum and Davis assumes the title of respectable
enemies. The bigoted advocate of popes and monks may be
turned over even to the bigots of Oxford; and the

MB. GIBBON ENGAGES IN POLITICS. SOS
wretched Travis still smarts under the lash of the merciless
Porson. I consider Mr. Person's answer to Archdeacon
Travis as the most acute and accurate piece of criticism
which has appeared since the days of Bentley. His
strictures are founded in argument, enriched with learn
ing, and enlivened with wit ; and his adversary neither
deserves nor finds any quarter at his hands. The evi
dence of the three heavenly witnesses would now be re
jected in any court of justice: but prejudice is blind,
authority is deaf, and our vulgar bibles wUl ever be pol
luted by this spurious text, " sedet aeternumque sedebit."
The more learned ecclesiastics wUl indeed have the
secret satisfaction of reprobating in the closet what they
read in the church.
I perceived, and without surprise, the coldness and
even prejudice of the town ; nor could a whisper escape
my ear, that, in the judgment of many readers, my con
tinuation was much inferior to the original attempts. An
author who cannot ascend will always appear to sink :
envy was now prepared for my reception, and the zeal of
my religious, was fortified by the motive of my political
enemies. Bishop Newton, in writing his own life, was
at full liberty to declare how much he himself and two
eminent brethren were disgusted by Mr. G.'s prolixity,
tediousness, and affectation. But the old\nan should not
have indulged his zeal in a false and feeble charge
against the historian,* who had faithfully and even cau-
* Extract from Mr, Gibbon's Common-place Book-
Thomas Newton, Bishop of Bristol and Dean of St. Paul's, was bom at
Litchfield on the 21st of December, 1703, O. S. (1st January, 1704, N. S.),
and died tiie 14th of February, 1782, m the 79th year ofhis age. A few

210 MR. GIBBON ENGAGES IN POLITICS.
tiously rendered Dr. Burnet's meaning by the alternative
bf sleep or repose. That philosophic divine supposes,
days before his death he finished the memoirs of his own life, which havo
been prefixed to an edition of his posthumous works, first published in-
quarto, and since (1787) republished m six volumes octavo.
P. 173, 174. Some books were published in 178 1, which employed
some of the Bishop's leisure hours, and during his Ulness. Mr. Gibbon's
History of the DecUne and FaU of the Roman Empire he read throughout,.
but it by no means answered his expectation ; for he found it rather a prolix
and tedious performance, his matter uninteresting, and hia style affected ; his'
testimonials not to be depended upon, and his frequent scoffs at religion
offensive to every sober mind. He had before been convicted of making-
false quotations, which should have taught him more prudence and cau
tion. But, without examining his authorities, there is one which must
necessarily strike every man who has read Dr. Burnet's Treatise de Statu-
Mortoorum. In vol. iii. p. 99, Mr. G. has the foUowing note , — " Buioiet
(de S. M. p. 56 — 84) collects the opinions of the Fathers, as far as they
assert the sleep or repose of human souls tUl the day of judgment. He
afterwards exposes (p. 91) the inconveniences which must arise if they
possessed a more active and sensible existence. Who would not from
hence infer that Dr. B. wasan advocate for the sleep or insensible existence nf
the soul after death 1 whereas his doctrine is directly the contrary. He,
has employed some chapters in treating of the state of human souls in the
interval between death and the resurrection; and after various proofs from
reason, from Scriptm-e, and tbe Fathers, his conclusions are, that human
souls exist after their separation from the body, that they are in a good or
evU state according to then- good or evU behaviour, but that neither their
happiness nor their misery will be complete or perfect before the day of
judgment. His argumentation is thus summed np at the end of the 4th
chapter — " Ex quibus constat primo, animas superesse extincto corpore ;
secundo, bonas bene, males male se habituras ; tertio, nee iUis summam
feUcitatem, nee his summam miseriam, accessuram esseante diem judicii.' "
(The Bishop's reading the whole was a greater compliment to the work
than was paid to it by two of the most eminent of his brethren for their
learning aud station. The one entered upon it, but was soon wearied and
laid it aside in disgust : the other returned it upon the bookseller's hBiids'

MR. GIBBON E.NGAGES IN POLITICS. 211
that, in the period between death and the resurrection,
human souls exist without a body, endowed with internal
consciousness, but destitute of aU active or passive con
nexion with the external world. " Secundum communem
dictionem sacrse scriptura3, mors dicitur somnus, et mori-
entes dicuntur abdormire, quod innuere mihi videtur
statum mortis esse statum quietis, silentli, et aspyatfsaff."
(De Statu Mortuorum, ch, v, p. 98.)
and it is said that Mr. 6, himself happened unluckily to be in tbe shop at
the same time,)
Does the Bishop comply 'with his own precept in the next page 1 (p.
175.) "Old age should lenify, should soften men's manners, and make
them more mild and gentle; but often has the contrary effect, hardens
their hearts, and makes them more sour and crabbed." — He is speaking of
Dr. Johnson.
Have I ever insinuated that preferment-hunting is tho great occupation of
an ecclesiastical UfeT (Memoirs passim) that a minister's influence and a
bishop's patronage are sometimes pledged eleven deep 1 (p. 151) that a
prebendary considers the audit-week aa the better part of the year 1 (p,
127) or that the most eminent of priests, the pope himself, would change
their religion if anythmg better could be offered them ? (p. 56). Such
things are more than insinuated in tbe Bishop's Life, which afforded some
scandal to the church, and some diversion to the profane laity.

CHAP. XXII.
THE AUTHOR PROCEEDS WITH HIS HlS'fOKr.
I was however encouraged by some domestic and
foreign testimonies of applause ; and the second and third
volumes insensibly rose in sale and reputation to a level
with the first. But the public is seldom wrong ; and 1
am inclined to believe that, especially in the beginning,
they are more prolix, and less entertaining than the first :
my efforts had not been relaxed by success, and I had
rather deviated into the opposite fault of minute and
superfluous dUigence. On the Continent, my name and
writings were slowly diffused: a French translation of
the first volume had disappointed the booksellers of
Paris ; and a passage in the third was construed as a
personal reflection On the reigning monarch.*
Before I could apply for a seat at the general election
the list was already full ; but Lord North's promise was
sincere, his recommendation was effectual, and I was
* It may not be generaUy known that Louis the Sixteenth is a great
reader, and a reader of English books. On perusing a passage of my His
tory whioh seems to compare him to Arcadius or Honorius, be expressed
hisresentment to the Prince of B****"* from whom the intelligence was
conveyed to me. I shaU neither disclaim the aUusion, nor examine the
likeness: but the situation of the late King of France excludes all suspicion of
flattery ; and I am ready to declare that the concluding observations of my
third volume were written before his accession to the tiirone.

The AUTHOR proceeds with his HISTORY. 213
soon chosen on a vacancy for the borough of Lymington,
in Hampshire. In the first session of the new parliament,
administration stood their ground ; their final overthrow
was reserved for the second. The American war had
once been the favourite of the country: the pride of
England was irritated by the resistance of her colonies,
and the executive power was driven by national clamour
into the most vigorous and coercive measures. But the
length of a fruitless contest, the loss of armies, the accu
mulation of debt and taxes, and the hostile confederacy
of France, Spain, and Holland, indisposed the public to
tbe American war, and the persons by whom it was con
ducted ; the representatives of the people, followed at a
slow distance, the changes of their opinion; and the
ministers who refused to bend, were broken by the tem
pest. . As soon as Lord North had lost or was about to
lose, a majority in the House of Commons, he surren
dered his office, and retired to a private station, with the
tranquil assurance of a clear conscience and a cheerful
temper : the old fabric was dissolved, and the posts of
government were occupied by the victorious and veteran
troops of opposition. The lords of trade were not im
mediately dismissed, but the board itself was abolished
by Mr. Bnrke's bill, which decency had compeUed the
patriots to revive ; and I was stripped of a convenient
salary, after having enjoyed it about three years.
So flexible is the title of my history, that the final aera
might be fixed at my own choice ; and I long hesitated
whether I should be content with the three volumes, the
Fall of the Western Empire, which fulfilled my first en
gagement with the public. In this interval of suspense,

214 THE AUTHOR PROCEEDS WITH HIS HISTORY.

nearly a twelvemonth, I returned, by a natural impulse,
to the Greek authors of antiquity: I read with new
pleasure the Iliad and the Odyssey, the histories of Hero
dotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon, a large portion of the
tragic and comic theatre of Athens, and many interesting
dialogues of the Socratlc school. Yet in the luxury of
freedom I began to wish for the daily task, the active
pursuit, which gave a value to every book, and an object
to every inquiry : the preface of a new edition announced
my design, and I dropped without reluctance from the
age of Plato to that of Justinian. Tht original texts of
Procopius and Agathias supplied the events and even the
characters of his reign : but a laborious winter was de
voted to the Codes, the Pandects, and the modem inter
preters, before I presumed to form an abstract of the
civil law. My skill was improved by practice, my dUi
gence, perhaps, was quickened by the loss of office ; and.
excepting the last chapter, I had finished the fourth
volume before I sought a retreat on the banks of the
Leman Lake.
It is not the purpose of this narrative to expatiate on
the public or secret history of the times : the schism which
followed the death of the Marquis of Rockingham, the
appointment of the Earl of Shelburne, tbe resignation
of Mr. Fox, and his famous coalition with Lord North.
But I may assert, with some degree of assurance, that in
their political conflict those great antagonists had never
felt any personal animosity to each other, that their re-
concilia,tion was easy and sincere, and that their friend
ship has never been clouded by the shadow of suspicion
or jealousy. The most violent or venal of their respec-

THE AUTHOR PROCEEDS WITH HIS HISTORY. 215
live followers embraced this fair occasion of revolt, but
their alliance still commanded a majority in the House of
Commons ; the peace was censured, Lord Shelburne re
signed, and the two friends knelt on the same cushion
to take the oath of secretary of state. From a princi
ple of gratitude I adhered to the coalition : my vote was
counted in the day of battle, but I was overlooked in the
division of the spoil. There were many claimants more
deserving and importunate than myself; the board of
trade could not be restored ; and while the list of places
was curtailed, the number of candidates was doubled.
An easy dismission to a secure seat at the board of cuiS-'
t'©ms or excise was promised on the first vacancy ; but
the chance was distant and doubtful ; nor could I solicit
with much ardour an ignoble servitude, which would have
robbed me of the most valuable of my studious hours :
at the' same time the tumult of London, and the attend
ance on Parliament, were grown more irksome; and',
without some additional iucomei I eould not long or
prudently maintain the style bf expense to which I was
accustomed. Prom my early acquaintance with Lausanne I had
always cherished a secret wish, that the school of my
youth niight become the retreat of my declining age. A
modferate fortune would secure the blessings of ease,
leisure, and' independence : the' country, the people, the
manners; tne language, were congenial to my taste ; and
I might indulge the hope of passing a few years in the
domestic society of a friend. Aftter travelling with
several EngUsh,* Mr. Deyverdun was ^ now settled at|
• * Sir Richard Worsley, Lord Chesterfield, Broderick Lord Middleton
and Mr. Hume, brother to Sir Abraham.

216 THE AUTHOR PROCEEDS WITH HIS HISTORY.
home, in a pleasant habitation, the gift of his deceased
aunt: we had long been separated, we had long been
silent; yet in my first letter I exposed, with the
most perfect confidence, my situation, my sentiments, and
my designs. His immediate answer was a warm and
joyful acceptance : the picture of our future life provoked
my impatience ; and the terms of arrangement were
short and simple, as he possessed the property, and I
undertook the expense of our common house,* Before
I could break my English chain, it was incumbent on me
to struggle with the feelings of my heart, the indolence of
my temper, and the opinion of the world, which unani
mously condemned this voluntary banishment. In the
disposal of my effects, the library, a secret deposit, was
alone excepted: as my postchaise moved over West
minister-bridge I bid a long farewell to the " fumum et
opes strepitumque Romce." My journey by the direct
road through France was not attended with any acci
dent, and I arrived at Lausanne nearly twenty years
after my second departure. Within less than three
months the coalition struck on some hidden rocks ; had I
remained on board, I should have perished in the general
shipwreck.! Since my estabUshment at Lausanne, more than seven
years have elapsed : and if every day has not been
equally soft and serene, not a day, not a moment, has
occurred in which I have repented of my choice. During
my absence, a long portion of human life, many changes
had happened : my elder acquaintance had left the stage ;
virgins were ripened into matrons, and chUdren were
• See Letters, No. CL, CLI, CLII, CLUI, CLIV, CLVI, CHX.
t See Letter No. CIXXVI.

THE AUTHOR PROCEEDS WITH HIS HISTORY. 217
grown to the age of manhood. But the same manners
were transmitted from one generation to another: my
friend alone was an inestimable treasure ; my name was
not totally forgotten, and all were ambitious to welcome
the arrival of a stranger and the return of a fellow-
citizen. The first winter was given to a general em
brace, without any nice discrimination of persons and
characters. After a more regular settlement, a more
accurate survey, I discovered three solid and permanent
benefits of my new situation, 1. My personal freedom
had been somewhat impaired by the House of Commons
and the board of trade ; but I was now delivered from
the chain of duty and dependence, from the hopes and
fears of poUtical adventure : my sober mind was no
longer intoxicated by the fumes of party, and I rejoiced in
my escape, as often as I read of the midnight debates
which preceded the dissolution of parliament, 2. My
English economy had been that of a solitary bachelor,
who might afford some occasional dinners. In Switzer
land I enjoyed at every meal, at every hour, the free and
pleasant conversation of the friend of my youth ; and
my daUy table was always provided for the reception of
one or two extraordinary guests. Our importance in
society is less a positive than a relative weight: in Lon-v
don I was lost in the crowd ; I ranked with the first fami
lies of Lausanne, and my style of prudent expense ena
bled me tp maintain a fair balance of reciprocal civilities,
3. Instead of a smaU house between a street and a stable-
yard, I began to occupy a spacious and convenient man
sion, connected on the north side with the city, and open
on the south to a beautiful and boundless horizon, A

218 THE AUTHOR PROCEEDS WITH HIS HISTORY.

garden of four acres had been laid out by the taste of Mr.
Deyverdun : from the garden a rich scenery of meadows
and vineyards descends to the Leman Lake, and the
prospect far beyond the lake is crowned by the stupen-
duous mountains of Savoy. My books and my acquaint
ance had been first united in London; but this happy
position of my library in town and country was finally
reserved for Lausanne. Possessed of every comfort in
this triple alliance, I could not be tempted to change my
habitation with the changes of the seasons.
My friends had been kindly apprehensive that I should
not be able to exist in a Swiss town at the foot of the
Alps, after having so long conversed with the first men
ofthe first cities of the world. Such lofty connexions
may attract the curious, and gratify the vain ; but I am
too modest, or too proud, to rate my own value by that
of my associates ; and whatsoever may be the fame of
learning or genius, experience has shown me that the
cheaper qualifications of politeness and good sense are of
more useful currency in the commerce of life. By many,
V conversation is esteemed as a theatre, or a school : but,
after the morning has been occupied by the labours of
the library, I wish to unbend rather than to exercise my
mind ; and in the interval between tea and supper I am
far from disdaining the innocent amusement of a game at
cards, Lausanne is peopled by a numerous gentry,
whose companionable idleness is seldom distm-bed by the
pursuits of avarice or ambition : the women, though con
fined to a domestic education, are endowed for the most
part with more taste and knowledge than their husbands
and brothers : but the decent freedom of both sexes is

THE AUTHOR PROCEEDS WITH HIS HISTORY. 219
equally remote from the extremes of simplicity and
refinement. I shall add as a misfortune rather than a
merit, that the situation and beauty of the Pays de Vaud,
the long habits of the English, the medical reputation of
Dr. Tissot, and the fashion of viewing the mountains and
glaciers, have opened us on all sides to the incursions of
foreigners. The visits of Mr, and Madame Necker, of
Prince Henry of Prussia, and of Mr. Fox, may form
some pleasing exceptions ; but, in general, Lausanne has
appeared most agreeable in my eyes, when we have been
abandoned to our own society. I had frequently seen
Mr. Necker, in the summer of 1784, at a country house
near Lausanne, where he composed his Treatise on the
Administration of the Finances, I have since, in Octo
ber, 1790, visited him in his present residence, the castle
and barony of Copet, near Geneva. Of the merits and
measures of that statesman various opinions may be
entertained; but all impartial men must agree in their
esteem of his integrity and patriotism.
In the month of August, 1784, Prince Henry of Prussia,
in his way to Paris, passed three days at Lausanne.
His military conduct has been praised by professional
men; his character has been vilified by the wit and
malice of a dsemon;* but I was flattered by his affa
bility, and entertained by his conversation.
In his tour of Switzerland (September, 1788) Mr. Fox
gave me two days of free and private society, f He
seemed to feel, and even to envy, the happiness of my
situation, while I admired the powers of a superior man
* Memoire Secret de la Cour de BerUn.
t See Letter in the Continuation, October 1, 178B

220 THE AUTHOR PROCEEDS WITH HIS HISTORY.

as they are blended in his attractive character with the
softness and simplicity of a child. Perhaps no human
being was ever more perfectly exempt from the taint of
malevolence, vanity, or falsehood.
My transmigration from London to Lausanne could
not be effected without interrupting the course of my
historical labours. The hurry of my departure, the joy
of my arrival, the delay of my tools, suspended their pro
gress ; and a full twelvemonth was lost before I could
resume the thread of regular and daily industry. A
number of books most requisite and least common had
been previously selected; the academical library of
Lausanne, which 1 could use as my own, contained at
least the fathers and councils ; and I have derived some
occasional succour from the public collections of Berne
and Geneva. The fourth volume was soon terminated,
by an abstract of the controversies of the incarnation,
which the learned Dr. Prideaux was apprehensive of
exposing to profane eyes. It had been the original
design of the learned Dean Prideaux to write the history
of the ruin of the Eastern Church. In this work it would
have been necessary, not only to unravel all those con
troversies which the Christians made about the hyposta-
tical union, but also to unfold all the niceties and subtle
notions which each sect entertained concerning it. The
pious historian was apprehensive of exposing that incom
prehensible mystery to the cavUs and objections of unbe
lievers ; and he durst not, " seeing the nature of this book,
venture it abroad in so wanton and lewd an age."*
In the fifth and sixth volumes the revolutions of the
* See preface to the Life of Mahomet, p. 10, 11.

THE AUTHOR PROCEEDS VVITH HIS HISTORY. 221
empire and the world are most rapid, various, and in
structive ; and the Greek or Roman historians are
checked by the hostile narratives of the barbarians of
the East and the West.*
It was not till after many designs, and many trials, that I
preferred, as I still prefer, the method of grouping my pic
ture by nations ; and the seeming neglect of chronological
order is sUrely compensated by the superior merits of
interest and perspicuity. The style of the first volume "
is, in my opinion, somewhat crude and elaborate ; in the
second and third it is ripened into ease, correctness and
numbers ; but in the three last I may have been seduced
by the facility of my pen, and the constant habit of
speaking one language and writing another may have
infused some mixture of Gallic idioms. Happily for my
eyes, I have always closed my studies with the day, and
commonly with .the morning ; and a long, but tempe
rate, labour has been accomplished, without fatiguing
either the mind or body ; but when I computed the re
mainder of my time* and my task, it was apparent
that, according to the season of publication, the delay of
a month would be productive of that of a year. I was
now straining for the goal, and in the last winter, many
evenuigs were borrowed from the social pleasures of
Lausanne. I could now wish that a pause, an interval,
had been allowed for a serious revisal.
I have presumed to mark the moment of conception :
* I have foUowed the judicions precept of the Abbe de Maybly, (Ma
niere d'ecrire I'Histoire, p. 110) who advises the historian not to dweU too
mmntely on the decay of the eastern empire ; but to consider the bar
barian conquerors as a more worthy anbject of his narrative. " Fas est et
abhoste doceri."

^22 THE AUTHOR PROCEEDS WITH HIS HISTORY,
I shaU now commemorate the hour of my final deliver
ance. Jt was on the day, or rather, night of the 27th of
June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that
I wrote the last Unes of the last page, in a summer-house
in my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several
turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which
commands a prospect of the country, the Lake, and the
mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the
sUver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and
all nature was silent. I will not dissemble the first emo
tions of joy on the recovery of my freedom, and, perhaps,
the establishment of my fame. But my pride was soon
humbled, and a sober melancholy was spread over my
mind, by the idea that I had taken an everlasting leave
of an old and agreeable companion, and that whatsoever
might be the future date of my history, the life of the
historian must be short and precarious, I will add two
facts which have seldom occurred in the composition of
six, or even five quartos, 1. My first rough manuscript,
without any intermediate copy, has been sent to the
press. 2. Not a sheet has been seen by any human
eyes, excepting those of the author and the printer : the
faults and the merits are exclusively my own,*
* Extract from Mr, Gibbon's Commonrplace Sook.
^'ofrD:±ra^d'K^^^«f^3",M-^ J»t, X782-ended June,
Roman Empire )
The fifth volume . . . begim July, 1784— ended May Ist, 1786.
Tho sixth volume , . . begun May ISth, 1786 — ended Jnna
27th, 1787.
These three volumes were sent to press August 15th, 1787, and the
whole impression was concluded April foUowing.

THE AUTHOR PROCEEDS WITH HIS HISTORY. 223
I cannot help recollecting a much more extraordinary
fact, which is affirmed of himself by Retif de la Bre-
torme, a voluminous and original writer of French
novels. He laboured, and may still labour, in the hum
ble office of corrector to a printing-house ; but this office
enabled him to transport an entire volume from his mind
to the press ; and his work was given to the public with
out ever having been written \tiih a pen.

CHAP. XXIII.
THE AUTHOR VISITS SHEFFIELD.
After a quiet residence of four years, during which I
had never moved ten miles from Lausanne, it was not
without some reluctance and terror that I undertook, in
a journey of two hundred leagues, to cross the mountains
and the sea. Yet this formidable adventure was achieved
without danger or fatigue ; and at the end of a fort
night I found myself in Lord Sheffield's house and library
safe, happy, and at home. The character of my friend,
Mr, Holroyd, had recommended him to I'seat in parlia
ment for Coventry, the command of a regiment of light
dragoons, and an Irish peerage. The sense and spirit of
his political writings have decided the public opinion on
the great questions of our commercial interest with
America and Ireland,*
The sale of his Observations on the American States
was diffusive, their effect beneficial ; the Navigation Act,
the palladium of Britain, was defended, and perhaps
saved, by his pen ; and he proves, by the weight of fact
and argument, that the mother country may survive and
flourish after the loss of America. My friend has never
* Observations on the Commerce of the Americac States, by John Lord
Sheffield, Gth edition, London, 1784, in octavo.

THE AUTHOR VISITS SHEFFIELD. 22,5
cultivated the arts of composition; but his materials
are copious and correct, and he leaves on his paper the
clear impression of an active and vigorous mind. His
Observations on the Trade, Manufactures, and present
State of Ireland, were intended to guide the industry, to
correct the prejudices, and to assuage the passions of a
country which' seemed to forget that she could be free
and prosperous only by a friendly connexion with Great
Britain. The concluding observations are written with
so much ease and spirit, that they may be read by those
who are the least interested in the subject.
He fell, in 1784, with the unpopular coalition; but his
merit has been acknowledged at the last general election,
1790, by the honourable invitation and free choice ofthe
city of Bristol. During the whole time of my residence
in England I was entertained at Sheffield-place and in
Downing-street by his hospitable kindness; and the
most pleasant period was that which I passed in the
domestic society of the family. In the larger circle of
the metropolis I observed the country and the inhabitants,
with the knowledge, and without the prejudices, of an
Englishman ; but I rejoiced in the apparent increase of
wealth and prosperity, which might be fairly divided
between the spirit of the nation and the wisdom of the
minister. All party resentment was now lost in oblivion :
since I was no man's rival, no man was my enemy. I
felt the dignity of independence, and as I asked no more, _
r was satisfied with the general civUities of the world.
The house in London whicli I frequented with most
pleasure and assiduity was that of Lord North, After
the loss of power and of sight, he was still happy in

226 THE AUTHOR VISITS SHEFFIELD.
himself and his friends ; and my public tribute of grati.
tude and esteem could no longer be Suspected of any
interested motive. Before my departure from England,
I was present at the august spectacle of Mr. Hastings's
trial in Westminster Hall. It is not my province to ab
solve or condemn the governor of India ; but Mr. Sheri
dan's eloquence demanded my applause ; nor could I
hear without emotion the personal compUment which he
paid me in the presence of the British nation.*
From this display of genius, which blazed four suc
cessive days, I shall stoop to a very mechanical circum
stance. As I was waiting ui the manager's box, I had
the curiosity to inquire of the short-hand writer, how
many words a ready and rapid orator might pronounce
in an hour ? From 7000 to 7500 was his answer. The
medium of 7200 will afford 120 words in a minute, and
two words in each second. But this computation wUl
only apply to the English language.

* He said the facts that made up the volume of narrative were unparal
leled in atrociousness, and that nothing equal in criminaUty was to be traced,
either in ancient or modern history, in the correct periods of Tacitus or tha
luminous page of Gibbon.— Morning Chronicle, June 14, 1788,

CHAP. XXIV.
MR. GIBBON PUBLiISHES THE REMAINDER OF HiS
HISTORY.
As the publication of my three last volumes was the
principal object, so it was the first care of my English
journey. The previous arrangements with the book
seller and the printer were settled in my passage through
London, and the proofs, which I returned more correct,
were transmitted every post from the press to Sheffield-
place. The length of the operation, and the leisure of
the country, allowed some time to review my manuscript.
Several rare and useful books, the Assises de Jerusalem,
Ramusius de Bello C. P'"'°, the Greek acts of the synod
of Florence, the Statuta Urbis Romse, &c, were pro
cured, and introduced in their proper places the supple
ments which they afforded. The impression of the
fourth volume had consumed three months. Our com
mon interest required that we should move with a
quicker pace ; and Mr. Strahan fulfilled his engagement,
which few printers could sustain, of delivering every
week three thousand copies of nine sheets. The day of
publication was, however, delayed, that it might coincide
with the fifty-first anniversary of my own birthday ; the
double festival was celebrated by a cheerful literary
dinner at Mr. Cadell's house ; and I seemed to blush

228 MR. GIBBON PUBLISHES
while they read an elegant compliment from Mr, Hay
ley,* whose poetical talents had more than once been
" Occasional Stanzas, by Mr. Ha^yley, read after the Dinner at Mr.
Cadell's, May 8, 1788; being the day of the publication of the three
last volumes of Mr. Gibbon's History, and his Birthday.
Genii of England and of Rome,
In mutual triumph here assume
The honours each may claim !
This social scene with smUes sturvey,
And consecrate the festive day
To Friendship and to Fame !
Enough, by Desolation's tide.
With anguish and indignant pride,
Has Rome bewail'd her fate ;
And mourn'd that rime in Havoc's hour,
Defaced each monument of power
To speak her truly great ;
O'er maim'd Polibius, just and sage.
O'er Livy's mutilated page.
How deep was her regret !
Touch'd by this queen, iu rum grand.
See ! Glory, by an English hand.
Now pays a mighty debt.
Lo ! sacred to the Roman name,
And raised like Rome's immortal fame,
By genius aud by toU,
The splendid work is crown'd to-day.
On which Oblivion ne'er shall prey,
Nor Envy make her spoil !
England, exult ! and view not now
With jealous glance each nation's brow.
Where History's palm has spread !
In every path of Uberal art,
Thy sons to prime distinction start,
And no superior dread.

THE REMAINDER OF HIS HISTORY. 223
employed in the praise of his friend. Before Mr. Hay
ley inscribed with my name his epistles on history, 1 was
not acquainted with that amiable man and elegant poet.
He afterwards thanked me in verse for my second and
third volumes ;* and in the summer of 1781, the Roman
Science for thee a Newton raised;
For thy renown a Shakspeare blazed,
Lord ofthe drama's sphere !
In different fields to equal praise
See History now thy Gibbon raise
To shine without a peer !
E'ager to honour Uving worth,
Aud bless to-day the double birth
That prondest joy may claim.
Let artiess Truth this homage pay,
And consecrate the festive day
To Friendship and to Fame !
• Sonnet to Edward Oibbon, Esq. on the publication of his teeoni ani
third Volumes, 1781.
With protjd deUght the imperial founder gazed
On the new beauty ofthe second Rome,
¦When on his eager eye rich temples blazed.
And his fair city rose in youthful bloom :
A pride more noble may thy heart assume,
0 Gibbon ! gazing on thy growing work,
Ip which, constructed for a happier doom,
No hasty marks al vain ambition lurk :
Thou may'st deride both Time's destructive sway.
And baser Envy's beaaty-mangUng dirk ;
Thy georgeous fabric, plann'd with wise delay,
ShaU bafile foes more savage than tho Turk ;
As ages multiply, its fame shall rise,
• And earth most perish ere its splendour dies.

230 MR. GIBBON PUBLISHES
Eagle* (a proud title) accepted the invitation of tbe
English Sparrow, who chirped in the groves of Eartham,
* A Card of Invitation io Mr. Oibbon at Brighthelmstan e, 1781.
An EngUsh sparrow, pert and free,
'Who chirps beneath his native tree,
Hearing the Roman eagle 'a near.
And feeUng more respect than fear,
Thus, with united love and awe,
Invites him to his shed of straw.
Though he is but a twittering sparrow.
The field he hops in rather narrow,
'When nobler plumes attract his view
He ever pays them homage due.
He looks with reverential wonder
On him, whose talons bear the thunder;
Nor could the jackdaws e'er inveigle
His voice to vUify the eagle;
Though issuing firom the holy towers,
In which they buUd their warmest bowets.
Their sovereign's haunt they slyly search,
In hopes to catch him on his perch,
(For Pindar says, beside his god
The thnnder-bearing bird wiU nod,)
Then, peeping round his still retreat,
They pick irom underneath his feet
Some molted feather he lets faU,
And swear he cannot fly at aU. 
Lord of the sky ! whose pounce can tear
These croakers that infest the air,
Trust him — the sparrow loves to sing
The praise ofthy imperial wing !
He thinks thou 'It deem him, on his wwd.
An honest, though famiUar bird ;
And hopes thou soon wilt condescend
To look npon thy little friend j
That he may boast aronnd hi3 grove
A visit from the hiid of Jove,

THE REMAINDER OF HIS HISTORY.

near Chichester. As most of the former purchasers
were naturally desirous of completing their sets, the sale
of the quarto edition was quick and easy ; and an octavo
size was printed, to satisfy at a cheaper rate the public
demand. The conclusion of my work was generally
read, and variously judged. The style has been exposed
to much academical criticism ; a religious clamour was
revived, and the reproach of indecency has been loudly
echoed by the rigid censors of morals, I never could
understand the clamour tha:t has been raised against the
indecency of my three last volumes, 1. An equal degree
of freedom in the former part, especially in the first
volume, had passed without reproach, 2. I am justified
in painting the manners of the times ; the vices of Theo
dora form an essential feature in the reign and character
of Justinian. 3, My English text is chaste, and all licen-v
tious passages are left in tbe obscurity of a learned lan
guage, "Le Latin dans ses mots brave I'bonn^tet^,"
says the correct Boileau, in a country and idiom more
scrupulous than our own. Yet, upon the whole, the
History of the Decline and Fall seems to have struck root,
both at home and abroad, and may, perhaps, a hundred
years hence still continue to be abused. 1 am less
flattered by Mr. Person's high encomium on the style and
spirit of my history, than I am satisfied with his honour
able testimony to my attention, diligence, and accuracy ;
those humble virtues, which religious zeal had most auda
ciously denied. The sweetness of his praise is tempered
by a reasonable mixture of acid.* As the book may not
be common in England, I shall transcribe my own cha-
* See his preface, page 28, 32.

MR. GIBBON PUBLISHES
2?J 
racter from the Bibliotheca Historica of Meuselius,* a
learned and laborious German. "Summis sevi nostri
historicis Gibbonus sine dubio adnumerandus est. Inter
capitolii ruinas stans primum hujus operis scribendi con
silium cepit. Florentissimos vitse annos colllgendo et
laborando eldem impendit. Enatum inde monumentum
sere perennius, licet passim appareant sinistre dicta,
minus perfecta, veritati non satis consentanea, Videmus
quidem ubique fere studium scrutandi veritatemque scri
bendi maximum : tamen sine TlUemontlo duce ubi scilicet
hujus historia finitur saepius noster titubat atque halluci-
natur. Quod vel maxime fit, ubi de rebus ecclesiasticis
vel de juris prudentia Romana (tom, iv.) tradit, et in aUis
locis, Attamen nsevi hujus generis baud impediunt quo
minus operis summam et o/xovoftiav prseclare dispositam,
delectum rerum sapientissimum, argutum quoque inter-
dum, dictlonemque seu stylum historico seque ac philoso-
pho dignissimum, et vix a quoque alio Anglo, Humio ac
Robertsono hand exceptis (prsereptum ?) vehementur
laudemus, atque sseculo nostro de hujusmodi historia gra-
tulemur  Gibbonus adversaries cum in turn extra
patriam nactus est, quia propagationem religlonis Chris
tianas, non, ut vulgo, fieri solet, aut more theologorum,
sed ut historicum et philosophum decet, exposuerat,"
The French, Italian, and German translations have
been executed with various success; but, instead of
patronizing, I should willingly suppress such imperfect
copies, which injure the character, while they propagate
the name of the author. The first volume had been
feebly, though faithfully, translated into French by M, Le
* Vol. iv. part 1, page 342, 844.

THE REMAINDER OF HIS HISTORY. 233

Clerc de Septchenes, a young gentleman of a studious
character and liberal fortune. After his decease the
work was continued by two manufacturers of Paris, MM,
Desmuniers and CantweU : but the former is now an
active member in the national assembly, and the under
taking languishes in the hands of his associate. The
superior merit of the interpreter, or his language, inclines
me to prefer the Italian version : but I wish that it were
in my power to read the German, which is praised by
the best judges. The Irish pirates are at once my friends
and my enemies. But I cannot be displeased with the
two numerous and correct impressions which have been
published, for the use of the Continent, at Basle in Swit
zerland.* The conquests of our language and literature
are not confined to Europe alone, and a writer who suc
ceeds in London, is speedily read on the banks of the Dela
ware and the Ganges.
In the preface of the fourth volume, while I gloried in
the name of an Englishman, I announced my approach
ing return to the neighbourhood of the Lake of Lausanne,
This last trial confirmed my assurance that I had wisely
chosen for my own happiness ; nor did I once, in a year's
visit, entertain a wish of settling in my native country.
Britain is the free and fortunate island ; but where is the
spot in which I could unite the comforts and beauties of
my establishment at Lausanne ? The tumult of London
astonished my eyes and ears ; the amusements of public
• Of their fourteen octavo volumes, the two last include the whole body
of the notes. The public importunity had forced me to remove them from the
end ofthe volume to the bottom of the page; but I have often repented of
my compUance. •

S34 MR. GIBBON CONCLUDES HIS HISTORY.
places were no longer adequate to the trouble ; the
clubs and assemblies were filled with new faces and
young men : and our best society, our long and late
dinners, would soon have been prejudicial to my health.
Without any share in the political wheel, I must be idle
and insignificant: yet the most splendid temptations
would not have enticed me to engage a second time in
the servitude of parliament or office. At Tunbridge,
some weeks after the publication of my History, I re-
luctantlj'^ quitted Lord and Lady Sheffield ; and, with a
young Swiss friend,* whom I had introduced to the
English world, I pursued the road of Dover and Lau
sanne. My habitation was embellished in my absence,
and the last division of books, which followed my steps,
increased my chosen library to the number of between
six and seven thousand volumes. My seraglio was
ample, my choice was free, my appetite was keen. After
a full repast on Homer and Aristophanes, I involved
myself in the philosophic maze of the writings of Plato,
of which the dramatic is, perhaps, more interesting than
the argumentative part: but I stepped aside into every
path of inquiry which reading or reflection accidentally
opened.

Mr. WUhelm de Severy.

CHAP. XXV.
DEATH OF MR. DEYVERDUN.
Alas ! the joy of my return, and my studious ardour^
were soon damped oy tne melancholy state of my friend
Mr. Deyverdun. Wis nealtn ana snirits had long suffered
a gradual decline, a succession of apoplectic fits an
nounced his dissolution: and before he expired, those
who loved him couia not wish for tne continuance of his
life. The voice of reason might congratulate his deliver
ance, but the feelings of nature ana friendship could be
subdued only by time : ms amiaole character was still
alive in my remembrance : each room, each walk, was
imprinted with our common footsteps ; and I should
blush at my own pniiosophy, if a long interval of study
had not precedea ana followed the death of my friend.
By his last will he left to me the option of purchasing his
house and garden, or of possessing them during my life,
on the payment of a stipulated price, or of an easy retri
bution to his kinsman and heir. I should probably have
been tempted by the demon of property, if some legal
difficulties had not been started against my title : a con
test would have been vexatious, doubtful, and invidious ;
and the heir most gratefully subscribed an agreement,
which rendered my life possession more perfect, and his

DEATH OF MR. DEYVERDUN. 236
future condition more advantageous. Yet I had often
revolv'fed the judicious lines in which Pope answers the
objections of his long-s*hted friend :
Pity to buUd without or child or wife ;
Why, you'U enjoy it only all your life
WeU, if tbe use be mine, does it concem one,
Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon 1
The certamty of my tenure has aUowed me. to lay out
a considerable sum in improvements and alteratioua-
they have been executed with skill and taste ; and few
men of letters, perhaps, in Europe, are so desirably
lodged as myself. But I feel, and with the decline of
;/ years I shall more painfully feel that I am alone in para
dise. Among the circle of my acquaintance at Lau
sanne, I have gradually acquired the solid and tender
friendship of a respectable famUy :* the four persons of
whom it is composed are all endowed with the virtues
best adapted to their age and situation ; and I am en
couraged to love the parents as a brother, and the chil
dren as a father. Every day we seek and find the op
portunities of meeting: yet even this valuable connexion
cannot supply the loss of domestic society.

¦• The family of De Severy,

CHAP. XXVI,
OBSERVATIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION,
Within the last two or three years our tranquillity has
been clouded by the disorders of France : many families
at Lausanne were alarmed and affected by the terrors of
an impending bankruptcy ; but the revolution, or rather
the dissolution, of the kingdom has been heard and felt
in the adjacent lands.
I beg leave to subscribe my assent to Mr. Burke's
creed on the revolution of France. I admire his elo*
quence, I approve his politics, I adore his chivalry, and I
can almost excuse his reverence for church establish
ments. I have sometimes thought of writing a dialogue
of tbe dead, in which Lucian, Erasmus, and Voltaire
should mutually acknowledge the danger of exposing an
old superstition to the contempt of the blind and fanatic
multitude, A swarm of emigrants of both sexes, who escaped
from the public ruin, has been attracted by the vicinity,
the manners, and the language of Lausanne ; and our
harrow habitations in town and country are now occupied
by the first names and titles of the departed monarchy.
These noble fugitives are entitled to our pity ; they may
claim our esteem^ but they cannot, in their present state
of Tnind and fortune, much contribute to our amusement.

238 OBSERVATIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION,
Instead of looking down as calm and idle spectators on
the theatre of Europe, our domestic harmony is somewhat
embittered by the infusion of party spirit : our ladles- and
gentleman assume the character of self-taught politicians ;
and the sober dictates of wisdom and experience are
sUenced by the clamour of the triumphant democrats.
The fanatic missionaries of sedition have scattered the
seeds of discontent in our cities and villages, which had
flourished above two hundred and fifty years without
fearing the approach of war, or feeling the weight of
government. Many individuals and some communities
appear to be, infested with the GalUc frenzy, the wild the
ories of equal and boundless freedom ; but I trust that
the body of the people will be faithful to their sovereign
and to themselves: and I am satisfied thatthe failure or
success of a revolt would equaUy terminate in the ruinol
ii/the country. WhUe the aristocracy of Berne protects the
happiness, it is superfluous to inquire whether it be
founded in the rights, of man : the economy of the stat«(
is liberally supplied without the aid of taxes ; and the
magistrates wmsi reign with prudence and equity, since
they are unarmed in the midst of an armed nation.
The revenue of Berne, excepting some small duties, is
derived from church lands, tithes, feudal rights, and
interest of money. The republic has nearly £500,000
sterling in the English funds, and the amount of their
treasure is unknown to the citizens themselves. For
</ myself (may the omen be averted) I can only declare,
that the first stroke of a rebel drum would be the signal
of my immediate departure.
When I contemplate the common lot of mortality, I

OBSERVATIONS ON THE FRENCH EEVOLUTION. 239
must acknowledge that I have drawn a high prize in the
lottery of life. The far greater part of the globe is
overspread with barbarism or slavery : in the civilized
world, the most numerous class is condemned to igno
rance and poverty ; and the double fortune of my birth
in a free and enlightened country, in an honourable and
wealthy famUy, is the lucky chance of an unit against
millions. The general probability is about three to one,
that a new-born infant will not live to complete his fiftieth
year.* I have now passed that age, and may fairly
estimate the present value of my existence in the three
fold division of mind, body, and estate.
1, The first and indispensable requisite of happiness is
a clear conscience, unsullied by the reproach or remem
brance of an unworthy action,
 Hic murus aheneus esto,
NU conscire sibi, nuUi paUesoere culpa
1 am endowed with a cheerful temper, a moderate
sensibility, and a natural disposition to repose rather than
to activity : some mischievous appetites and habits have
perhaps been corrected by phUosophy or time. The
love of study, a passion which derives fresh vigour from
enjoyment, suppUes each day, each hour, with a perpetual
source of independent and rational pleasure ; and I am
not sensible of any decay of the mental faculties. The
original soU has been highly improved by cultivation ',
* See Buffon, Supplement a I'Histoire naturelle, tom. vu. page 158 — 164.
Of a given number of new-born infants, one half, by the fault of nature or
man, is extinguished before the age of puberty and reason. — A melancholy
calculation .'

240 OBSERVATIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

.'but it may be questioned, whether some flowers of fancy,
some grateful errors, have not been eradicated with the
weeds of prejudice. 2. Since I have escaped from the
long perils of my childhood, the serious advice of a phy
sician has seldom been requisite. " The madness of
superfiuous health" I have never known ; but my tender
constitution has been fortified by time, and the inestimable
gift of the sound and peaceful slumbers of infancy may be
imputed both to the mind and body. 3. I have already
described the merits of my society and situation ; but these
enjoyments would be tasteless or bitter if their possession
were not assured by an annual and adequate supply.
According to the scale of Switzerland, I am a rich man ;
and I am indeed rich, since my income is superior to my
expense, and my expense is equal to my wishes. My
friend Lord Sheffield has kindly relieved me from the
cares to which my taste and temper are most adverse ;
shall I add, that since the failure of my first wishes, I
have never entertained any serious thoughts of a matri
monial connexion ?
I am disgusted with the affectation of men of letters,
who complain that they have renounced a substance for
a shadow ; and that their fame (which sometimes is no
insupportable weight) affords a poor compensation for
envy, censure, and persecution.* My own experience
at least, has taught me a very different lesson : twenty
* M. d'Alembert relates, that as he was walking m the gardens of Sans
Souci with the King of Prussia, Frederick said to him, " Do you see that
old woman, a poor weeder, asleep on that sunny bank ? she is probably a
more happy being than either of us." The king and the phUosopher may
speak for themselves; for my part, I do not envy the old woman.

OBSERVATIONS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 241
happy years have been animated by the labour of my
History ; and its success has given me a name, a rank, a
character, in the world, to which I should not otherwise
have been entitled. The freedom of my writings has
indeed provoked an implacable tribe ; but as I was safe
from the stings, I was soon accustomed to the buzzing of
the hornets : my nerves were not trembUngly alive, and
my literary temper is so happily framed, that I am less
sensible of pain than of pleasure. The rational pride of
an author may be offended, rather than flattered, by
vague indiscriminate praise ; but he cannot, he should
not, be indifferent to the fair testimonies of private and
public esteem. Even his moral sympathy may be grati
fied by the idea, that now, in the present hour, he is im
parting some degree of amusement or knowledge to his
friends in a distant land ; that one day his mind wUl be >'
familiar to the grandchUdren of those who are yet
unborn,* I cannot boast of the friendship or favour of
princes ; the patronage of English literature has long
since been devolved on our booksellers, and the measure
of their liberality is the least ambiguous test of our com-
t
* In th e first of ancient or modern romances (Tom Jones), this proud sen
timent, this feast of i'anoy, is ei\joyed by the genius of Fielding. — " Come,
bright love of fame, &c. fill my ravished fancy with the hopes of charming
ages yet to come. Foretel me that some tender maid, whose grandmother
is yet unbprn, hereafter, when, under the fictitious name of Sophia, she
reads the real worth which once existed in my Charlotte, shall from her
sympathetic breast send forth the heaving sigh. Do thou teach me not
only to foresee but to enjoy, nay even to feed on future praise. Comfort
me by the solemn assurance, that, when the Uttle parlour iu which I sit at
this moment shall be reduced to a worse furnished box, I shall be read
with honour by those who never knew nor saw me, and whom I shall
neither know nor see." Book xiU. ch. 1.

242 OBSERVATIONS ON THE FRENCH EEVOLUTION

mon success. Perhaps the golden mediocrity of my
fortune has contributed to fortify my application.
The present is a fleeting moment ; the past is no more ;
and our prospect of futurity is dark and doubtful. This
day ma,y possibly be my last: but the laws of probability,
so true in general, so fallacious in particular, still allow
about fifteen years.* I shall soon enter into the period.
which, as the most agreeable of his long life, was se
lected by the judgment and experience of the sage Fon*
tenelle. His choice is approved by the eloquent historian
of nature, who fixes our moral happiness to the mature
season in which our passions are supposed to be calmed,
our duties fulfilled, our ambition satisfied, our fame and
fortune established on a solid basis.f In private conver
sation, that great and amiable man ^dded the weight of
his own experience ; and this autumnal felicity might be
exemplified in the lives of Voltaire, Hume, and many
other men of letters. I am far more inclined to embrace
than to dispute this comfortable doctrine. I will not sup
pose any premature decay of the mind or body ; but I
must reluctantly observe that two causes, the abbrevia
tion of time, and the failure of hope, will always tinge
with a browner shade the evening of Ufe.
* Mr. BufFon, from our disregard of the possibUity of death within thfe
four-and-twenty hours, concludes that a chance, which falls below or rises
above ten thousand to one, will never affect the hopes or fears of a reason
able man. The fact is true, but our courage is the effect of thoughtlessness,
rather than of reflection. If a pubUc lottery were drawn for the choice of
an immediate victim, and if our name were inscribed on one of the ten
thousand tickets, should we be perfectly easy ?
t See Buffon.

LETTERS

FROM

ED¥AED GIBBON, ESQ.

LORD SHEFFIELD.

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
When I first undertook to prepare Mr, Gibbon's Me
moirs for the press, I supposed that it would be necessary
to introduce some continuation of them, from the time
when they cease, namely, soon after his return to Switz
erland in the year 1788 ; but the examination of his cor
respondence with me suggested, that the best continua
tion would be the publication of his letters from that time
to his death, I shall thus give more satisfaction, by em
ploying the language of Mr. Gibbon, instead of my own ;
and the public wUl see him in a new and admirable light,
as a writer of letters. By the insertion of a few occa
sional sentences, I shall obviate the disadvantages that
are apt to arise from an interrupted narration. A pre
judiced or a fastidious critic may condemn, perhaps,
some parts of the letters as trivial ; but many readers, I
flatter myself, will be gratified by discovering, even in
these, my friend's affectionate feelings^ and his character
in familiar life. His letters in general bear a strong
resemblance to the style and turn of his conversation :
the characteristics of which were vivacity, elegance, and
precision, with knowledge astonishingly extensive and
correct. He never ceased to be instructive and enter
taining ; and in general there was a vein of pleasantry in
his conversation which prevented its becoming languid,

216 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.

even during a residence of many months with a family in
the country.
It has been supposed that he always arranged what he
intended to say, before he spoke ; his quickness in con
versation contradicts this notion : but it is very true, that
before he sat down to write a note or letter, he com
pletely arranged in his mind what he meant to express.
He pursued the same method in respect to other compo
sition; and he occasionally would walk several times
about his apartment before he had rounded a period to
his taste. He has pleasantly remarked to me, that it
sometimes cost him many a turn before he could throw
a sentiment into a form that gratified his own criticism.
His systematic habit of arrangement in point of style,
assisted in his instance, by an excellent memory and cor
rect judgment, is much to be recommended to those who
aspire to any perfection in writing.
Although the Memoirs extend beyond the time of Mr-
Gibbon's return to Lausanne, I shall insert a few letters
written immediately after his arrival there, and combine
them so far as to include even the last note which he
wrote a few days previously to his death. Some of
them contain few incidents ; but they connect and carry
on the account either of his opinions or of his employ
ment.

Lausanne, July 30, 1788. — Wednesday, 3 o'clock.
I have but a moment so say, before the departure of
the post, that after a very pleasant journey, I arrived here
about half an hour ago ; that I am as well arranged as if
I had never stirred from this place ; and that dinner on

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. S47
the table is just announced, Severy I dropped at his
country-house about two leagues off". I just saluted the
family, who dine with me the day after to-morrow, and
return to town for some days, I hope weeks, on my
account. The son is an amiable and grateful youth ; and
even this journey has taught me to know and to love him
still better. My satisfaction would be complete, had I
not found a sad and serious alteration in poor Deyverdun ;
but thus our joys are chequered I I embrace all ; and at
this moment feel the last pang of our parting at Tun
bridge. Convey this letter or information, without delay,
from Sheffield-place to Bath. In a few days I shall
write more amply to both places, October 1, 1788.
After such an act of vigour as my first letter, com
posed, finished, and despatched within half an hour after
my landing, while the dinner was smoking on the table,
your knowledge of the animal must have taught you to
expect a proportionable degree of relaxaiion ; and you
wUl be satisfied to hear, that, for many Wednesdays and
Saturdays, I have consumed more time than would have
sufficed for the epistle, in devising reasons for procrasti
nating it to the next post. At this very moment I begin
so very late, as I am just going to dress, and dine in the
country, that I can take only the benefit of the date, Oc
tober the 1st, and I must be content to seal and send my
letter next Saturday. October the 4 th.
Saturday is now arrived, and I much doubt whether 1
shall have time to finish. I arose, as usual, about seven ;

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 249
declining state of health, how much the pleasure of my
life was embittered by the sight of a suffering and lan
guid friend. The joy of our meeting appeared at first to
revive him ; and, though not satisfied, I began to think,
at least to hope, that he was every day gaining ground ;
when, alas I one morning I was suddenly recalled from
my berceau to the house, with the dreadful intelligence of
an apoplectic stroke ; I found him senseless : the best
assistance was instantly coUected; and he had the aid ol
the genius and experience of Mr. Tissot, and of the
assiduous care of another physician, who for some time
scarcely quitted his bedside either night or day. While
I was in momentary dread of a relapse, with a confession
from his physician that such a relapse must be fatal, you
will feel that I was much more to be pitied than my
friend. At length, art or nature triumphed over the
enemy of life. I was soon assured that all immediate
danger was past : and now for many days I have had the
satisfaction of seeing him recover, though by slow degrees,
his health and strength, his sleep and appetite. He now
walks about the garden, and receives his particular
friends, but has not yet gone abroad. His future health
wiU depend very much upon his own prudence ; but, at
all events, this has been a very serious warning ; and the
slightest indisposition wUr hereafter assume a very formi
dable aspect. Bu{ let us turn from this melancholy
subject, — The Man of the People escaped from the
tumult, the bloody tumult of the Westminster election, to
the lakes and mountains of Switzerland, and I was
informed that he was arrived at the Lion d'Or, 1 sent a
compliment; he answered it in person, and settled at my

250 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
house for the remainder of the day, I have ate and
drank, and conversed and sat up all night with Fox in
England ; but it never has happened, perhaps it never can
happen again, that I should enjoy him as I did that day,
alone, from ten in the morning till ten at night. Poor
Deyverdun, before his accident, wanted spirits to appear,
and has regretted it since. Our conversation never
flagged a moment ; and he seemed thoroughly pleased
with the place and with his company. We had little
politics ; though he gave me, in a few words, such a cha
racter of Pitt, as one great man should give of another
his rival : much of books, from my own, on which he
flattered me very pleasantly, to Homer and the Arabian
Nights; much about the country, my garden (which he
understands far better than I do), and, upon the whole, I
think he envies me, and would do so were he minister.
The next morning I gave him a guide to walk him about
the town and country, and invited some company to
meet him at dinner. The following day he continued
his journey to Berne and Zurich, and I have heard of him
by various means. The people gaze on him as a prodigy,
but he shows little inclination to converse with them,
* * * *. Our friend Douglas has been curious, at
tentive, agreeable ; and in every place where he has re
sided some days, he has left acquaintance who esteem
and regret him: I never knew so clear and general
an impression.
After this long letter I have yet many things to say,
though none of any pressing consequence. I hope you
are not idle in the deliverance of Beriton, though the late
events and edicts in France begin to reconcUe me to the

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 951

possession of dirty acres. What think you of Necker
and the States General ? Are not the public expecta
tions too saliguine? Adieu, I wUl write soon to my
lady separately, though I have not any particular subject
for her ear. Ever yours. Lausanne, Nov. 2.9, 1788.
As I have no correspondents but yourself, I should
have been reduced to the stale and stupid communica
tions ofthe newspapers, if you had not dispatched me an
excellent sketch of the extraordinary state of things. In
so new a case the salus populi must be the first Jaw;
and any extraordinary acts of the two remaining
branches of the legislature must be excused by necessity,
and ratified by general consent. * **#**_
Till things are settled, I expect a regular journal.
From kingdoms I descend to farms. *****.
Adieu. Lausanne, Sec. 13, 1788.
#*#*##_ Qf public affairs I can only hear
with curiosity and wonder : careless as you may think
me, I feel deeply interested. You must now write often ;
make Miss Firth copy any curious fragments ; and stir
up any of my weU-informed acquaintance, Batt, Douglas,
Adam, perhaps Lord Loughborough, to correspond with
me ; I will answer them.
We are now cold and gay at Lausanne, The Severya
came to town yesterday, I saw a good deal of Lords
Malmsbury and Beauchamp and their ladies ; Ellis, of
the Rolliad, was with them ; I like him much : I gave
them a dinner.
Adieu for the present, . Deyverdun is not worse.

252 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHFEFIELD.
Lausanne , April 25, 1789.
Before your letter, which I received yesterday, I was
in the anxious situation of a king, who hourly expects a
courier from his general, with the news of a decisive en
gagement. I had abstained from writing, for fear of
dropping a word, or betraying a feeling, which might
render you too cautious or too bold. On the famous 8th
of April, between twelve and two, I reflected that the
business was determined ; and each succeeding day I
computed the speedy approach of your messenger, with
favourable or melancholy tidings. When I broke the
sealT expected to read, "What a d  d unlucky fellow
you are ! Nothing tolerable was offered, and I indig
nantly withdrew the estate." I did rememher the fate of
poor Lenborough, and I was afraid of your magnanimity,
&c. It is whimsical enough, but it is human nature, that
I now began to think of the deep-rooted foundations of
land, and the airy fabric of the funds. I not only con
sent, but even wish to have eight or ten thousand pounds
on a good mortgage. The pipe of wine you sent me was
seized, and would have been confiscated, if the govern-
¦ment of Berne had not treated me with the most flatter
ing and distinguished civility: they not only released the
wine, but they paid out of their own pockets the shares
to which the bailiflT and the informer were entitled by
law. I should not forget that the bailiflT refused to ac
cept of his part. Poor Deyverdun's constitution is quite
broken ; he has had two or three attacks, not so violent
as the first : every time the door is hastily opened, I ex
pect to hear of some fatal accident : the best or worst
hopes of the physicians are only that he may linger some

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 253
time longer ; but, if he lives tUl the summer, they pro
pose sending him to some mineral waters at Aix, in
Savoy, You wUl be glad to hear that lam now assured
of possessing, during my life, this delighful house and
garden. The act has been lately executed in the best
form, and the handsomest manner, I know not what to
say of your miracles at home : we rejoice in the king's
recovery, and its ministerial consequences ; and I cannot
be insensible to the hope, at least the chance, of seeing in
this country a first lord of trade, or secretary at war. In
your answer, which I shall impatiently expect, you will
give me a full and true account of your designs, which
by this time must have dropped, or be determined at
least, for the present year. If you come, it is high time
that we should look out for a house — a task much less
easy than you may possibly imagine. Among new
books, I recommend to you the Count de Mirabeaii's
great work, Sur la Monarchic Prussienne ; it is in your
own way, and gives a very just and complete idea of
that wonderful machine. His Correspondance Secrette
is diabolically good. Adieu. Ever yours.
Lausanne, June 13, 1789.
You are in truth a wise, active, indefatigable, and in
estimable friend ; and as our virtues are often connected
with our faults, if you were more tame and placid, you
would be perhaps of less use and value. A very im
portant and difficult transaction seems to be nearly ter
minated with success and mutual satisfaction : we seem
to run before the wind with a prosperous gale ; and, un
less we should strike on some secret rocks, which I do

254 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD. SHEFFIELD.

not foresee, shall, on or before the 31st July, enter the
harbour of Content ; though I cannot pursue the meta
phor by adding we shall land, since our operation is of
a very opposite tendency. I could not easUy forgive
myself for shutting you up in a dark room with parch
ments and attorneys, did I not reflect that this probably
is the last material trouble that you will ever have on my
account ; and that after the labours and delays of twenty
years, I shall at last attain what I have always sighed
for, a clear and competent income, above my wants, and
equal to my wishes. In this contemplation you will be
sufficiently rewarded, I hope **** will be content 'with
our title-deeds, for I cannot furnish another shred of
parchment. Mrs, Gibbon's jointure is secured on the
Beriton estate, and her legal consent is requisite for the
sale. Again and again I must repeat my hope that she
is perfectly satisfied, and that the close of her life may
not be embittered by suspicion, or fear, or discon
tent. What new security does she prefer, — the funds,
the mortgage, or your land ? At all events she must be
made easy. I wrote to her again some time ago, and
begged that if she were too weak to write, she would de
sire Mrs. Gould or Mrs. Holroyd to give me a Une con
cerning her state of health. To this no answer ; I am
afraid she is displeased.
Now for the disposal of the money : I approve of the
£8000 mortgage on Beriton ; and honour your prudence
in not showing by the comparison of the rent and in
terest, how foolish it is to purchase land. * * * *
***********. There is a chance
of my drawing a considerable sum into this country, for

NARRATIVE CONTINUED B. LORD SHEFFIELD. 255
an arrangement which you yourself must approve, but
which I have not time to explain at present. For the
sake of dispatching, by this evening's post, an answer to
your letter which arrived this morning, I confine myself
to the needful, but in the course of a few days I will
send a more famUiar epistle. Adieu, Ever yours.
Lausanne, July 14, 1789.
Poor Deyverdun is no more : he expired Saturday the
4th instant : and in his unfortunate situation, death could
only be viewed by himself, and his friends, in the light of
a consummation devoutly to be wished. Since Septem
ber he has had a dozen apoplectic strokes, more or less
violent : in the intervals between them his strength grad
ually decayed ; every principle of life was exhausted ;
and had he continued to drag a miserable existence, he
must probably have survived the loss of his faculties.
Of all misfortunes this was what he himself most appre
hended : but his reason was clear and calm to the last ;
he beheld his approaching dissolution with the firmness
of a philosopher. I fancied that time and reflection had
prepai-ed me for the event ; but the habits of three-and-
thirty year's friendship are not so easily broken. The
first days, or more especially the first nights, were indeed
painful. Last Wednesday and Saturday it wonld not
have been in my power to write. I must now recollect
myself, since it is necessary for me not only to impart
the news, but to ask your opinion in a very serious and
doubtful question, which must be decided without loss of
time. I shall state the facts, but as I am on the spot,
and as new lights may occur, I do not promise implicit
obedience.

256 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
Had my poor friend died without a wUl, a female first
cousin settled somewhere in the north of Germany, and
whom I believe he had never seen, would have been his
heir at law. In the next degree he had several cousins ;
and one of these an old companion, by name M. de Mon-
tagny, he has chosen for his heir. As this house and
garden was the best and clearest part of poor Deyverdun's
fortune ; as there is a heavy duty or fine (what they
call lods) on every change of property out of the legal
descent; as Montagny has a small estate and a large
family, it was necessary to make some provision in his
favour. The will therefore leaves me the option of en
joying this place during my life, on paying the sum of
£250 (I reckon in EngUsh money) at present and an
annual rent of £30 ; or else of purchasing the house and
garden for a sum which, including the duty, wUl amount
to £2500, If I value the rent of £30 at twelve years'
purchase, I may acquire my enjoyment for life at about
the rate of £600 ; and the remaining £1900 will be the
difference between that tenure and absolute perpetual
property. As you have never accused me of too much
zeal for the interest of posterity, you will easily guess
which scale at first preponderated. I deeply felt tbe
advantage of acquiring, for the smaller sum, every pos
sible enjoyment, as long as I myself should be capable of
enjoying : I rejected with scorn, the idea of giving £1900
for ideal posthumous property ; and I deemed it of little
moment whose name, after my death should be inscribed
on my house and garden at Lausanne. How often did I
repeat to myself the philosopical Ikies of Pope, which
seemed to determine the question ;

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD S-W ¦
Pray Heaven, cries Swift, it last as you go on ;
I wish to God this house had been your own.
Pity to buUd without or son or wife ;
Why, you'U enjoy it only aU your life.
Well, if the use be mine, does it concern one,
¦Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon 7
In this state of self-satisfaction I was not much dis
turbed by all my real or nominal friends, who exhort me
to prefer the right of purchase : among such friends,
some are careless and some are ignorant ; and the judg
ment of those, who are able and wilUng to form an
opinion, is often biassed by some selfish or social affection,
by some visible or invisible interest. But my own re
flections have gradually and forcibly driven me from my
first propensity; and these reflections I wiU now proceed
to enumerate :
I. I can make this purchase with ease and prudence.
As I have had the pleasure of not hearing from you very
lately, I flatter myself that you advance on a carpet
road, and that almost by the receipt of this letter (July
31st) the acres of Beriton will be transmuted into sixteen
thousand pounds : if the payment be not absolutely com
pleted on that day, **** wUl not scruple, I suppose,
depositing the £2600 at Gosling's, to meet my draft.
Should he hesitate, I can desire Darell to sell quantum
sufficit of my short annuities. As soon as the new
settlertient of my affairs is made, I shall be able, after
deducting this sum, to square my expense to my in
come, &c.
2. On mature consideration, I am perhaps less selfish
and less philosophical than I appear at first sight : indeed,
were I not so, it would now be in my power to turn my for-

258 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
tune into life-annuities, and let the devU take the hindmost.
I feel, (perhaps it is foolish,) but I feel that this little
paradise wUl please me still more when it is absolutely
my own ; and that I shall be encouraged in every im
provement of use or beauty, by the prospect that, after
my departure, it wUl be enjoyed by some person of my
own choice, I sometimes reflect with pleasure that my
writings wUl survive me: and that idea is at least as
vain and chimerical.
3. The heir, M. de Montagny, is an old acquaintance.
My situation of a life-holder is rather new and singular
in this country : the laws have not provided for many nice
cases which may arise between the landlord and tenant :
some I can forsee, others have been suggested, many
more I might feel when it would be too late. His right
of property might plague and confine me : he might
forbid my lending to a friend, inspect my conduct, check
my improvements, call for securities, repairs, &c. But
if I purchase, I walk on my own terrace, fierce and erect,
the free master of one of the most delicious spots on the
globe. Should I ever migrate homewards, (you stare, but such
an event is less improbable than I could have thought it
two years ago,) this place would be disputed by strangers
and natives.
Weigh these reasons, and send me without delay a
rational explicit opinion, to which I shaU pay such regard
as the nature of circumstances will allow. But, alas I
when all is determined, I shall possess this house, by
whatsoever tenure, without friendship or domestic society,
I did not imagine, six years ago, that a plan of life so

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 259
congenial to my wishes, would so speedily vanish. I
cannot write upon any other subject. Adieu, yours
ever. Lausanne, August, 1789.
After receiving and dispatching the power of attorney,
last Wednesday, I opened with some palpitation, the un
expected missive which arrived this morning. The
perusal of the contents spoiled my breakfast. They are
disagreeable in themselves, alarming in their conse
quences, and peculiarly unpleasant at the present moment,
when I hoped to have formed and secured the arrange
ments of my future life. I do not perfectly under
stand what are these deeds which are so inflexibly re
quired : the wUls and marriage-settlements I have suffi
ciently answered. But your arguments do not convince
****, and I have very little hope from the Lenborough
search? What wUl be the event ? If his objections are
only the result of legal scrupulosity, surely they might
be removed, and every chink might be filled, by a general
bond of indemnity, in which I boldly ask you to join, as
it wUl be a substantial important act of friendship, with
out any possible risk to yourself or your successors.
Should he still remain obdurate, I must believe what I
already suspect, that **** repents of his purchase, and
wishes to elude the conclusion. Our case would be then
hopeless, ibi omnis effusus labor, and the estate would be
returned on our hands with the taint of a bad title. The
refusal of mortgage does not please me ; but surely our
offer shows some confidence in the goodness of my title.
If he wiUnot take eight thousand pounds at /oar ^er cent.
we must look out elsewhere ; new doubts and delays

260 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
will arise, and I am persuaded that you will not place an
implicit confidence in any attorney, I know not as ye.t
your opinion about my Lausanne purchase. If you are
against it, the present position of affairs gives you great
advantage, &c., &c. The Severys are all well; . an
uncommon circumstance for the four persons of the
family at once. They are now at Mex, a country-house
six mUes from hence, which I visit to-morrow for two or
three days. They often come to town, and we shall con
trive to pass a part of the autumn together at RoUe. I
want to change the scene ; and beautiful as the garden
and prospect must appear to every eye, I feel that the
state of my own mind casts a gloom pver them ; every
spot, every walk, every bench, recals the memory of
those hours, of those conversations, which wUl return no
more. But I tear myself from the subject, I could not
help writing to-day, though I do not find I have said
anything very material. As you must be conscious that
you have agitated me, you will not postpone any agree
able, or even decisive intelligence. I almost hesitate,
whether I shall run over to England, to consult with you
on the spot, and to fly from poor Deyverdun's shade, which
meets me at every turn, I did not expect to have felt
his loss so sharply. But six hundred miles ! Why are
we so far off"?
Once more. What is the difficulty with the title ? WUl
men of sense, in a sensible country, never get rid of the
tyranny of lawyers ? more oppressive and ridiculous than
even the old yoke of the clergy. Is not a term of seventy
or eighty years, nearly twenty in my own person, sufficient
to prove our legal possession ? Will not the records of

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 961
fines and recoTeries attest that / am free from any bar of
entails and settlements ? Consult some sage of the law,
whether their present demand be necessary and legal.
If your ground be firm, force them to execute the agree
ment or forfeit the deposit. But if, as I much fear, they
have a right, and a wish, to elude the consummation,
would it not be better to release them at once, than to be
hung up for five years, as in the case of Lovegrove,
which cost me in the end four or five thousand pounds ?
You are bold, you are wise ; consult, resolve, act. In my
penultimate letter I dropped a strange hint, that a migra
tion homeward was not impossible. I know not what to
say ; my mind is all afloat ; yet you will not reproach
me with caprice or inconsistency. How many years did
you d — n my scheme of retiring to Lausanne ! I ex
ecuted that plan ; I found as much happiness as is com
patible with human nature, and during four years (1783
1787) I never breathed a sigh of repentance. On my
return from England the scene was changed: I found
only a faint semblance of Deyverdun, and that semblance
was each day fading from my sight. I have passed an
anxious year, my anxiety is now at an end, and the pros
pect before me is a melancholy solitude, I am still deeply
rooted in this country ; the possession of this paradise,
the friendship Of the Severy's, a mode of society suited to
my taste, and the enormous trouble and expense of
a niigration. Yet in England (when the present clouds
are dispelled) I could form a very comfortable establish
ment in London, or rather at Bath ; and I have a very
noble country-seat at about ten miles from East Grin-

aes NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LOED SHEFHELD.
etead in Sussex.* That spot is dearer to me than the
rest of the three kingdoms ; and I have sometimes wan
dered how two men, so opposite in their tempers and
pursuits, should have imbibed so long and lively a pro
pensity for each other. Sir Stanier Porten is just dead.
He has left his widow with a moderate pension, and two
children, my nearest relations; the eldest, Charlotte, is
about Louisa's age, and also a most amiable, sensible
young creature. I have conceived a romantic idea of
educating and adopting her ; as we descend into the vale
of years, our iaiirmities require some domestic female
society : Charlotte would be the comfort of my age, and
I could reward her care and tenderness with a decent
fortune. A thousand difficulties oppose the execution of
the plan, which I have never opened but to you ; yet it
would be less impracticable in England than in Swit-
aerland. Adieu. I am wounded, pour some oU into my
wounds : yet I am less unhappy since I have thrown my
mind upon paper.
Are you not amazed at the French revolution ? They
have the power, will they have the moderation, to estab
lish a good constitution 1 Adieu, e'ver yours.
Lausanne . jSept, 9. 1789,
Within an hour after the reception of your last, I drew
my pen for the purpose of a reply, and my exordium ran
in the following words : " I find by experience, that it is
much more rational, as well as easy, to answer a letter of
real business by the return of the post," This important
" AUnding to SheSSeldplnce.

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. ««3
truth is again verified by my own example. After
writing three pages I was called away by a very rational
motive, and the post departed before I could return to
the conclusion, A second delay was coloured by some
decent pretence; Three weeks have slipped away, and I
now force myself on a task, which I should have
despatched without an effort on the first summons. My
only excuse is, that I had little to write about EngUsh
business, and that I could write nothing definite about my
Swiss affairs. And first, as Aristotle says, of the first,
1, I was indeed in low spirits when I sent what you
so justly style my dismal letter ; but I do assure you, that
my own feelings contributed much more to sink me, than
any events or terrors relative to the sale of Beriton, But
I again hope and trust, from your consolatory epistle,
that, &c. &c.
2, My Swiss transaction has suffered a great altera
tion. I shall not become the proprietor of my house and
garden at Lausanne, and I relinquish the phantom with
more regret than you could easily imagine. But I have
been determined by a difficulty, which at first appeared of
ijittle moment, but which has gradually sweUod to an
alarming magnitude. There is a law in this country, as
well as in some provinces of France, which is styled " le
droit de retrait, le retrait lignagere" (Lord Lough-
bourough must have heard of it), by which the relations
ofthe deceased are entitled to redeem a house or estate
at the price for which it has been sold ; and as the sum
fixed by poor Deyverdim is much below its known
value, a crowd of competitors are beginning to start.
The best opinions (for they are divided) are in my favour.

264 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
that I am not subject to " le droit de retrait," since I take
not as a purchaser, but as a legatee. But the words of
the wUl somewhat ambiguous, the event of law is always
uncertain, the administration Of justice at Berne (the last
appeal) depends too much on favour and intrigue ; and it
is very doubtful whether I could revert to the Ufe-hold-
ing, after having chosen and lost the property. These
considerations engaged me to open negotiations with M,
de Montagny, through the medium of my friend the
judge ; and as he most ardently wishes to keep the house,
he consented, though with some reluctance, to my propo
sals. Yesterday he signed a covenant in the most re
gular and binding form, by which he allows my power
of transferring my interest, interprets in the most ample
sense my right of making alterations, and expressly
renounces all claim, as landlord, of visiting or inspecting
the premises, I have promised to lend him twelve thou
sand livres, (between seven and eight hundred pounds),
secured on the house and land. The mortgage is four
times its value ; the interest of four pounds per cent,
will be anually discharged by the rent of thirty guineas.
So that I am now tranquil on that score for the remainder
of my days, I hope that time will gradually reconcile
me to the place which I have inhabited with my poor
friend ; for in spite of the cream of London, I am still
persuaded that no other place is so well adapted to my
taste and habits of studious and social life.
Far from delighting in the whirl of a metropolis, my
only complaint against Lausanne is the great number of
strangers, always of English, and now of French, by
whom we are infested in summer. Yet we have escaped

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LOED SHEFFIELD. 265
the d  d great ones, the Count d'Artois, the Polignacs,
&c, who slip by us to Turin. What a scene is France !
WhUe the assembly is voting abstract propositions, Paris
is an independent republic ; the provinces have neither
authority nor freedom, and poor Necker declares that
credit is no more, and that the people refuse to pay taxes.
Yet I think you must be seduced by the abolition of
tithes. If Eden goes to Paris you may have some curious
information. Give me some account of Mr, and Mrs.
Douglas, Do they live with Lord North ? 1 hope they
do. When will parUament be dissolved ? Are you still
Coventry mad? I embrace my lady, the sprightly
Maria, and the smiling Louisa. Alas ! alas ! you will
never come to Switzerland. Adieu, ever yours,
Lausanne, Sept. 25th, 1789,
Alas ! what perUs do environ
The man who meddles with cold iron.
Alas ! what delays and difficulties do attend the man
who meddles with legal and landed business 1 yet if it be
only to disappoint your expectation, I am not so very
nervous at this new provoking obstacle. I had totaUy
forgotten the deed in question, which was contrived in
the last year of my father's life, to tie his hands and regu*
late the disorders of his affairs ; and which might have
been so easily cancelled by Sir Stanier, who had not the
smallest interest in it, either for himself or his famUy.
The amicable suit which is now become necessary must,
I think, be short and unambiguous, yet I cannot help
dreading the crotchets that lurk under the chancellor's
great wig ; and, at all events, I forsee some additional

366 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD,
delay and expense. The golden piU of the £2800 has
soothed my discontent ; and if it be safely lodged with
the Goslings, I agree with you in considering it as an
unequivocal pledge of a fair and wUling purchaser. It
is, indeed, chiefly in that light I now rejoice in so large a
deposit, which is no longer necessary in its full extent.
You are apprised by my last letter that I have reduced
myself to the life enjoyment of the house and garden.
And, in spite of my feelings, I am every day more con
vinced that I have chosen the safer side. I believe my
cause to have been good, but it was doubtful. Law in
this country is not so expensive as in England, but it is
more troublesome. I must have gone to Berne, have
solicited my judges in person — a vile custom ! the event
was uncertain ; and during at least two years, I should
have been in a state of suspense and anxiety: till the
conclusion of which it would have been madness to have
attempted any alteration or improvement. According
to my present arrangement I shall want no more than
£] 100 ofthe £2000, and I suppose you will direct Gosling
to lay out the remainder in India bonds, that it may not
lie quite dead, while I am accountable to **** for the
interest. The elderly lady in a male habit, who informed
me that Yorkshire is a register county, is a certain judge,
one Sir William Blackstone, whose name you may pos
sibly have heard. After stating the danger of purchasers
and creditors, with regard to the title of estates on which
they lay out or lend their money, he thus continues : " In
Scotland every act and event regarding the transmission
of property is regularly entered on record ; and some of
our own provincial divisions, particularly the extended

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 267
county of York and the populous county of Middlesex,
have prevailed with the legislature to erect such registers
within their respective districts," (Blackstone's Com
mentaries, vol, ii, p, 343, edition of 1774, in quarto.) If
I am mistaken, it is in pretty good company ; but I sus
pect that we are all right, and that the register is confined
to one or two ridings. As we have, alas ! two or three
months before us, I should hope that your prudent saga
city will discover some sound land, in case you should
not have time to arrange another mortgage, I now
write in a hurry, as I am just setting out for RoUe, where
I shall be settled with cook .and servants in a pleasant
apartment tiU the middle of November. The Severys
have a house there, where they pass the autumn. I am
not sorry to vary the scene for a few weeks, and I wish
to be absent while some alterations are making in my
house at Lausanne. I wish the change of air may be of
service to Severy the father, but we do not at all like his
present state of health. How completely, alas, how com
pletely 1 could I now lodge you : but your firm resolve
of making me a visit seems to have 'vanished Uke a
dream. Next summer you will not find five hundred
pounds for a rational friendly expedition: and should
parliament be dissolved, you will perhaps find five
thousand for ****. I cannot think of it with patience.
Pray take serious strenuous measures for sending me a
pipe of excellent Madeira in cask, witJi some dozens of
Malmsey Madeira. It should be consigned to Messrs.
Romberg, voituriers, at Ostend, and I must have timely
notice of its march. We have so much to sav about

268 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LOED SHEFFIELD^
France, that I suppose we shall never say anything.
That country is now in a state of dissolution. Adieu.
Lausanne, December 15th, 1789.
You have often ireason to accuse my strange silence
and neglect in the most important of my own affairs ; for
I will presume to assert, that in a business of yours of
equal consequence, you should not find me cold or care
less. But on the present occasion my sUence is, perhaps,
the highest compliment I ever paid you. You remember
the answer of PhUip of Macedon : " Philip may sleep while
he knows that Parmenio is awake," I expected, and, to
say the truth, I wished that my Parmenio would have
decided and acted, without expecting my dilatory answer,
and in his decision I should have acquiesced with implicit
confidence. But since you will have my opinion, let us
consider the present state of my affairs. In the course
of my life I have often known, and sometimes felt, the
difficulty of getting money, but I now find myself in
volved in a more singular distress, the difficulty of
placing it, and if it continues much longer, I shall almost
wish for my land again.
I perfectly agree with you, that it is bad management
to purchase in the funds when they do not yield four.
pounds per cent. * * *. Some of this money I can
place safely, by means of my banker here ; and I shall
possess, what I have always desired, a command of cash,
which I cannot abuse to my prejudice, since I have it
in my power to supply with my pen any extraordinary
or fanciful indulgence of expense. And so much — ^much,
indeed — for pecuniary matters. What would you have

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 269
me say on the affairs of France ? We are too near, and
too remote, to form an accurate jndgmeht of that won
derful scene. The abuses of the court and government
called aloud for reformation ; and it has happened, as it
wiU always happen, that an innocent, well-disposed
prince has paid the forfeit of the sins of his predecessors ;
of the ambition of Louis XIV,, of the profusion of Louis
XV, The French nation had a glorious opportunity, but
they have abused, and may lose their advantages. It
they had been content with a liberal translation of our
system, if they had respected the prerogatives of the
crown, and the privileges of the nobles, they might have
raised a solid fabric, on the only true foundation, the
natural aristocracy of a great country. How diflferent is
the prospect ! Their king brought a captive to Paris,
afier his palace had been stained with the blood of his
guards ; the nobles in exile ; the clergy plundered in a
way which strikes at the root of all property ; the capital
an independent republic ; the union of the provinces dis
solved 5 the flames of discord kindled by the worst of
men ; (in that light I consider Mirabeau ;) and the honest-
est of the assembly a set of wUd visionaries, (Uke our Dr,
Price,) who gravely debate, and dream about the estab-
blishment of a pure and perfect democracy of five-and-
tWefity millions, the virtues of the golden age, and the
primitive rights and equality of mankind, which would
lead, in fair reasoning, to an equal partition of lands and
money. How many years must elapse before France
Can recover any vigour, or resume her station among
the powers of Europe ! As yet, there is no symptom of

270 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.

a great man, a Richelieu or a CromweU, arising, either to
restore the monarchy, or to lead the commonwealth.
The weight of Paris, more deeply engaged in the funds
than all the rest of the kingdom, will long delay a bank
ruptcy ; and if it should happen, it will be, both in the
cause and the effect, a measure of weakness rather than
of strength. You send me to Chamberry, to see a prince
and an archbishop, Alas ! we have exiles enough here,
with the Marshall de Castries and the Duke de Guignes
at their head : and this inundation of strangers, which
used to be confined to the summer, will now stagnate
all the winter. The only ones whom I have seen with
pleasure are M, Mounier, the late president ofthe national
assembly, and the Count de Lally ; they have both dined
with me, Mounier, who is a serious dry politician, is
returned to Dauphine, Lally is an amiable man of the
world, and a poet : he passes the winter here. You
know how much I prefer a quiet select society to a
crowd of names and titles, and that I always seek con
versation with a view to amusement rather than infor
mation. What happy countries are England and Swit
zerland, if they know and preserve their happiness,
I have a thousand things to say to my lady, Maria, and
Louisa, but I can add only a short postscript about the
the Madeira, Good Madeira is now become essential to
my health and reputation. May your hogshead prove
as good as the last ; may it not be intercepted by the
rebels or the Austrians. What a scene again in that
country! Happy England! Happy Switzerland! I
again repeat. Adieu.

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 271
Lausanne, January 27th, 1790.
Your two last epistles of the 7th and llth instant,
were somewhat delayed on the road ; they arrived with
in two days of each other, the last this morning, (the 27th) :
so that I answer by the first, or at least by the second
post. Upon the whole, your French method, though
sometimes more rapid, appears to me less sure and steady
than the old German highway, &c., &c. * * » * #
But enough of this. A new and brighter prospect
seems to be breaking upon ns, and few events of that
kind have ever given me more pleasure than your suc
cessful negotiation and ****'s satisfactory answer. The
agreement is, indeed, equally convenient for both parties :
no time or expense will be wasted in scrutinizing the
title of the estate ; the interest will be secured by the
clause of five per cent., and I lament with you, that no
larger sum than £8000 can be placed on Beriton, with
out asking (what might be somewhat impudent) a col
lateral security, &c., &c. * * * * * But I wish
you to choose and execute one or the other of these
arrangements with sage discretion and absolute power.
I shorten my letter, that 1 may dispatch it by this post.
I see the time, and I shall rejoice to see it at the end of
twenty years, when my cares will be at an end, and our
friendly pages will no longer be sullied with the repetition
of dirty land and vUe money ; when we may expatiate on
the politics ofthe world and our personal sentiments. With
out expecting your answer of business, I mean to write
soon in a purer style, and I wish to lay open to my friend the
state of my mind, which (exclusive of all worldly con
cerns) is not perfectly at ease. In the meanwhile, I

272 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
must add two or three short articles. I. I am astonished
at Elmsly's silence, and the immobility of your picture.
Mine should have departed long since, could I have
found a sure opportunity, &c., &c. Adieu, yours,
Lausanne, May 15th, 179ft.
Since the first origin (ab ovo) of our connexion and
correspondence, so long an interval of silence has not
intervened, as far as I remember, between us, &c., &c.
From my silence you conclude that the nioral com
plaint, which I had insinuated in my last, is either insig
nificant or fanciful. The conclusion is rash. But the
complaint in question is of the nature of a slow lingering
disease, which is not attended with any immediate
danger. As I have not leisure to expatiate, take the
idea in three words : " Since the loss of poor Deyver
dun, I am alone ; and even in Paradise, solitude is painful
to a social mind. When I was a dozen years younger, I
scarcely felt the weight of a single existence amidst tbe
crowds of London, of parliament, of clubs ; but it will
press more heavily upon me in this tranquil land, in the
decline of life, and with the increase of infirmities.
Some expedient, even the most desperate, must be em
braced, to secure the domestic society of a male or
female companion. But I am not in a hurry ; there i»
time for reflection and advice." During this winter such
finer feelings have been suspended by the grosser eyH of
bodily pain. On the ninth of February I was seized by
such a fit of the gout as I had never known, though 1
must be thankful that its dire effects have been oo»-
fined to the feet and knees without ascending to th»

NARRATIVL CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. S73
more noble parts. With some viscissitudes of better and
worse, I have groaned between two and three months :
the debility has survived the pain, and though now easy,
I am carried about in my chair, without any power, and
with a very distant chance, of supporting myself, from
the extreme weakness and contraction of the joints of my
knees. Yet I am happy in a skilful physician, and kind
assiduous friends ; every evening, during more than three
months, has been enlivened (excepting when I have been
forced to receive them) by some cheerful visits, and very
often by a chosen party of both sexes. How different is
such society from the soUtary evenings which I have
passed in the tumult of London I It is not worth whUe
fighting about a shadow, but should I ever return to
England, Bath, not the metropolis, would be my last
retreat. Your portrait is at last arrived in perfect condition, and
now occupies a conspicuous place over the chimney-glass
in my library. It is the object of general admiration ;
good judges (the few) applaud the work ; the name of
Reynolds opens the eyes and mouths of the many ; and
were not I afraid of making you vain, I would inform
you that the original is not allowed to be more than five-
and-thirty. In spite of private reluctance and public dis
content, I have honourably dismissed myself,* I shall
arrive at Sir Joshua's before the end of the month : he
will give me a look, and perhaps a touch ; and you will
be indebted to the president one guinea for the carriage.
Do not be nervous, I am not roUed up ; had I been so, you
might have gazed on my charms four months ago, I
* His portrait.

274 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD,
want some account of yourself, of my lady, (shall we
never directly correspond?) of Louisa, and of Maria.
How has the latter since her launch supported a quiet
winter in Sussex? I so much rejoice in your divorce
from that b  Kitty Coventry, that I care not what
marriage you contract, A great city would suit your
dignity, and the duties which would kill me in the first
session, would supply your activity with a constant fund
of amusement. But tread softly and surely ; the ice is
deceitful, the water is deep, and you may be soused over
head and ears before you are aware. Why did not you
or Elmsly send me the African pamphlet* by the post? it
would not have cost much. You have such a knack of
turning a nation, that I am afraid you will triumph (per
haps by the force of argument) over justice and huma
nity. But do you not expect to work at Beelzebub's
sugar plantations in the infernal regions, under the tender
government of a negro driver'? I should suppose both
my lady and Miss Firth very angry with you.
As to the bill for prints, which has been too long
neglected, why will you not exercise the power, which I
have never revoked, over all my cash at the Goslings ?
The Severy family has passed a very favourable winter ;
the young man is impatient to hear from a family which
he places above all others : yet he will generously write
next week, and send you a drawivg of the alterations in
the house. Do not raise your ideas ; you know / am
satisfied with convenience ih architecture, and some ele
gance in furniture. I admire the coolness with 'which
* Observations on the project for abolishing tha Slave Trade, by Lord
Sheffield.

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LOED SHEFFIELD. 275
you ask me to epistolize Reynal and Elmsly, as if a letter
were so easy and pleasant a task ; it appears less so to
me every day. 1790.
Your indignation wUl melt into pity, when you hear
that for several weeks past I have been again confined
to my chamber and my chair. Yet I must hasten, gene
rously hasten, to exculpate the gout, my old enemy, from
the curses which you already pour on his head. He is
not the cause of this disorder, although the consequences
have been somewhat similar, I am satisfied that this
eflfort of nature has saved me from a very dangerous, per
haps a fatal, crisis; and I hsten to the flattering hope
that it may tend to keep the gout at a more respectful
distance, &c. &c, &c.
The whole sheet has been filled with dry selfish busi
ness ; but I must and wUl reserve some lines of the cover
for a little friendly conversation. I passed four days at
the castle of Coppet with Necker ; and could have
wished to have shown him, as a warning to any aspiring
youth possessed with the demon of ambition. With all
¦ the means of private happiness in his power, he is the
most miserable of human beings : the past, the present,
and the future are equally odious to him. When I sug
gested some domestic amusement of books, building, &c.
he answered, with a deep tone of despair, " In the state
in which I now am, I can feel only the blast that has
overthrown me." How difiTerent from the careless cheer
fulness with which our poor friend Lord North supported
his fall ! Madame Necker maintains more external com
posure, mais le diabk n'y perd rien. It is true that

276 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD
Necker wished to be carried into the closet like old Pitt,
on the shoulders of the people ; and that he has been
ruined by the democracy which he had raised. I believe
him to be an able financier, and know him to be an
honest man ; too honest, perhaps, for a minister. His
rival Colonne has passed through Lausanne, in his way
from Turin; and was soon followed by the Prince of
Conde, with his son and grandson ; but I was too much
indisposed to see them. They have, or have had, some
wild projects of a counter-revolution : horses have been
bought, men levied : such foolish attempts must end in the
ruin of the party, Burke's book is a most admirable
medicine against the French disease, which has made too
much progress even in this happy country, I admire
his eloquence, I approve his politics, I adore his chivalry,
and I can forgive even his superstition. The primitive
church, which I have treated with some freedom, was itself
at that time an innovation, and I was attached to the old
pagan establishment. The French spread so many lies
about the sentiments of the English nation, that I wish
the most considerable men of all parties and descriptions
would join in some public act, declaring themselves satis-
fied and resolved to support our present constitution.
Such a declaration would have a wonderful effect in
Europe ; and, were I thought worthy, I myself would be
proud to subscribe to it, I have a great mind to send
you something of a sketch, such as all thinking men
might adopt,
I have intelligence of the approach of my Madeira, I
accept with equal pleasure the second pipe, now in tho
torrid zone. Send me some pleasant details of your

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LOED SHEFFIELD, 277
' ' i — ~  —  -— — —
domestic state, of Maria, &c. If my lady thinks that my
sUence is a mark of indifference, my lady is a goose, I
must have you all at Lausanne next summer,
Lausanne, August 7, 1790.
I answer at once your two letters ; and I should proba
bly have taken earlier notice of the first, had I not been
in dally expectation of the second. I must begin on the
subject of what really interests me the most, your glo
rious election for Bristol, Most sincerely do I congratu
late your exchange of a cursed expensive jilt, who
deserted you for a rich Jew, for an honourable connexion
with a chaste and virtuous matron, who will probably be
as constant as she is disinterested. In the whole range
of election from Caithness to St. Ives, I much doubt whe
ther there be a single choice so truly honourable to the
member and the constituents. The second commercial
city invites, from a distant province, an independent gen
tleman, known only by his active spirit, and his writings
on the subject of trade ; and names him, without intrigue
or expense, for her representative : even the voice of
party is sUenced, while factions strive which shall applaud
the most.
You are now sure, for seven years to come, of never
wanting food — I mean business; what a crowd of suitors
or complainants wiU besiege your door ! what a load of
letters and memorials wUl be heaped on your table ! I
much question whether even you will not sometimes
exclaim, Ohe ! jam satis est ! but that is your affair. Of
the excursion to Coventry I cannot decide, but I hear it
is pretty generally blamed : but, however, I love grati-

278 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
tude to an old friend ; and shall not be very angry if you
d  d them with a farewell to all eternity. But I can
not repress my indignation at the use of those foolish, ob
solete, odious words. Whig and Tory, In the American
war they might have some meaning ; and then your lord
ship was a Tory, although you supposed yourself a Whig:
since the coalition all general principles have been con
founded, and if there ever was an opposition to men, not
measures, it is the present. Luckily, both the leaders are
great men ; and, whatever happens, the country must
fall upon its legs. What a strange mist of peace and war
seems to hang over the ocean ! We can perceive no
thing but secrecy and vigour: but those are excellent
qualities in a minister. From yourself and politics I now
return to my private concerns, which I shall methodi
cally consider under the three great articles of mind,
body, and estate,
1, 1 am not absolutely displeased with your firing so
hastily at the hint, a tremendous hint, in my last letter.
But the danger is not so serious or imminent as you seem
to suspect ; and I give you my word, that, before I take
the slightest step which can bind me either in law, con
science, or honour, I will faithfuUy communicate, and we
will freely discuss, the whole state of the business. But
at present there is not any thing to communicate or dis
cuss ; I do assure you that I have not any particular object
in view : I am not in love with any of the hyaenas of
Lausanne, though there are sonie who keep their claws
tolerably well pared. Sometimes, in a solitary mood, I
have fancied myself married to one or other of those
whose society and conversation are the most pleasing to

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 879
me ; but when I have painted in my fancy all the proba
ble consequences of such an union, I have started from
my dream, rejoiced in my escape, and ejaculated a thanks
giving that I was still in possession of my natural free
dom. Yet I feel, and shall continue to feel, that domestic
solitude, however it may be alleviated by the world, by
study, and even by friendship, is a comfortless state,
which wUI grow more painful as I descend into the vale
of years. At present my situation is very tolerable ; and
if at dinner-time, or at my return home in the evening, I
sometimes sigh for a companion, there are many hours
and many occasions, in which I enjoy the superior bless
ing of being sole master of my own house. But your
plan, though less dangerous, is still more absurd than
mine : such a couple as you describe could not be found ;
and, if found, would not answer my purpose : their rank
and position would be awkward and ambiguous to my
self and my acquaintance ; and the agreement of three
persons of three characters would be still more impracti
cable. My plan of Charlotte Porten is undoubtedly the
most desirable ; and she might either remain a spinster
(the case is not without example,) or marry some Swiss
of my choice, who would increase and enliven our
society ; and both would have the strongest motives for
kind and dutiful behaviour. But the mother has been
indirectly sounded ; and will not hear of such a proposal
for some years. On my side, I would not take her, but as
a piece of soft wax which I could model to the language
and manners of the country : I must therefore be patient.
Young Severy's letter, which may be now in your
hands, and which, for these three or four last posts, has

280 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD

furnished my indolence with a new pretence for delay,
has already informed you of the means and circumstances
of my resurrection, Tedious indeed was my confine
ment, since I was not able to move from my house or
chair, from the ninth of February to the first of July, very
nearly five months. The first weeks were accompanied
with more pain than I have ever known in the gout, with
anxious days and sleepless nights ; and when that pain
subsided, it left a weakness in my knees which seemed
to have no end. My confinement was however softened
by books, by the possession of every comfort and con
venience, by a succession each evening of agreeable com
pany, and by a flow of equal spirits and general good
health. During the last weeks I descended to the ground
floor, poor Deyverdun's apartment, and constructed a
chair like Merlin's, in which 1 could wheel myself in the
house and on the terrace. My patience has been univer-
saUy admired ; yet how many thousands have passed
those five months less easily than myself. I remember
making a remark perfectly simple, and perfectly true :
" At present," I said to Madame de Severy, "I am not
positively miserable, and I may reasonably hope a daily
or weekly improvement, till sooner or later in tbe sum
mer I shaU recover new Umbs, and new pleasures, which
I do not now possess ; have any of you such a prospect ?"
The prediction has been accomplished, and I have ar
rived to my present condition of strength, or rather of
feebleness : I now can walk with tolerable ease in my
garden and smooth places ; but on the rough pavement
of the town I use, and perhaps shall use, a sedan chair
The Pyrmont waters have performed wonders ; and my

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 281
physician (not Tissot, but a very sensible man) allows me
to hope, that the term of the interval will be in propor
tion to that of the fit.
Have you read in the English papers that the govern
ment of Berne is overturned, and that we are divided
into three democratical leagues? true as what I have
read in the French papers, that the English have cut off
Pitt's head, and abolished the House of Lords. The peo
ple of this country are happy ; and in spite of some mis
creants, and more foreign emissaries, they are sensible of
their happiness.
Finally — Inform my lady, that I am indignant at a
false and heretical assertion in her last letter to Severy,
"that friends at a distance cannot love each other if they
do not write," I love her better than any woman in the
world ; indeed I do ; and yet I do not write. And she
herself — but I am calm. We have now nearly one hun
dred French exiles, some ofthem worth being acquainted
with ; particularly a Count de Schomberg, who is become
almost my friend ; he is a man of the world, of letters,
and of sufficient age, since in 1753 he succeeded to Mar
shal Saxe's regiment of dragoons. As to the rest, I enter
tain them, and they flatter me : but I wish we were
reduced to our Lausanne Society. Poor France ! the
state is dissolved, the nation is mad ! Adieu.
Lausanne, April 9th, 1791.
First, of my heaUh ; it is now tolerably restored : my
legs are still weak, but the animal in general is in sound
and lively condition ; and we have great hopes from the
fine weather and the Pyrmont waters. I most sincerely

S82 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
wished for the presence of Maria, to embellish a ball
which I gave the 29th of last month to all the best com
pany, natives and foreigners, of Lausanne, with the aid of
the Severys, especially of the mother and son, who
directed the oeconomy, and performed the honours of the
fete. It opened about seven in the evening ; the assem
bly of men and women was pleased and pleasing, the
music good, the Ulumination splendid, the refreshments
profuse : at twelve, one hundred and thirty persons sat
down to a very good supper ; at two, I stole away to
bed, in a snug corner ; and I was informed at breakfast,
that the remains of the veteran and young troops, with
Severy and his sister at their head, had concluded the
last dance about a quarter before seven. This magnifi
cent entertainment has gained me great credit ; and the
expense was more reasonable than you can easily
imagine. This was an extraordinary event, but I give
frequent dinners ; and in the summer I have an assembly
every Sunday evening. What a wicked wretch I says
my lady,
I cannot pity you for the accumulation of business, as
you ought not to pity me, if I complained of tranquUity of
Lausanne: we suffer or enjoy the effects of our own
choice. Perhaps you will mutter something of our not
being born for ourselves, of public spirit (I have for
merly read of such a thing), of private friendship, for
which I give you full and ample credit, «fcc. But your
parliamentary operations, at least, will probably expire in
the month of June ; and I shall refuse to sign the New
haven conveyance, unless I am satisfied that you will
execute the Lausanne visit this summer. On the 15th of

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LOED SHEFFIELD. S«3
June, suppose lord, lady, Maria, and maid, (poor Louisa!)
in a post coach, with Etienne on horseback, set out from
Downing-street, or Sheffield-place, cross the channel from
Brighton to Dieppe, visit the national assembly, buy caps
at Paris, examine the ruins of Versailles, and arrive at
Lausanne, without danger or fatigue, the second week in
July ; you wUl be lodged pleasantly and comfortably, and
wUl not perhaps despise my situation, A couple of
months wUl roll, alas ! too hastily away : you will all be
amused by new scenes, new people ; and whenever
Maria and you, with Severy, mount on horseback to visit
the country, the glaciers, &c., my lady and myself shall
form a very quiet t^te-a-t6te at home. In September, if
you are tired, you may return by a direct or indirect
way ; but I only desire that you will not make the plan
impracticable by grasping at too much, -In return, I pro
mise you a visit of three or four months in the autumn of
ninety-two : you and my booksellers are now my princi
pal attractions in England, You had some right to
growl at hearing of my supplement in the papers : but
Cadell's indiscretion was founded on a hint which I had
thrown out in a letter, and which in all probabiUty
will never be executed. Yet I am not totally idle.
Adieu. Lausanne, May 18th, 1791.
I write a short letter, on small paper, to inform you,
that the various deeds, which arrived safe and in good
condition, have this morning been sealed, signed, and
delivered, in the presence of respectable and well known
English witnesses. To have read the aforesaid acts.

284 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LOED SHEFFIELD.
would have been difficult ; to have understood them, im
practicable. I therefore signed them with my eyes shut,
and in that implicit confidence, which we freemen and
Britons are humbly content to yield to our lawyers and
ministers, I hope, however, most seriously hope, that
every thing has been carefully examined, and that I am
not totally ruined. It is not without much impatience
that I expect an account of the payment and investment
of the purchase-money. It was my intention to have
added a new edition of my will : but I have an unexpected
call to go to Geneva to-morrow with the Severys, and
must defer that business a few days, till after my return.
On my return I may possibly find a letter from you, and
will write more fully in answer : my posthumous work,
contained in a single sheet, will not ruin you in postage.
In the meanwhUe, let me desire you either never to
talk of Lausanne, or to execute the journey this summer ;
after the despatch of public and private business, there
can be no real obstacle but in yourself. Pray do not go
to war with Russia : it is very foolish : I am quite angry
with Pitt. Adieu, Lausanne, May 31st, 1791.
At length I see a ray of sunshine breaking from a dark
cloud. Your epistle of the 13th arrived this morning,
the 25th instant, the day after my return from Geneva ;
it has been communicated to Severy. We now beUeve
that you intend to visit Lausanne this summer, and we
hope that you will execute that intention. If you are a
man of honour, you shall find me one ; and, on the day
of your arrival at Lausanne, I wUl ratify my engagement

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 285
of visiting the British isle before the end ofthe year 1792,
excepting only the fair and foul exception of the gout.
You rejoice me, by proposing the addition of dear
Louisa ; it was not without a tfcitter pang that I threw
her overboard, to lighten the vessel and secure the vo
yage : I was fearful of the governess, a second carriage,
and a long train of difficulty and expense, which might
have ended in blowing up the whole scheme. But if
you can bodkin the sweet creature into the coach, she
wUl fmd an easy welcome at Lausanne, The first
arrangements which I must make before your arrival,
may be altered by your own taste, on a survey of the
premises, and you will all be commodiously and pleasant
ly lodged. You have heard a great deal of the beauty
of my house, garden, and situation : but such are their
intrinsic value, that, unless I am much deceived, they
will bear the test even of exaggerated praise. From my
knowledge of your lordship, I have always entertained
some doubt how you would get through the society of a
Lausanne winter : but I am satisfied that, exclusive of
friendship, your summer visits to the banks ofthe Leman
Lake will long be remembered as one ofthe most agree
able periods of your life ; and that you wUl scarcely re
gret the amusement of a Sussex committee of navigation
in the dog days. You ask for details: what details? a
map of France and a post-book are easy and infallible
guides. If the ladies are not afraid of the ocean, you
are not ignorant of the passage from Brighton to Dieppe :
Paris will then be in your direct road ; and even allow
ing you to look at the Pandsemonium, the ruins of Ver
sailles, &c„ a fortnight diligently employed will clear

;86 NARR-\TIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.

you from Sheffield-Place to Gibbon Castle. What can
I say more ?
As little have I to say on the subject of my worldly
matters, which seems now, Jupiter be praised, to be draw
ing to a final conclusion ; since, when people part with
their money, they are indeed serious. I do not perfectly
understand the ratio of the precise sum which you have
poured into Gosling's reservoir, but suppose it will be
explained in a general account.
You have been very dutiful in sending me, what I
have always desired, a cut Woodfall on a remarka
ble debate ; a debate, indeed, most remarkable ! Poor
**** is the most eloquent and rational madman that I
ever knew. I love Fox's feelings, but I detest the politi
cal principles of the man, and of the party. Formerly
you detested them more strongly, during the American
war, than myself. I am half afraid that you are corrupted
by your unfortunate connexions. Should you admire
the national assembly, we shall have many an altercation,
for I am as high an aristocrat as Burke himself; and,
he has truly observed, that it is impossible to debate with
temper on the subject of that cursed revolution. In my
last excursion to Geneva I frequently saw the Neckers,
who by this time are returned to their summer'residence
at Coppet. He is much restored in health and spirits,
especially since the publication of his last book, which has
probably reached England. Both parties who agree in
abusing him, agree likewise that he is a man of virtue
and genuis : but I much fear that the purest intentions
have been productive of the most baneful consequences.
Our military men, I mean the French, are leaving us

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 287

every day for the camp of the Princes at Worms, and
support what is called  representation. Their
hopes are sanguine ; I wUl not answer for their beihg
well grounded : it is certain, however, that the emperor
had an interview the 19th instant with the Count of
Arlois at Mantua : ahd the aristocrats talk in mysterious
language of Spain, Sardinia, the empire, four or five
armies, &c. They will doubtless strike a blow this
summer : may it not recoil on their own heads ! Adieu
Embrace our female travellers. A short delay.
Lausanne, June 12th, 1791.
I now begin to see you all in real motion, swimming
from Brighton to Dieppe, according to my scherne, and
afterwards treading, the direct ii^MJ|which you cannot
well avoid, to the turbulent capital'W the late kingdom
of France. I know not what more to say, or what fur
ther instructions to send ; they would indeed be useless,
as you are travelling through a country which has been
sometimes visited by Englishmen : only this let me say,
that, in the midst of anarchy, the roads were never more
secure than at present. As you wUl wish to assist at
the national assembly, you will act prudently in obtain
ing from the French in London a good recommendation
to some leading member ; Cazales, for instance, or the
Abb^ Maury. I soon expect from Elmsly a cargo of
books ; but you may bring me any new pamphlet of
exquisite flavour, particularly the last works of John
Lord Sheffield,* which the dog has always neglected to
' Observations on the Com Laws.

288 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
send. You will have time to write once more, and you
must endeavour, as nearly as possible, to mark the day
of your arrival. You may come either by Lyons and
Geneva, by Dijon and Les Rousses, or by Dole and Pon-
tarli^re. The post will fail you on the edge of Switzer
land, and must be supplied by hired horses. I wish you
to make your last day's journey easy, so as to dine upon
the road, and arrive by tea-time. The pulse of the coun
ter revolution beats-high, but I cannot send you any cer
tain facts. Adieu. I want to liear my lady abusing
me for never writing. AU the Severys are very im
patient. Notwitstanding the high premium, I do not absolutely
wish you drowned. Besides all other cares, I must marry
and propagate, wM^k would give me a great deal of
trouble. 1p|J Lausanne, July 1st, 1791.
In obedience to your orders, I direct a flying shot to
Paris, though I have not any thing particular to add, ex
cepting our impatience is increased in the inverse ratio
of time and space. Yet I almost doubt whether you
have passed the sea. The news of the king of France's
escape must have reached you before the 28th, the day
of your departure, and the prospect of strange unknown
disorder may well have suspended your firmest resolves.
The royal animal is again caught, and all may probably
be quiet. I was just going to exhort you to pass through
Brussels and the confines of Germany ; a fair Irishism,
since if you read this, you are already at Paris. The
only reasonable advice which now remains, is to obtain,
by means of Lord Gower, a sufficiency, or even super-

NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD. 289
fluity, of forcible passports, suoh as leave no room for
cavil on a jealous frontier. The frequent inter
course with Paris has proved that the best and short
est road, instead of Besangon, is by Dijon, Dole, Les
Rousses, and Nyon. Adieu. I warmly embrace the
ladies. It would be idle now to talk of business.

It has appeared from the foregoing letters, that a visit
from myself and family, to Mr. Gibbon at Lausanne, had
been for some time in agitation. This long-promised ex
cursion took place in the month of June 1791, and oc
casioned a considerable cessation of our correspondence.
I landed at Dieppe immediately after the flight from, and
return to, Paris of the unfortunate Louis XVI. During
my stay in that capital, I had an opportunity of seeing
the extraordinary ferment of men's minds, both in the
national assembly, and in private societies, and also in
my passage through France to Lausanne, where I recaUed
to my memory the interesting scenes I had witnessed, by
frequent conversations with my deceased friend. I might
have wished to record his opinions on the subject of
the French Revolution, if he had not expressed them so
well in the annexed letters. He seemed to suppose, as
some of his letters hint, that I had a tendency to the new
Fre^h opinions. Never, indeed, I can with truth aver,
was suspicion more unfounded ; nor could it have been
admitted into Mr. Gibbon's mind, but that his extreme
friendship for me, and his utter abhorrence of these no
tions, made him anxious and even jealous, even to an

290 NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
excess that I should not entertain them. He was, how
ever, soon undeceived ; he found that I was as averse to
them as himself. I had from the first expressed ah
opinion, that such a change as was aimed at in France,
must derange all the regular governments in Europe,
hazard "the internal quiet and dearest interests of this
country, and probably end in bringing on mankind a
much greater portion of misery, than the most sanguine
reformer had ever promised to himself or others to pro
duce of benefit, by the visionary schemes of liberty and
equality, with which the ignorant and vulgar were
misled and abused.
Mr. Gibbon, at first, like many others, seemed pleased
with the prospect of the reform of inveterate abuses ; but
he very soon discovered the mischief which was intended,
the imbecility with which concessions we^e made, and
the ruin that must arise from the want of resolution or
conduct, in the administration of France, He lived to
reprobate, in the strongest terms possible, the folly of the
first reformers, and the Something worse than the extra
vagance and ferocity of their successors. He saw the
wild and mischievous tendency of those reformers, which,
whUe they professed nothing but amendment, really
meant destruction to all social order ; and so strongly
was his opinion fixed, as to the danger of hasty inno
vation, that he became a warm and zealous advocate for
every sort of old establishment, which he marke(j| in
various ways, sometimes rather ludicrously; and I
recollect, in a circle where French affairs were the topic,
and some Portuguese present, he, seemingly with serious
ness, argued in favour of the inquisition at Lisbon, and

NAIEKATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFlKtD, 391
said he would not, at the present moment, give up even
that old establishment.
It may, perhaps, not be quite uninteresting to the
readers of these Memoirs, to know that I found Mr, Gib
bon at Lausanne in possession of an excellent house ; the
view from which, and from the terrace, was so uncom
monly beautiful, that even his own pen would with dif
ficulty describe the scene which it commanded. This
prospect comprehended every thing grand and magnifi
cent, which could be furnished by tbe finest mountains
among the Alps, the most extensive view of the Lake of
Geneva, with a beautifully varied and cultivated country,
adorned by numerous villas, and picturesque buildings,
intermixed with beautiful masses of stately trees. Here
ray firiend received us with an hospitality and kindness
which: I can never forget. The best apartments of the
house were appropriated to our use ; the choicest society
of the place was sought fojr, to enliven our visit, and to
render every day of it cheerful and agreeable. It was'
impossible for any man to be more esteemed and adipired
than Mr, Gibbon was at Lausanne. The preference he
had given tO: that place in adopting' it for a residence,
rather than his own country, was felt and acknowledged
by all the inhabitants; and he may have been said
almost to have given the law to a set of as willing sub
jects as any man ever presided over. In return for the
deference shown to him, he mixed, without any affecta
tion, in all the society, I mean all the best society tiiat
Lausanne afforded; he could indeed command it, and
was, perhaps, for that reason the more partial to it ; for
he often declared that he liked society more as a relaxa-

S9fi NAEEATIVE CONTINUED BY LORD SHEFFIELD.
tion from study, than as expecting to derive from it
amusement or instruction ; that to books he looked for
improvement, not to living persons. But this I con
sidered partly as an answer to my expressions of won
der, that a man who might choose the most various and
the most generally improved society in the world —
namely, in England — should prefer the very limited circle
of Lausanne, which he never deserted, but for an occa
sional visit to M. and Madame Necker. It must not,
however, be understood, that in choosing Lausanne for
his home, he was insensible to the merits of a residence
in England : he was not in possession of an income
which corresponded with his notions of ease and comfort
in his own country. In Switzerland his fortune was
ample. To this consideration of fortune may be added
another, which also had its weight ; from early youth Mr.
Gibbon had contracted a partiality for foreign taste and
foreign habits of life, which made him less a stranger.
abroad than he was, in some respects, in his native coun
try. This arose, perhaps, from having been out of Eng- •
land from his sixteenth to his twenty-first year ; yet when
I came to Lausanne, I found him apparently without
relish for French society. During the stay I made with
him he renewed his intercourse with the principal French
who were at Lausanne ; of whom there happened to be
a considerable number, distinguished for rank or talents :
many indeed respectable for both.* During my stay in
* Marshal de Castries and several branches of his famUy, Due de Guignes
and daughters. Duo and Duchesse de Guiche, Madame de Grammont,
Frincesse d'Henin, Fi-incesse de BouiUon, Duchesse de Biron, Prince ds
Salm, Compte de Schomberg, Cotmt de LaUy, LaUy Tolendal, M.
Mounier, Madame d'Aguesseau and family, M. de Malsherbes, &c. £c.

NAEEATIVE CONTINUED BY LOED SHEFFIELD. 293
Switzerland, I was not absent frcm my friend's house,
except during a short excursion that we made together to
Mr. Necker's at Coppet, and a tour to Geneva, Chamouni
over the Col de Balme, to Martigny, St, Maurice, and
round the Lake by Vevay to Lausanne, In the social
and singularly pleasant months that I passed with Mr,
Gibbon, he enjoyed his cheerfulness, with good health.
Since he left England, in 1788, he had a severe attack,
mentioned in one of the foregoing letters, of an erisipelas,
which at last settled in one of his legs, and left something
of a dropsical tendency ; for at this time I first perceived
a considerable degree of swelling about the ancle.
In the beginning of October I left this delightful resi
dence ; and some time after my return to England, our
correspondence recommenced.

LETTERS

ED¥AED GIBBOI, ESQ.

LOED SHEFFIELD AID OTHEES.

LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ. TO LORD
SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS.
EDWARD GIBBON, ESa. TO THE HON, MISS HOLROYD,
Lausanne, Nov. 9tb, 1791.
Gulliver is made to say, in presenting his interpreter,
" My tongue is in the mouth of my friend." Allow me
to say, with proper expressions and excuses, " My pen is
in the hand of my friend ;" and the aforesaid friend begs
leave thus to continue.*
I remember to have read somewhere in Rousseau, of a
lover quitting very often his mistress, to have the plea
sure of Corresponding with her. Though not absolutely
your lover, I am very much your admirer, and should be
extremely tempted to follow the same example. The
spirit and reason which prevail in your conversation, ap
pear to great advantage in your letters. The three
which I have received from Berne, Coblentz, and BrusseLi
have given me much real pleasure : first, as a proof that
you are often thinking of me ; secondly, as an evidence
that you are capable of keeping a resolution; and
thirdly, from their own intrinsic merit and entertainment.
The style, without any allowance for haste or hurry, is
perfectly correct ; the manner is neither too light nor too
* The remainder of the letter was dictated by Mr. Gibbon, and written
bj M. WUh. de Severy.— S.

298 liTTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
grave; the dimensions neither too long nor too short;
they are such, in a word, as I should like to receive from
the daughter of my best friend. I attend your lively
journal, through bad roads and worse inns. Your
description of men and manners conveys very satisfactory
information ; and I am particularly delighted with your
remark concerning the irregular behaviour of the Rhine.
But the Rhine, alas ! after some temporary wanderings,
will be content to flow in his old channel, while man —
man is the greatest fool of the whole creation.
I direct this letter to Sheffield-place, where I suppose
you arrived in health and safety. I congratulate my
lady on her quiet establishment by her fireside ; and hope
you will be able, after all your excursions, to support the
climate and manners of old England. Before this epistle
reaches you, I hope to have received the two promised
letters from Dover and Sheffield-place. If they should
not meet with a proper return, you wUl pity and forgive
me. I have not yet heard from Lord Sheffield, who seems
to have devolved on his daughter the task which she has
so gloriously executed. I shall probably not write to him,
till I have received his first letter of business from Eng
land ; but with regard to my lady I have most excellent
intentions, I never could understand how two persons of such
superior merit, as Miss Holroyd and Miss Lausanne,
could have so little relish for one another, as they
appeared to have in the beginning; and it was with
great pleasure that I observed the degrees of their grow
ing intimacy, and the mutual regret of their separation.
Whatever you may imagine, your friends at Lausanne

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 299
have been thinking as frequently of yourself and com
pany, as you could possibly think of them ; and you wUl
be very ungrateful if you do not seriously resolve to
make them a second visit under such name and title as
you may judge most agreeable. None of the Severy
family, except perhaps my secretary, are inclined to for
get you ; and I am continually asked for some account of
your health, motions and amusements. Since your
departure, no great events have occurred, I have made
a short excursion to Geneva and Coppet, and found M,
Necker in much better spirits than when you saw him.
They pressed me to pass some weeks this winter in
their house at Geneva ; and I may possibly comply, at
least in part, with their invitation. The aspect of Lau
sanne IS peaceful and placid ; and you have no hopes of
a revolution driving me out of this country. We hear
nothing of the proceedings of the commission,* except
by playing at cards every evening with Monsieur
Fischer, who often speaks of Lord Sheffield with esteem
and respect. There is no appearance of Rosset and La
* A commission at the head of which was Monsieur Fischer, one of the
principal members of the government of Berne, a very active and intelli
gent man, who would have distinguished himself iu the administration of
any country. This commission, which was accompanied by two or three
thousand of the best of the German militia of the canton of Berne, was sent
for the purpose of examining into some attempts to introduce the French
revolutionary principles into the Pays de Vaud. Several persons were
seized ; the greater part were released ; the examination was secret, but
Eosset and La Motte were confined in the Castle of Chillon : and being
afterwards condemned, for correspondence with the French, to a long im
prisonment, were transferred to the castle of Arbonrg, from whence they
escaped.

300 LETTEES FEOM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.
Motte being brought to a speedy trial, and they still re
main in the castle of ChiUon, which (according to the
geography of the national assembly) is washed by the
sea. Our winter begins with great severity ; and we
shall not probably have many balls, which, as you may
imagine, I lament much, Angletine does not consider
two French words as a letter. Montrond sighs and
blushes whenever Louisa's name is mentioned: PhilUp-
pine wishes to converse with her on men and manners.
The French ladies are settled in town for the winter, and
they form, with Mrs, Trevor, a very agreeable addition
to our society. It is now enlivened by a visit of the
Chevalier de Boufflers, one of the most accomplished men
of the ci-devant kingdom of France.
As Mrs. Wood,* who has miscarried, is about to leave
us, I must either cure or die ; and, upon the whole, I
believe the former will be most expedient. You will see
her in London, with dear Corea, next winter. My rival
magnificently presents me with a hogshead of Madeira ;
so that in honour I could not supplant him : yet I do
assure you, from my heart, that another departure is
much more painful to me. The apartmentf below is shut
up, and I know not when I shall again visit it with pleasure.
Adieu, Believe me, one and all, most affectionately yours,
EDWARD GIBBON, ESa, TO THE RIGHT HON, LOED SHEFFIELD.
Lausanne, December 28, 1791.
A^las 1 alas ! the demon of procrastination has again
possessed me. Three months have nearly rolled away
* Madame de Silva.
t The apartment priucipally inhabited during the residence of my iamily
at Lausanne. — S.

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 301
Since your departure; and seven letters, five from the
most valuable Maria, and two from yourself, have
extorted from me only a single epistle, which, perhaps;
would never have been written, had I not used the per
mission of employing my own tongue and the hand of a
secretary. Shall I tell you, that fbr these last six weeks,
the eve of every day has witnessed a. firm resolution, and
the day itself has furnished some ingenious delay? This
morning, for instance, I determined to invade you as soon
as the breakfast things should be removed : they were
removed ; but I had something to read, to write, to medi
tate, and there was time enough before me. Hour after
hour has stolen away, and I finally begin my letter at two
o'clock, evidently too late for the post, as I must dress,
dine, go abroad, &c. A foundation, however, shall be
laid, which will stare me ih the face ; and next Saturday
I shall probably be roused by the awful reflection that it
is the last day in the year.
After realizing this summer an event which I had long
considered as a dream of fancy, I know not whether I
should rejoice or grieve at your visit to Lausanne.
While I possessed the famUy, the sentiment of pleasure
highly predominated; when, just as we had subsided in a
regular, easy, comfortable plan of life, the last trump
sounded, and, without speaking of the pang of separation,
you left me to one of the most gloomy, solitary months
of October, which I have ever passed. For yourself and
daughters, however, you have contrived to snatch some
of the most interesting scenes of this world, Paris, at
such a moment, Switzerland, and the Rhine, Strasburg,
Coblentz, have suggested a train of lively images and

302 LETTERS FROM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ,
useful ideas, which will not be speedily erased. The
mind of the young damsel, more especially, wUl be en
larged and enlightened in every sense. In four months
she bas iived many years ; and she will much deceive
and displease me, if she does not review and methodize
her journal, in such a manner as she is capable of per
forming, for the amusement of her particular friends.
Another benefit which will redound from your recent
view is, that every place, person, and object, about Lau
sanne, are now become familiar and interesting to you.
In our future correspondence (do I dare pronounce the
word correspondence?) I can talk to you as freely of
every circumstance as if it were actually before your
eyes. And first, of my own improvements, — All those
venerable pUes of ancient verdure which you admired,
have been eradicated in one fatal day. Your faithful
substitutes, WUliam de Severy and Levade, have never
ceased .to persecute me, till I signed their death warrant.
Their place is now supplied by a number of picturesque
naked poles, the foster fathers of as many twigs of plata-
nnses, which may afford a grateful but distant shade to
the founder, or to his " seris nepotibus," In the mean
while, I must confess that the terrace appears broader,
and that I discover a much larger quantity of snow than
I should otherwise do. The workmen admire your inge
nious plan for cutting out a new bed-chamber and book-
room ; but, on mature consideration, we all unanimously
prefer the old scheme of adding a third room on tbe ter
race beyond the library, with two spacious windows, and
a fire-place between. It wUl be larger (28 feet by 21), '
and pleasanter, and warmer : the difference of expense

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 303
will be much less considerable than I imagined : the door
of communication with the library wUl be artfully buried
in the wainscot ; and, unless it be opened by my own
choice, may always remain a profound secret. Such is
the design ; but as it will not be executed before next
summer, you have time and liberty to state your objec-
jections. I am much colder about the staircase, but it
may be finished, according to your idea, for thirty pounds;
and I feel they will persuade me. Am I not a very rich man?
When these alterations are completed, few authors of six
volumes in quarto will be more agreeably lodged, than
myself, Lausanne is now full and lively ; aU our native
families are returned from the country ; and, praised be
the Lord, we are infested with few foreigners, either
French or English. Even our democrats are more rea
sonable or more discreet ; it is agreed to waive the. sub-
iect of politics, and all seem happy and cordial, I have
a grand dinner this week, a supper of thirty or forty
people on twelfth-day, &c. ; some concerts have taken
place, some balls are talked of; and even Maria
would allow (yet it is ungenerous to .say even Maria) that
the winter scene in Lausanne is tolerably gay aod active.
I say nothing of the Severys, as Angletine has epistolized
Maria last post. She has probably hinted that her bro
ther meditates a short excursion to Turin ; that worthy
fellow Trevor has given him a pressing invitation to his
own house, In the beginning of February I propose
going to Geneva for. three or four weeks. I shaU lodge
and eat with the Neckers ; my mornings wUl be my own,
and I shall spend my evenings in the society ofthe place,
where I have many acquaintance. This short absence

304 LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON ESQ.
wUl agitate my stagnant life, and restore me with fresh
appetite to my house, my library, and my friends. Be
fore that time (the end of February) what events may
happen, or be ready to happen I Thc national assembly
(compared to which the former was a senate of heroes
and demi-gods) seem resolved to attack Germany " avec
quatre millions de bayonettes libres ;" the army of 'the
princes must soon either fight, or starve, or conquer,
WiU Sweden draw his sword? will Russia draw her
purse ? an empty purse ! All is darkness and anarchy :
neither party is strong enough to oppose a settlement ; and
I cannot see a possibility of an amicable arrangement,
where there are no heads (in any sense ofthe word) who
can answer for the multitude. Send me your ideas, and
those of Lord GuUdford, Lord Loughborough, Fox, &c.
Before I conclude, a word of my vexatious affairs. —
Shall I never saU on the smooth stream of good security
and half-yearly interest? Will every body refuse my
tnoney ? I had already written to Darell and Gosling to
obey your commands, and was in hopes that you had
already made large and salutary evacuations. During
your absence I never expected much effect from the cold in
difference of agents ; but you are now in England — you
will be speedily in London ; set all your setting dogs to
beat the field, hunt, enquire, — why should you not adver
tise ? Yet I am almost ashamed to complain of some
stagnation of interest, when I am witness to the natural
and acquired philosophy of so many French, who are
reduced from riches, not to indigence but to absolute
want and beggary. A Count Argout has just left us,
who possessed ten thousand a-year in the island of St.

TO LOUD SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 30:.
Domingo ; he is utterly burned and ruined ; and a brother,
whom he tenderly loved, has been murdered by the ne
groes. These are real misfortunes. I have much re-
volved the plan of the Memoirs I once mentioned ; and,
as you do not think it ridiculous, I believe I shall make
an attempt: if I can please myself, I am confident of not
displeasing; but let this be a profound secret between
us : people must not be prepared to laugh ; they must be
taken by surprise. Have you looked over your, or
rather my letters ? Surely in the course of the year,
you may find a safe and cheap occasion of sending me a
parcel ; they may assist me. Adieu, I embrace my
lady : send me a favourable account of her health, I
kiss the Marmaille. By an amazing push of remorse and
dUigence I have finished my letter (three pages and a half)
this same day since dinner ; but I have not time to read
it. Ever yours.
Half-past six. TO THE SAME.
Lausanne, December 3 Ist, 1793.
To-morrow a new year, midios et felices.
I now most sincerely repent of my late repentance,
and do almost swear never to renounce the amiable and
useful practice of procrastination. Had I delayed, as I
was strongly tempted, another post, your missive of the
13th, which did not reach me till this morning (three
mails were due), would have arrived in time, and I
might have avoided this second Herculean labour. It
will be, however, no more than an infant Hercules, The
topics of conversation have been fully discussed, and I
shall now confine myself to the needful of the ne v busi-

306 LETTERS FEOM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
ness, Felix faustumque fit ! may no untoward accident
disarrange yotir Yorkshire mortgage ; the conclusion of
which will place me in a clear and easy state, such as I
have never known since the first hour of property. * * * *
The three per cents are so high, and the country is in
such a d  d state of prosperity under that fellow Pitt,
that it goes against me to purchase at such low interest.
In my visit to England next autumn, or in the spring fol
lowing, (alas you must acquiesce in the alternative,) I
hope to be armed with sufficient materials to draw a sum,
which may be employed as taste or fancy shall dictate,
in the improvement of my Ubrary, a service of plate, &c.
I am not very sanguine, but surely this is no uncomforta
ble prospect. This pecuniary detail, which has not in
deed been so unpleasant as it used formerly to be, has
carried me farther than I expected. Let us now drink
and be merry. I flatter myself that your Madeira, im
proved by its travels, will set forwards for Messrs, Rom
berg, at Ostend, early in the spring : and I should ' be
very well pleased if you could add a hogshead of excel
lent claret, for which we should be entitled to the draw
back : they must halt at Basle, and send notice to me for
a safe conduct. Have you had any intelligence from
Lord Auckland about the wine which he was to order
from Bordeaux, by Marseilles and the Rhone? The
one need not impede the other : I wish to have a large
stock. Corea has promised me a hogshead of his native
Madeira, for which I am to give him an order on Cadell
for a copy of the Decline and Fall : he vanished without
notice, and is now at Paris. Could you not fish out his
direction by Mrs, Wood, who by this time is in England?

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 307
I rejoice in Lally's prosperity. Have you reconsidered
my proposal of a declaration of constitutional principles
from the heads of the party ? I think a foolish address
from a body of Whigs to the national assembly renders
it still more incumbent on you. Achieve my worldly
concerns, et eris mihi magnus Apollo. Adieu, ever
yours, TO THE SAME, Lausanne, AprU 4th, 1794.
For fear you should abuse me, as usual, I wiU begin
the attack, and scold you, for not having yet sent me the
long-expected intelligence of the completion of my mort
gage. You had positively assured me that the second
of February would terminate my worldly cares, by a
consummation so devoutly to be wished. The news,
therefore, might reach me about the eighteenth ; and I ar
gued with the gentle logic of laziness, that jt was perfectly
idle to answer your letter, tUl I could chant a thanksgiving
song of gratitude and praise. As every post disappointed
my hopes, the same argument was repeated for the next ;
and twenty empty handed postilions have blown their
insignificant horns, tUl I am provoked at last to write by
sheer impatience and vexation. Facit indignatio versum.
Cospetto di Bacclio; for I must ease myself by swear
ing a little. What is the cause, the meaning, the pretence,
of this delay ? Are the Yorkshire mortgagors inconstant
in their wishes ? Are the London lawyers constant in
their procrastination ? Is a letter on the road, to inform
me that all is concluded, or to tell me that all is broken
to pieces ? Had the money been placed in the three per
cents last May, besides the annual interest it would have

808 LETTERS FliO.VI EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
gained by the rise of stock nearly twenty per cent. Your
lordship is a wise man, a successful writer, and a useful
senator: you understand America and Ireland, corn and
slaves, but your prejudice against the funds,* in which I
am often tempted to join, makes you a little blind to their
increasing value in the hands of our virtuous and excel
lent minister. But our regret is vain : one pull more and
we reach the shore ; and our future correspondence will
be no longer tainted with business. Shall I then be more
diligent and regular ? I hope and believe so ; for now
that I have got over this article of worldly interest, my
letter seems to be almost finished. Apropos of letters,
am I not a sad dog to forget my Lady and Maria ?
Alas ! the dual number has been prejudicial to both.
" How happy could I be with either, were t'other dear
charmer away." I am like the ass of famous memory ;
I cannot tell which way to turn first, and there I stand
mute and immovable. The baronial and maternal dig
nity of my lady, supported by twenty years' friendship,
may claim the preference. But the five incomparable
letters of Maria I — Next week, however. — Am I not
ashamed to talk of next week ?
I have most successfully, and most agreeably, exe
cuted my plan of spending the month of March at Geneva,
in the Necker house, and every circumstance that I had
arranged turned out beyond my expectation ; the freedom
of the morning, the society of the table and drawing-
room, half an hour past two tiU six or seven ; an evening
assembly and card-party, in a round ofthe best company,
* It would be more correct if he had only stated, my preference of land to
all other property.

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 309
and, excepting one day in the week, a private supper of
free and friendly conversation. You would like Geneva
better than Lausanne ; there is much more information
••to be got among the men ; but though I found some
agreeable women, their manners and style of life are,
upon the whole, less easy and pleasant than our own. I
was much pleased with Necker's brother, M, de Ger
many, a good-humoured, polite, sensible man, without the
genius and fame of the .statesman, but much more adapted
for private and ordinary happiness. Madame de Stael
is expected in a few weeks at Coppet, where they receive
her, and where, " to dumb forgetfulness a prey," she will
have leisure to regret " the pleasing anxious being,"
which she enjoyed amidst the storms of Paris. But what
can the poor creature do ? her husband is in Sweden,
her lover is no longer secretary at war, and her father's
house is the only place where she can reside with the
least degree of prudence and decency. Of that father I
have really a much higher idea than I ever had before ;
in our domestic intimacy he cast away his gloom and
reserve ; I saw a great deal of his mind, and all that I
saw is fair and worthy. He was overwhelmed by the
hurricane, he mistook his way in the fog, but in such a
perilous situation, I much doubt whether any mortal
could have seen or stood. In the meanwhile, he is abused
by all parties, and none of the French in Geneva will set
their foot in his house. He remembers Lord Sheffield
with esteem ; his health is good, and he would be tranquil
in his private life, were not his spirits continually wounded
by the arrival of every letter and every newspaper. His
sympathy is deeply interested by the fatal consequences

310 LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
of a revolution, in which he had acted so leading a part ;
and he feels as a friend for the danger of M. de Lessart,
who may be guUty in the eyes of the Jacobins, or even
of his judges, by those very actions and dispatches
which would be most approved by aU the lovers of his
country. What a momentous event is the emperor's
death? In the forms of a new reign, and ofthe imperial
election, the democrats have at least gained time, if they
knew how to use it. But the new monarch, though of a
weak complexion, is of a martial temper ; he loves the
soldiers, and is beloved by them ; and the slow, fluctu
ating politics of his uncle may be succeeded by a direct
line of march to the gates oif Strasburg and Paris. It is
the opinion of the master movers in France, (I know it
most certainly,) that their troops will not fight, that the
people have lost all sense of patriotism, and that on the
first discharge of an Austrian cannon the game is up.
But what occasion for Austrians or Spaniards? the
French are themselves their greatest enemies ; four
thousand Marseillais are marched against Aries and
Avignon, the troupes de ligne are divided between the
two parties, and the flame of civil war will soon extend
over the southern provinces. You have heai-d of the un
worthy treatment of the Swiss regiment of Ernst. The
canton of Berne has bravely recalled them, with a stout
letter to the king of France, which must be inserted in
all the papers. I now come to the most unpleasant arti
cle, our home politics. Rosset and La Motte are con
demned to fine and twenty years imprisonment in the
fortress of Arbou.rg. We have not yet received their
official sentence, nor is it believed that the proofs and

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. tit
proceedings against them will be published ; an awkward
circumstance, which it does not seem easy to justify.
Some (though none of note) are taken up, several are fled,
many more are suspected and suspicious. All are silent,
but it is the silence of fear and discontent ; and the secret
hatred which rankled against government begins to point
against the few who are known to be well affected, 1
never knew any place so much changed as Lausanne,
even since last year ; and though you will not be much
obliged to me for the motive, I begin very seriously to
think of visiting Sheffield-place by the month of Septem
ber next. Yet here again I am frightened, by the dan
gers of a Frencli, and the difiiculties of a German, route.
You must send me an account of the pai^age from Dieppe
to Brighton, with an itinerary of the Rhine, distances,
expenses, <fec. As usual, I just save the post, nor have I
time to read my letter, which after wasting the morning
in deliberation, has been struck off in a heat since dinner.
No news of the Madeira. The views of Sheffield-place
are just received ; they are admired, and shall be
framed. Severy has spent the carnival at Turin. Trevor
it only the best man in the world.
TO THE SAME. Lausanne, May 30tb, 179S.
After the receipt of your penultimate, eight days ago,
I expected with much impatience, the arrival of your
next-promised epistle. It arrived this morning, but has
oot completely answered my expectations, I wanted,
and I hoped for a full and fair picture of the present and
probable aspect of your political world, with which, at

3ia LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
this distance, I seem every day less satisfied. In the
slave question you triumphed last session, in this you
have been defeated. What is the cause of this alteration ?
If it proceeded only from an impulse of humanity, I can
not be displeased, even with an error ; since it is yery
likely that my own vote (had I possessed one) would
have been added to the majority. But in this rage against
slavery, in the numerous petitions against the slave-trade,
was there no leaven of new democratical principles ? no
wUd ideas of the rights and natural equality of man? It
is these I fear. Some articles in newspapers, some pamph
lets of the year, the Jockey Club, have fallen into my
¦hands. I do not infer much from such publications ; yet
I have never known them of so black and malignant a
cast. I shuddered at Grey's motion ; disliked the half-
support of Fox, admired the firmness of Pitt's declara
tion, and excused the usual intemperance of Burke.
Surely such men as ****, ********^ #*#**#^ have talents
for mischief. I see a club of reform which contains
some respectable names. Inform me of the professions,
the principles, the plans, the resources, of these reformers,
WUl they heat the minds of the people ? Does the
French democracy gain no ground ? Will the bulk of
your party stand firm to their own interest, and that of
their country ? WUl you not take some active measures
to declare your sound opinions, and separate yourselves
from your rotten members? or if you allow them to
perplex government, if you trample with this solemn
business, if you do not resist the spirit of innovation in
the first attempt, if you admit the smallest and most
specious change in our parliamentary system, you are

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 313

lost. You wlU be driven from one step to another; from
principles Justin theory, to consequences most pernicious
in practice ; and your first concessions will be produc
tive of every subsequent mischief, for which you will be
answerable to your country and to posterity. Do not
suffer yourselves to be lulled into a false security ; re
member the proud fabric of the French monarchy. Not
four years ago it stood founded, as it might seem, on the
rock of time, force, and opinion, supported by the triple
aristocracy of the church, the nobility, and the parliaments.
They are crumbled into dust ; they are vanished from
the earth. If this tremendous warning has no effect on
the men of property in England ; if it does not open
every eye, and raise every arm, you wUl deserve your
fate. If I am too precipitate, enlighten; if I am too
desponding, encourage me.
My pen has run into this argument; for, as much a
foreigner as you think me, on this momentous subject, I
feel myself an Englishman.
The pleasure of residing at Sheffield-place is, after all,
the first and the ultimate object of my visit to my native
country. But when or how wUl that visit be effected ?
Clouds and whirlwinds, Austrian Croats, and Gallic can
nibals, seem on every side to impede my passage. You
appear to apprehend the perils or difficulties of the Ger
man road, and French peace is more sanguinary than
civUized war, I must pass through, perhaps, a thousand
republics or municipalities, which neither obey nor are
obeyed. The strictness of passports, and thc popular
ferment, are much increased since last summer : aristo
crat is in every mouth, lanterns hang in every street, and

3U LETTEES FEOM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.

an hasty word or a casual resemblance may be fatal.
Yet, on the other hand, it is probable that many English,
men, women, and chUdren, wUl traverse the country
without any accident before next September ; and I am
sensible that many things appear more formidable at a
distance than on a nearer approach. Without any
absolute determination, we must see what the events of
the next three or four months will produce. In the mean
whUe, I shall expect with impatience your next letter:
let it be speedy ; my answer shall be prompt.
You will be glad, or sorry, to learn that my gloomy
apprehensions are much abated, and that my departure,
whenever it takes place, wUl be an act of choice, rather
than of necessity. I do not pretend to affirm, that secret
discontent, dark suspicion, private animosity, are very
materially assuaged ; but we have not experience, nor do
we now apprehend, any dangerous acts of violence,
which may compel me to seek a refuge among the
friendly Bears,* and to abandon my library to the mercy
of the democrats. The firmness and vigour of govern
ment have crushed, at least for a time, the spirit of inno
vation ; and I do not believe that the body of the people,
especially the peasants, are disposed for a revolution.
From France, praised be the demon of anarchy ! the
insurgents ofthe Pays de Vaud could not at present have
much to hope ; and should the gardes nationales, of which
there is little appearance, attempt an incursion, the coun
try is armed and prepared, and they would be resisted
with equal numbers and superior discipline. The Gallic
wolves that prowled round Geneva are drawn away,
•Berne.

TO lORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 81S
some to the south and some to the north, and the late
events in Flanders seem to have diffused a general con
tempt, as well as abhorrence, for the lawless savages,
who fly before the enemy, hang their prisoners, and
murder their officers. The brave and patient regiment
of Ernest is expected home every day, and as Berne will
take them into present pay, that veteran and regular
corps will add to the security of our frontier.
I rejoice that you have so little to say on that subject
of worldly affairs.* * * * This summer we are
threatened with an inundation, besides many nameless
English and Irish ; but I am anxious for the Duchess of
Devonshire and the Lady Elisabeth Foster, who are
on their march. Lord Malmsbury, the audacieitx Harris,
will inform you that he has seen me : him I would have
consented to keep.
One word more before we part ; call upon Mr. John
Nicols, bookseller and printer, at Cicero's Head, Red-
Lion-passage, Fleet-street, and ask him whether he did
not, about the beginning of March, receive a very polite
letter from Mr. Gibbon of Lausanne ? To which, either
as a man of business or a civil gentleman, he should have
returned an answer. My application related to a domes
tic article in the Gentleman's Magazine of August, 1788,
(p, 698,) which had lately fallen into my hands, and con
cerning which I requested some farther lights. Mrs.
Moss delivered the letters* into my hands, but I doubt
whether they will be of much service to me ; the work
appears far more difficult in the execution than in thc
* His letters to me for b certain period, which he desired m« to send, ta
assist hira in writing his Memoirs. — S.

8.16, LETTERS FRO-M EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.

idea, and as I am now taking my leave fpr some time of
the library, I shall not make much progress in th«
memoirs of P. P. till I am on English ground. But is it
indeed true, that I shall eat my Sussex pheasants this
autumn ? The event is in the book of Fate, and I can
not unroll the leaves of September and October. Should
I reach Sheffield-place, I hope to find the whole family in
a perfect state of existence, except a certain Maria Hol
royd, my fair and generous correspondent, whose annihi- ,
lation on proper terms I most fervently desire. I must
receive a copious answer before the end of next month,
June, and again call upon you for a map of your political
world. The chancellor roars ; does he break his chain ?
Yale. TO THE SAME. Lausanne, August S3rd, 1792.
When I inform you that the design of my English ex
pedition is at last postponed till another year, you v/ill not
be much surprised. The public obstacles, the danger of
one road, and the difficulties of another, would alone be
sufficient to arrest so unwieldy and inactive a being ; and
these obstacles on the side of France, are growing every
day more insuperable. On the other hand, the terrors,
which might have driven me from hence, have, in a
great measure, subsided ; our state prisoners are forgot-.
ten : the country begins to recover its old good humour
and unsuspecting confidence, and the last revolution of
Paris appears to have convinced almost every body of
the fatal consequences of democratical principles, which
lead by a path of flowers into the abyss of hell. I may

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 317
therefore wait with patience and tranquillity tUl the Duke
of Brunswick shall have opened the French road. But
if I am not driven from Lausanne, you will ask, 1 hope
with some indignation, whether I am not drawn to Eng-
land, and more especiaUy to Sheffield-place ? Thp desire
of embracing you and yours is now the strongest, and
must gradually become the sole, inducement that can
force me from my library and garden, over seas and
mountains. The EngUsh world will forget and be for
gotten, and every year wiU deprive me of some ac
quaintance, who by courtesy are styled friends: Lord
Guildford and Sir Joshua Reynolds ! two of the men,
and two of, the houses in London, on whom I the most
relied for the comforts of society, Septeniber 12th, 1792.
Thus far had I written in the full confidence of finish
ing and sending my letter the next post ; but six post-
days have unaccountably slipped away, and were you
not accustomed to my silence, you would almost begin to
think me on the road. How dreadfully, since my last
date, has the French road been polluted with blood 1 and
what horrid scenes may be acting at this moment, and
may still be aggravated, till the Duke of Brunswick is
master of Paris ! On every rational principle of calcula
tion he must succeed; yet sometimes, when my spirits
are low, I dread the blind efforts of mad and desperate
multitudes fighting on their own ground, A few days or
weeks must decide the military operations of this year,
and perhaps fpr ever; but on the fairest supposition, I
cannot look forwards to any firm settlement, either of a
legal or an absolute government, I cannot pretend to

318 LETTERS FEOM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.

give you any Paris news. Should I inform yon, as we
believe, that Lally is still among the cannibals, you would
poSsibly answer, that he is now sitting in the Ubrary at
Sheffield. Madame de Stael, after miraculously escaping
through pikes and poniard, has reached the castle of Cop
pet, where I shall see her before the end of the week.
If any thing can provoke the King of Sardinia and the
Swiss, it must be the foul destruction of his cousin Ma
dame de Lamballe, and of tiieir regiment of guards. An
extraordinaiy counsel is summoned at Berne,&Kf resentment
may be checkedby prudence. In spite of Maria's laughter,
I applaud your moderation, and sigh for a hearty union of
all the sense and property of the country. The times
require it ; but your last political letter was a cordial to
my spirits. The Duchess of D, rather dislikes a coali
tion : amiable creature I The Eliza is furious against you
for not writing. We shall lose them in a few days ; but
the motions of Eliza and the Duchess for Italy or Eng
land, are doubtful. Ladies Spencer and Duncannon cer
tainly pass the Alps. I live with them. Adieu. Since
I do not appear in person, I feel the absolute propriety of
writing to my lady and Maria ; but there is far from the
knowledge to the performance of a duty. Ever yours.
TO THE SAME. Lausanne, October Sth, 1792.
As our English newspapers must have informed you
of the invasion of Savoy by the French, and as it is possi
ble that you may have some trifling apprehensions of my
hting killed and eaten by those cannibals, it has appeared
to me that a short extraordinary dispatch might not be

TO LOED 6HEFrii:LD AND OTHKBB. SIS
unacceptable on this occasion. It is indeed true, that
about ten days ago the French army of the South, under
the command of M. de Montesquieu, (if any French army
can be said to be under any command,) has entered
Savoy, and possessed themselves of Chamberry, Mont-
meliah, and several other places. It has always been the
practice of the King of Sardinia to abandon his Trans
alpine dominions ; but on this occasion the court of Turin
appears to have been surprised by the strange eccentric
motions of a democracy, which always acts from the
passion of the moment; and their inferior troops have
retreated, with some loss and disgrace, into the passes of
the Alps, Mount Cenis is now impervious, and our
English travellers who are bound for Italy, the Duchess
of Devonshire, Ancaster, &c, wUI be forced to explore a
long and circuitous road through the Tyrol, But the
Chablais is yet intact, nor can our telescope discover the
tricolor banners on the other side of the lake. Our ac
counts of the French numbers seem to vary from fifteen
to thirty thousand men ; the regulars are few, but they
are followed by a rabble rout, which must soon, however,
melt away, as they will find no plunder, and scanty sub
sistence, in the poverty and barrenness of Savoy,
N, B, I have just seen a letter from M, de Montesquieu,
who boasts that at his first entrance into Savoy he had
only twelve battalions. Our intelligence is far from
correct. The magistrates of Geneva were alarmed by this dan
gerous neighborhood, and more especially by the weUr
know animosity of an exiled citizen, Claviere, who is one
of the six ministers of the French republic It wat

320 LETTEES FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
carried by a small majority in the general council, to call
in the succour of three thousand Swiss, which is stipu
lated by ancient treaty. The strongest reason or pre
tence of the minority, was founded on the danger of pro
voking the French, and they seemed to have been justi
fied by the event ; since the complaint of the French
resident amounts to a declaration of war. The fortifica
tions of Geneva are not contemptible, especially - on the
side of Savoy ; and it is much doubted whether M, de
Montesquieu is prepared for a regular siege; but the
malcontents are numerous within the walls, and I ques
tion whether the spirit Of the citizens will hold out against
a bombardment. In the meanwhile the diet has declared,
that the first cannon fired against Geneva will be con
sidered as an act of hostility against the whole Helvetic
body. Berne, as the nearest and most powerful canton,
has taken tbe lead with great vigour and vigilance ; the
road is fiUed with the perpetual succession of troops and
artillery ; and, if some dissatisfaction lurks in the towns,
the peasants, especially the Germans, are inflamed with
a strong desire of encountering the murderers of their
countrymen, Mr, de Watteville, with whom you dined
at my house last year, refused to accept the command
ofthe Swiss succour of Geneva, till it was made his first
instruction that he should never, in any case, surrender
himself prisoner of war.
In this situation, you, may suppose that we have some
fears. I have great dependence, however, on the many
chances in our favour, the valour of the Swiss, the return
ofthe Piedmontese with their Austrian allies, eight or
ten thousand men from the Milanese, a diversion from

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 321
Spain, the great events (how slowly they proceed) on
the sideof Paris, the inconstancy and want of discipline
of the French, and the near approach of the winter
season. I am not nervous, but I wUl not be rash. It wUl
be painful to abandon my house and Ubrary; but if the
danger should approach, I will retreat before it, first to
Berne, and gradually to the North, Should I even be
forced to take refuge in England (a violent measure so
late ih the year) you would perhaps receive me as kindly
as you did the French priests — a noble act of hospitality.
Could I have foreseen this storm, I would have been there
six weeks ago ; but who can foresee the wild measures
of the savages of Gaul? We thought ourselves perfectly
out of the hurricane latitudes. Adieu, I am going to
bed, and must rise early to visit the Neckers at RoUe,
whither they have retired, from the frontier situation of
Coppet. Severy is on horseback, with his gragoons :
his poor father is dangerously ill. It wUl be shocking if
it should be found necessary to remove him. While we
are in this very awkward crisis, I will write at least
every week. Ever yours. Write instantly, and remem
ber all my commissions, TO THE SAME,
I will keep my promise of sending~you a weekly jour.
nal of our troubles, that, when the piping times of peace
are restored, I may sleep in long and irreproachable
sUence ; but I shall use a smaller paper, as our military
exploits will seldom be sufficient to fill the ample size of
our English quarto.

3M LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
October 13th, 1792,
Since my last of the 6th, our attack is not more emi
nent, and our defence is most assuredly stronger, two
very important circumstances, at a time when every day
is leading us, though not so fast as our impatience could
wish, towards the unwarlike month of November ; and
we observe with pleasure that the troops of M. de Mon
tesquieu, which are chiefly from the southern provinces,
will not cheerfully entertain the rigour of an Alpine
winter. The 7th instant, M. de Chateauneuf, the French
resident, took his leave with an haughty mandate, com
manding the Genevais, as they valued their safety and
the friendship of the republic, to dismiss their Swiss alUes,
and to punish the magistrates who had traitorously pro
posed the calling in these foreign troops. It is precisely
the fable of the wolves, who offered to make peace with
the sheep, provided they would send away their dogs.
You know what became of the sheep. This demand ap
pears to have kindled a just and general indignation,
since it announced an edict of proscription ; and must
lead to a democratical revolution, which would probably,
renew the horrid scenes of Paris and Avianon, A gene
ral assembly of the citizens was convened, the message
was read, speeches were made, oaths were taken, and it
was resolved, v^th only three dissentient voices, to live
and die in the defence of their country. The Genevais
muster above three thousand well-armed citizens ; and
the Swiss, who may easUy be increased, in a few hoiirs,
to an equal number, add spirit to the timorous, and confi
dence to the well-afiected : their arsenals are filled with

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 323
arms, their magazines with ammunition, and their grana
ries with corn. But their fortifications are extensive and
imperfect, they are commanded from two adjacent hills ;
a French faction lurks in the city, the character of the
Genevais is rather commercial than miUtary ; and their
behaviour, lofty promise, and base surrender, in the year
1782, is fresh in our memories. In the meanwhUe, 4000
French at the most are arrived in the neighboring camp,
nor is there yet any appearance of mortars or heavy
artillery. Perhaps a haughty menace may be repelled
by a firm countenance. If it were worth while talking
of justice, what a shameful attack of a feeble unoffending
state ! On the news of their danger, all Switzerland,
from Schaffhausen to the Pays de Vaud, has risen in
arms ; and a French resident, who has passed through
the country, in his way from Ratisbon, declares his intea-
tion of informing and admonishing the national conven
tion. About eleven thousand Bernais are already posted
in the neighbourhood of Coppet and Nyon ; and new
reinforcements of men, artillery, &c, arrive every day.
Another army is drawn together to oppose M, de Fer-
rieres, on the side of Bienne and the bishopric of Basle ;
and the Austrians in Swabia would be easUy persuaded
to cross the Rhine in our defence. But we are yet igno
rant whether our sovereigns mean to wage offensive or
defensive war. If the latter, which is more likely, wUl
the French begin the attack ? Should Geneva yield to
fear or force, this country is open to an invasion ; and
though our men are brave, we want generals; and I
despise the French much less than I did two months ago.
It should seem that our hopes from the King of Sardinia

324 LETTERS FEOM EDWAED GIBBON ESQ.
and the Austrians of Milan are faint and distant ; Spain
sleeps, and the Duke of Brunswick (amazement I) seems
to have failed in his great project. For my part, till
Geneva falls, I do not think of a retreat ; but, at all events,
I am provided with two strong horses, and a hundred
louis in gold. Zurich would be probably my winter
quarters, and the society of the Neckers would make any
place agreeable. Their situation is worse than mine:
I have no daughter ready to lie in ; nor do I fear the
French aristocrats on the road. Adieu, Keep my
letters ; excuse contradictions and repetitions. The
Duchess of Devonshire leaves us next week. Lady
Elizabeth abhors you. Ever yours,
TO THE SAME. October 20th, 1792.
Since my laSt, our affairs take a more pacific turn ; but
I will not venture to affirm that our peace will be either
safe or honourable. M- de Montesquieu and three of
the commissioners of the convention, who are at Carrouge,
have had frequent conferences with the magistrates of
Geneva ; several expresses have been dispatched to and
from Paris, and every step of the negotiation, is communi
cated to the deputies of Berne and Zurich. The French
troops observe a very tolerable degree of order and dis
cipline : and no act of hostUity has yet been committed on
the territory of Geneva. October 27.
My usual temper very readUy admitted the excuse,
that it would be better to wait another week, tUl the
final settlement of our affairs. The treaty is signed be-

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 8S5
tween France and Geneva ; and the ratification of the
convention is looked upon as assured, if any thing can be
assured in that wild democracy. On condition that the
Swiss garrison,with the approbation of Berne and Zurich,
be recalled before the first of December, it is stipulated that
the independence of Geneva shall be preserved inviolate ;
that M. de Montesquieu shall immediately send away his
heavy artillery ; and that no French troops shall approach
within ten leagues of the city. As the Swiss have acted
only as auxiliaries, they have no occasion for a direct
treaty ; but they cannot prudently disarm, tUl they are
satisfied of the pacific intentions of France ; and no such
satisfaction can be given till they have acknowledged the
new repubUc, which they wUl probably do in a few days,
with a deep groan of indignation and sorrow ; it has
been cemented with the blood of their countrymen I But
when the emperor, the King of Prussia, the first general,
and the first army in Europe have faded, less powerful
states may acquiesce, without dishonour, in the determi
nation of fortune. Do you understand this most unex
pected failure ? I will allow an ample share to the bad
ness of the roads and the weather, to famine and disease,
to the skill of Dumourier, a heaven-born general, and to
the enthusiastic ardour of the new Romans ; but still,
stUl there must be some secret shameful cause at the
bottom of this strange retreat. We are now delivered
from the impending terrors of siege and invasion. The
Geneva emigres^ particularly the Neckers, are hastening
to their homes ; and I shall not be reduced to the hard
necessity of seeking a winter asylum at Zurich or Con
stance : but I am not pleased with our future prospects.

328 LETTEES FEO.M EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.
It is much to be feared that the present government of
Geneva will be soon modelled after the French fashion ;
the new republic of Savoy is forming on the opposite
bank ofthe Lake; the Jacobin missionaries are powerful
and zealous ; and malcontents of this country who begin
again to rear their heads, will be surrounded with temp
tations, arid examples, and allies. I know not whether
the Pays de Vaud will long adhere to the dominion of
Berne ; or whether I shall be permitted to end my days
in -this little paradise which I have so happily suited to
my taste and circumstances.
Last Monday only I received your letter, which had
strangely loitered on the road since its date ofthe 29th of
September. There must surely be some disorder in the
posts, since the Eliza departed indignant at never having
heard from you.
The case of my wine I think peculiarly hard ; to lose
my Madeira, and to be scolded for losing it. I am much
indebted to Mr, Nichols for his genealogical communica
tions, which I am impatient to receive ; but I do not un-r
derstand why so civil a gentleman could not favour me,
in six months, with an answer by the post : since he en
trusts me with these valuable papers, you have not I
presume informed him of my negligence and awkward
ness in regard to manuscripts. Your reproach rather
surprises men, as I suppose I am much the same as I
have been for these last twenty years. Should you hold
your resolution of writing only such things as may be
published at Charing-cross, our future correspondence
would not be very interesting. But I expect and require,
at this important crisis, a full and confident account of

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 327
your views concerning England, Ireland, and France.
You have a strong and clear eye ; and your pen is,
perhaps, the most useful quUl that ever has been plucked
from a goose. Your protection of the French refugees
is highly applauded, Rosset and La Motte have escaped
from Arbourg, perhaps with connivance to avoid disa
greeable demands from the republic. Adieu. Ever
yours. TO THE SAME, November 10th, 1792.
Received this day, November 9th, a most amiable dis'-
patch from the too humble secretary* of the family of
Epsee,f dated October 24th, which I answer the same
day. It will be acknowledged, that I have fulfilled my
engagements with as much accuracy as our uncertain
state and the fragility of human nature would allow, I
resume my narrative. At the time when we imagined
that all was settled by an equal treaty between two suoh
unequal powers as the Geneva Flea and the Leviathan
France, we were thunderstruck with the intelligence
that the ministers of the repubUc refused to ratify the
conditions ; and they were indignant, with some colour
of reason, at the hard obligation of withdrawing their
troops to the distance of ten leagues, and of consequently
leaving the Pays de Gex naked, and exposed to the Swiss,
who had assembled 15,000 men on the frontier, and with
whom they had not made any agreement. The messen
ger who was sent last Sunday from Geneva is not yet
returned ; and many persons are afraid of some design
• Miss Holroyd. t Meaning Sheffield-place.

328 LETTEES FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
and danger in this delay, Montesquieu has acted with
politeness, moderation and apparent sincerity ; but he
may resign, he may be superseded, his place may be
occupied by an enrage, by Servan, or Prince Charles of
Hesse, who would aspire to imitate the predatory fame
of Custine in Germany, In the meanwhile, the general
holds a wolf by the ears ; an officer who has seen his
troops, about 18,000 men (with a tremendous train of
artillery), represents them as a black, daring, desperate
crew of buccaneers, rather shocking than contemptible ;
the officers (scarcely a gentleman among them), without
servants, or horses, or baggage, lying higgUdy piggledy
on the ground with the common men, yet maintaining a
rough kind of discipline over them. They already begin
to accuse and even to suspect their general, and call
aloud for blood and plunder : could they have an oppor
tunity of squeezing some of the rich citizens, Geneva
would cut up as fat as most towns in Europe, During
this suspension of hostilities they are permitted to visit
the city without arms, sometimes three or four hundred
at a time; and the magistrates, as well as the Swiss
commander, are by no means pleased with this dangerous
intercourse, which they dare not prohibit. Such are our
fears ; yet it should seem on the other side, that the
French affect a kind of magnanimous justice towards
their little neighbour, and that they are not ambitious of
an unprofitable contest with the poor and hardy Swiss,
The Swiss are not equal to a long and expensive war ;
and as most of our militia have families and trades, the
country already sighs for their return. Whatever can
be yielded without absolute danger or disgrace, will

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS, 32»

doubtless be granted ; and the business wUl probably end in
our owning the sovereignty, and trusting to the good faith
of the republic of France : how that word would have
sounded four years ago I The measure is humiliating ;
but after the retreat of the Duke of Brunswick, and the
failure of the Austrians, the smaller powers may ac
quiesce without dishonour. Every dog has his day ; and
these Gallic dogs have their day, at least, of most inso
lent prosperity. After forcing or tempting the Prussians
to evacuate their country, they conquer Savoy, pillage
Germany, threaten Spain : the Low Countries are ere
now invaded ; Rome and Italy tremble ; they scour the
Mediterranean, and talk of sending a squadron into the
South Sea, The whole horizon is so black, that I begin
to feel some anxiety for England, the last refuge ol
liberty and law ; and the more so, as I perceive from
Lord Sheffield's last epistle that his firm nerves are a
little shaken ; but of this more in my ne^t, for I want to
unburthen my conscience. If England, with the expe
rience of our happiness and French calamities, should
now be seduced to eat the apple of false freedom, we
should indeed deserve to be driven from the paradise
which we- enjoy. I turn aside from the horrid and im
probable, (yet not impossible) supposition, that, in three
or four year's time, myself and my best friends may be
reduced to the deplorable state of the French emigrants :
they thought it as impossible three or four years ago.
Never did a revolution affect, to such a degree, the pri
vate existence of such numbers of the first people of a
great country : your exam.ples of misery I could easily
match with similar examples in this country and the

330 LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
neighbourhood ; and our sympathy is the deeper as we
do not possess, like you, the means of alleviating, in some
degree," the misfortunes of the fugitives. But I must
have, from the very excellent pen ofthe Maria, the tragedy
of the Archbishop of Aries ; and the longer the better.
Madame de Biron has probably been tempted by some
faint and (I fear) fallacious promises of clemency to the
women, and which have likewise engaged Madame
d'Aguesseau and her two daughters to revisit France.
Madame de Bouillon stands her ground, and her situation
as a foreign princess is less exposed. As Lord Sheffield
has assumed the glorious character of protector of the
distressed, his name is pronounced with gratitude and re
spect. The D. of Richmond is praised on Madame de
Biron's account. To the Princess d'Henin and Lally, I wish
lo be remembered. Thc Neckers cannot venture into Ge
neva, and Madame de Stael will probably lie in at RoUe.
He is printing a defence of the King, &c. against their re
publican judges ; but the name of Necker is unpopular to
all parties, and I much fear that the guUlotine wUl be
more speedy than the press. It wUl, however, be an
oloquent performance ; and, if I find an opportunity, I am
to send you one, to you Lord Sheffield by his particular
desire: he wishes likewise to convey some copies
with speed to our principal people, Pitt, Fox, Lord
Stormont, &c. But such is the rapid succession of events,
that it will appear like the Pouvoir Executif, his best
work, after the whole scene has been totally changed.
Ever yours.
P. S. The revolution of France, and my triple despatch
by the same post to Sheffield-place, are, in my opinion.

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 331
the two most singular events in the eighteenth century.
I found the task so easy and pleasant, that I had some
thoughts of adding a letter to the gentle Louisa.* I am
this moment informed, that our troops on the frontier are
beginning to move, on their return home; yet we hear
nothing of the treaty's being concluded.
EDWARD GIBBON, ESa., TO THE HON. MISS HOLROYD.
Lausanne, Nov, 10th, 1792.
In dispatching the weekly poUtical journal to Lord S.
my conscience (for I have some remains of conscience)
most powerfully urges me to salute, with some Unes of
friendship and gratitude, the amiable secretary, who
might save herself the trouble of a modest apology. I
have not yet forgotten our different behaviour after the
much lamented separation of October the 4th, 1791, your
meritorious punctuality, and my unworthy silence. I
have still before me that entertaining narrative, which
would have interested me, not only in the progress of the
carissima familia, but in the motions of a Tartar camp,
or the march of a caravan of Arabs : the mixture of just
observation and Uvely imagery, the strong sense of a
man expressed with the easy elegance of a female. 1
still recollect with pleasure the happy comparison ofthe
Rhine, who had heard so much of liberty on both his
banks, that he wandered with mischievous licentiousness
over all the adjacent meadows,* The inundation, alas [
has now spread much wider ; and it is sadly to be feared
that the Elbe, the Po, and the Danube, mav imitate the
• Mr. Gibbon aUudes to letters written to him by Miss Holroyd, when she
was returning from Switzerland, along the Rhine, to England.

332 LETTEES FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.

vile example of the Rhine : I shall be content, however,
if our own Thames still preserves his fair character, of
Strong without rage, without o'erUowing fuU.
The agreeable epistle of Maria produced only some dumb
intentions, and some barren remorse ; nor have I deigned,
except by a brief missive from my chancellor, to express
how much I loved the author, and how much I was
pleased with the composition. That amiable author I
have known and loved from the first dawning of her life
and coquetry to the present maturity of her talents ; and
as long as I remain on this planet, I shall pursue, with
the same tender and even anxious concern, the future
steps of her establishment and life. That establishment
must be splendid ; that life must be happy. She is en
dowed with every gift of nature and fortune ; but the
advantage which she wUl derive from them, depends
almost entirely on herself. You must not, you shall not,
think yourself unworthy to write to any man : there is none
whom your correspondence would not amuse and satisfy.
I will not undertake a task, which my taste would adopt,
and my indolence would too soon relinquish ; but I am
really curious, from the best motives, to have a particular
account of your own studies and daily occupation. What
books do you read ? and how do you employ your time
and your pen ? Except some professed scholars, I have
often observed that women in general read much more
than men ; but, for want of a plan, a method, a fixed
object, their reading is of little benefit to themselves, or
others.' If you will inform me of the species of reading to
which you have the most propensity, I shall be happy to

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 333
contribute my share of advice or assistance. I lament
that you have not left me some monument of your pencil.
Lady Elizabeth Foster has executed a very pretty draw
ing, taken from the door of the green-house where we
dined last summer, and including the poor acacia (now
recovered froip the cruel shears of the gardener), the end
of the terrace, the front of the pavUion, and a distant view
of the country, lake* and mountains. I am almost recon
ciled to D'Apples' house, which is nearly finished. In
stead of the monsters which Lord Hercules Sheffield
extirpated, the terrace is already shaded with the new
acacias and plaintains ; and although the uncertainty of
possession restrains me from building, I myself have
planted a bosquet at the bottom ofthe garden, with such
admirable skiU that it affords shade vyithout intercepting
prospect. The society of the aforesaid Eliza, of the
Duchess of D. &c. has been very interesting ; but they
are now flown beyond the Alps, and pass the winter at
Pisa. The Legards, who have long since left this place,
should be at present in Italy ; but I believe Mrs. Grim
stone and her daughter returned to England. The Le-
vades are highly flattered by your remembrance. Since
you stUl retain some attachment to this delightful country,
and it is indeed delightful, why should you despair of
seeing it once more? The happy peer or commoner,
whose name you may assume, is still concealed in the
book of fate ; but whosoever he niay be, he will cheer
fully obey your commands, of leading you from 
Castle to Lausanne, and from Lausanne to Rome and
Naples. Before that event takes place, I may possibly
?ee you in Sussex ; and, whether as a visitor or as a fugi-

334 LETTEES FROM EDWABD GIBBON, ESQ.
tive, I hope to be welcomed with a friendly embrace.
The delay of this year was truly painful, but it was ine
vitable ; and individuals must submit to those storms
which have overturned the thrones of the earth. Tha
tragic story of the Archbishop of Aries I have now some
what a better right to require at your hands. I wish to
have it in all its horrid details ;* and as you are now so
* The answer to Mr. Gibbon's letter is annexed, as the best account I
have seen of the barbarous transaction alluded tp — S.
" Sheffield-place, November, 1791.
" Your three letters received yesterday caused the most sincere pleasure
to each individual of this family ; to none more than myself. Praise, (I
fear, beyond my deserts,) from one whose opinion I so highly value, and
whose esteem I so mnch wish fo preserve, is more pleasing than I can de
scribe. I had not neglected lo make the collection of facts which you
recommend, and which the great variety of unfortunate persons whom wo
see, or with whom we correspond, enables me to make.
" As to that part of your letter which respects -my studies, I can only
Bay, the slighest hint on that subject is always received with the greatest
gratitude, aud attended to with the utmost punctuaUty ; but I must declina
that topic for the present, to obey your commands, which require from me
the horrid account of the massacre aux Carmes. — Eight respectable eccle*
siastics, landed, about the beginning of October, from au open boat at Sea-
ford, wet as the waves. The natives ofthe coast were endeavouring to get
from them what tbey had not, viz. money, when a gentleman of the neigh
bourhood came to their protection ; and, finding they had nothing, showed
his good sense, by dispatching them to Milord Sheffield : they had been
pillaged, and wilh great difficulty had escaped from Paris. The reception
they met with at this house, seemed to make the greatest impression
on theni ; they were in ecstacy on finding M. de Lally living : they gradn-
ally became cheerful, and enjoyed their dinner; they were greatly affected
as they recollected themselves, and found us attending on them. Having
diued, and drank a glass of wine, they began to discover thebeauties of
the dining-room, and of the chateau : as they walked about, they wero
overheard to express their admiration at the treatment they met, and frcm
Protestanf,s. We then assembled in the Ubrary, formed a half circle ronnd

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 835
much mingled with the French exiles, I am of opinion
that were you to keep a journal of ail the authentic facts
the fire, M. de Lally and Milord occupying the hearth k I'Anglaise, aud
questioned the priests concerning their escape. Thus we discovered that
two of these unfortunate men were in the CarmeUte convent at the time of
the massacre of one hundred and twenty priests, and had most miraculously
escaped, by climbing trees in the garden, and from thence over the tops of
the buildings. One of them, a man of superior appearance, described in
the most pathetic manner, the death ofthe Archbishop- of Aries, (and with
such simplicity and feeUng, as to leave no doubt of the truth of all that he
said,) to the following purport, — On the second of September, about five
o'clock in the evening, at the time they were permitted to wialk in tho
garden, expecting every hour to be released, they expressed their surprise
Bt seeing several large pits, which had been digging for two days past :
they said, the day is almost spent ; and yet JVIanuel told a person who
interceded for ns last Thursday, that on the Sunday following not one
should remain in captivity ; we are stiU prisoners. Soon after, they heard
shouts, and some musket shots. An ensign of the national guard, some
commissaries of the sections, and some Marseillais rushed in ; tbe miserable
victims, who were dispersed in the garden, assembled under the walls of
the church, not daring to go in, lest it should be polluted with blood. One
man, who was behind the rest, was shot. ' Point de coup de fusils,' cried
one of the chiefs of the assassins, thinking that kind of death too easy.
These well-trained fusUeers went to the roar ; les piques, les haches, les
poignards came forward. They demanded the Archbishop of Aries; he
was immediately surrounded by all the priests. The worthy prelate said to
his friends, ' Let me pass ; if my blood wiU appease them, what signifies
jt, if I die ! Is it not my duty to preserve your lives at the expense of my
own ?' He asked the eldest of the priests to give bim absolution : he
knelt to receive it; and when he arose, forced himself from them,
advanced slowly, aud with his arms crossed npon his breast, and his eyes
raised to heaven, said to the assassins, ' Je suis celui que vous cherchez.'
His appearance was so dignified and noble, that, during ten minutes, not
one of these wretches had courage to lift his hand against him ; they
upbraided each other with cowardice, and advanced ; one look from this
venerable man struck them with awe, and they retired. At last, one of
the miscreants struck ofi" the cap of the archbishop with a pike ; respect

336 LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
¦which they relate, it would be an agreeable exercise at
present, and a future source of entertainment and
instruction, I should be obliged to you, if you would make, or find,
some excuse for my not answering a letter frOm your
once violated, their fury returned, and another from behind cut him through
the skull with a sabre. He raised his right hand to his eyes ; with ano
ther stroke they cut oflTbis hand. The Archbishop said, ' Oh, mon Dieu !'
and raised the other; a third stroke across the fece left him sitting; the
fourth extended him lifeless on the ground ; and then aU pressed forward,
and buried their pikes and poniards in the body. The priests aU agreed,
that he had been one of the most amiable men in France ; and that his
only crime was, having, since the revolution, expended his private fortune,
to support the necessitous clergy of the diocese. The second victim was
the General des Benedictins. Then the national guards obUged the priests
to go into the church, telling them, they should appear, one after another,
before the commissaires du section. They had hardly entered, before tha
people impatiently caUed for them ; upon which, all kneeling before the
altar, the Bishop of Beauvais gave them absolution: they were then
obUged to go out, two by two ; they passed before a commissaire, who
did not question, but only counted his victims;! they had in their sight the
heaps of dead, to which they were going to add. Among the one hun
dred and twenty priests thus sacrificed, were the Bishops of Zaintes and
Beauvais (both of the Rochefoucauld famUy.) I should not omit to re
mark, that one ofthe priests observed theywere assassinated, because they
would not swear to a constitution which their murderers had destroyed.
We had to comfort us for this melancholy story the most grateful expres
sions of gratitude towards the English nation, from whom they did not do
us the justice to expect such a reception.
" There can be no doubt that the whole business of the massacres was
concerted at the Duke of Orleans' house. I shall make you as dismal as
myself by this narration, I must change the sfyle." ***•*»»****
t * * • * Visum est lenti quississo nocentem
Innumemm paras magna perit. Luean,\\h.Z. v. 110.— 8,

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 337
aunt, which was presented to me by Mr. Fowler. I
showed him some civilities, but he is now a poor invalid,
cbnfined to his room. By her channel and yours I
should be glad tp have some information of the health,
spirits, and situation of Mrs. Gibbon of Bath, whose
alarms (if she has any) you may dispel. She is in my
debt. Adieu, most truly yours.
EDWAHD GIBBON, ESQ. TO THE RIGHT HON. LADY SHEFFIELD.
Lausanne, November 10, 1792.
I could never forgive myself, were I capable of writing
by the same post, a political epistle to the father, and a
friendly letter to the daughter, without sending any
token of remembrance to the respectable matron, my
dearest my lady, whom I have now loved as a sister for
something better or worse than twenty years. No,
indeed, the historian may be careless, he may be indolent,
he may always intend and never execute, but he is neither
a monster nor a statute ; he has a memory, a conscience,
a heart, and that heart is sincerely devoted to Lady
S****. He must even acknowledge the fallacy of a
Sophism which He has sometimes Used, and she has
always and most truly denied ; that, where the persons
of a family are strictly united, the writing to one is in
fact writing to all : and that consequently all his nume
rous letters to the husband, may be considered as equally
addressed to his wife. He feels, on the contrary, that
separate minds have their distinct ideas and sentiments,
and that each character, either in speaking or writing,
has its peculiar tone of conversation. He agrees With
the maxim of Rousseau, that three friends who wish to

338 LETTEES FEOM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
disclose a common secret, will impart it only deux a deux;
and he is satisfied that, on the present memorable occa
sion, each of the persons of the Shefiield family wUl
claim a peculiar share in this triple missive, which wUl
communicate, however, a triple satisfaction. The expe
rience of what may be effected by vigorous resolution,
encourages the historian to hope that he shall cast the
skin of the old serpent, and hereafter show himself as a
new creature,
I lament, on all our accounts, that the last year's expe
dition to Lausanne did not take place in a golden period
of health and spirits. But we must reflect, that human
felicity is seldom without alloy ; and if we cannot indulge
the hope of your making a second visit to Lausanne, we
must look forwards to my residence next summer at
Sheffield-place, where I must find you in the full bloom
of health, spirits, and beauty. I can perceive, by all
public and private intelligence, that your house has been
the open hospitable asylum of French fugitives ; and it
is a sufficient proof of the firmness of your nerves, that
you have not been overwhelmed or agitated by such a
concourse of strangers. Curiosity and. compassion may,
in some degree, have supported you. Every day has
presented to your view some new scene of that strange
tragical romance, which occupies all Europe so infinitely
beyond any event that has happened in our time, and you
have the satisfaction of not being a mere spectator of the
distress of so many victims of false liberty. The benevo
lent fame of Lord S. is widely diffused.
From Angletine's last letter to Maria, you have already
some idea of the melancholy state of her poor father.

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 339
As long as Mr. de Severy allowed our hopes and fears
to fluctuate with the changes of his disorder, I was unwil-
wing to say anything on so painful a subject ; and it is
with the deepest concern that I now confess our absolute
despair of his . recovery. AU his particular complaints
are now lost in a general dissolution of the whole frame :
every principle of life is exhausted, and as often as I am
admitted to his bed-side,- though he stUl looks and smUes
with the patience of an angel, I have the heartfelt grief
of seeing him each day drawing nearer to the term of his
existence. A few weeks, possibly a few days, will de
prive me of the most excellent friend, and break forever
the most perfect system of domestic happiness, in which I
had so large and intimate a share. Wilhelm (who has
obtained leave of absence from his military duty) and his
sister behave and feel like tender and dutiful chUdren;
but they have a long gay prospect of life, and new con
nexions, new families will make them forget, in due time,
the common lot of mortality. But it is Madame de
Severy whom I truly pity ; I dread the effects of the first
shock, and I dread still more the deep perpetual con
suming affliction for a loss which can never be retrieved.
You will not wonder that such reflections sadden my
own mind, nor can I forget how much my situation is
altered since I retired, nine years ago, to the banks of the
Leman Lake. The death of poor Deyverdun first
deprived me of a domestic companion, who can never be
supplied ; and your visit has only served to remind me
that man, however amused and occupied in his closet,
was not made to live alone. Severy wiU soon be no
more ; his widow for a long time, perhaps for ever, will

340 LETTERS FEOM EDWARD GIBSON ESQ.
be lost to herself and her friends, the son will travel, and
I shall be left a stranger in the insipid circle of mere
common acquaintance. The revolution of France, which
first embittered and divided the society of Lausanne, has
opposed a barrier to my Sussex visit, and may finally
expel me from the paradise which I inhabit. Even that
paradise, the expensive and delightful establishment of
my house, library, and garden, almost becomes an incum
brance, by rendering it more difficult for me to relinquish
my hold, or to form a new system of life in my native
country, for which my income, though improved and im
proving, would be probably insufficient. But every com
plaint should be silenced by the contemplation of the
French ; compared with whose cruel fate, all misery is
relative happiness. I perfectly concur in your partiality
for Lally though Nature might forget some meaner
ingredients, of prudence, economy, &c., she never formed
a purer heart, or a brighter imagination. If he be with
you, I beg my kindest salutations to him. I am every
day more closely united with the Neckers, Should France
break, and this country be over-run, they would be
reduced, in very humble circumstances, to seek a refuge;
and where but in England? Adieu, dear madam : there
is, indeed, much pleasure in discharging one's heart to a
real friend. Ever yours,
EDWAED GIBBON, ESa,, TO THE EIGHT HON, LOED SHEFFIELD.
[Send me a list of these letters, with their respective
dates.] Lausanne, Nov. 25tb, 1792.
After the triple labour of my last despatch, your ex
perience of the creature inight tempt you to suspect that

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 341

it would again relapse into a long slumber. But, partly
from the spirit of contradiction, (though I am not a lady,)
and partly from the ease and pleasure which I now find
in the task, you see me again alive, awake, and almost
faithful to my hebdomidal promise. The last week has
not, however, afforded any events deserving the notice of
an historian. Our aflfairs are still floating on the waves
of the convention, and the ratification of a corrected
treaty, which had been fixed for the twentieth, is not yet
arrived ; but the report of the diplomatic committee has
been favourable, and it is generally understood that the
leaders of the French republic do not wish to quarrel
with the Swiss. We are gradually withdrawing and
disbanding our mUitia. Geneva will be left to sink or
swim, according to the humour of the people ; and our
last hope appears to be, that by submission and good be
haviour we shall avert for some time the impending
storm. A few days ago, an odd incident happened in the
French army; the desertion of the general. As the
Neckers were sitting, about eight o'clock in the evening,
in their drawing-room at RoUe,* the door flew open, and
they were astounded by the servant's announcing Mon
sieur le General de Montesquieu I On the receipt of
some secret inteUigence of a decret d'accusatwn, and an
order to arrest him, he had only time to get on horseback,
to gallop through Geneva, to take boat for Coppet, and
to escape from his pursuers, who were ordered to seize
him alive or dead. He left the Neckers after supper,
passed through Lausanne in the night, and proceeded
to Berne and Basle, whence he intended to wmd his way
* A considerable town between Lausanne and Geneva.

342 LETTERS FROM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.
through Germany, amidst enemies of every description,
and to seek a refuge in England, America, or the moon.
He told Necker, that the sole remnant ofhis fortune con
sisted in a wretched sum of twenty thousand Uvres ; but
the public report, or suspicion, bespeaks him in much
better circumstances. Besides the reproach of acting
with too much tameness and delay, he is accused of
making very foul and exhorbitant contracts : and it is
certain that new Sparta is infected with this vice beyond
the example of the most corrupt monarchy, Kellerman
is arrived to take the command ; and it is apprehended that
on the first of December, after the departure of the Swiss,
the French may request the permission of using Geneva,
a friendly city, for their winter quarters. In that case,
the democratical revolution, which we all foresee, will be
very speedUy eflfected,
I would ask you, whether you apprehend there was
any treason in the Duke of Brunswick's retreat, and
whether you have totally withdrawn your confidence
and esteem from that once-famed general ? Will it be
possible for England to preserve her neutrality with
any honour or safety? We are bound, as I understand,
by treaty, to guarantee the dominions ofthe King of Sar
dinia and the Austrian provinces of the Netherlands.
These countries are now invaded and over-run by the
French. Can we refuse to fulfil our engagements, with
out exposing ourselves to all Europe as a perfidious
or pusUlanimous nation ? Yet, on the other hand, can we
assist those allies, without plunging headlong into an
abyss, whose bottom no man can discover? But my
only anxiety is for our domestic tranquillity ; for I must

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS, 343
find a retreat in England, should I be driven from Lau
sanne, The idea of firm and honourable union of parties
pleases me much ; but you must frankly unfold what
are the great difficulties that may impede so salutary a
measure: you write to a man discreet in speech, and
careful of papers. Yet what can such a coalition avail ?
Where is the champion of the constitution ? Alas, Lord
Guildford I I am much pleased with the Manchester ass.
The asses or wolves who sacrificed him have cast off the
mask too soon ; and such a nonsensical act must open
the eyes of many simple patriots, who might have been
led astray by the specious name of reform. It should be
made as notorious as possible. Next winter may be the
crisis of our fate, and if you begin to improve the consti
tution, you may be driven step by step from the disfran
chisement of Old Sarum to the king in Newgate; the
lords voted useless, the bishops abolished, and a house of
commons without articles (sans cullottes). Necker has
ordered you a copy of his royal defence, which has met
with, and deserved univeral success. The pathetic and
argumentative parts are, in my opinion, equally good, and
his mUd eloquence may persuade without irritating, I
have applied to this gentler tone some verses of Ovid,
(Metamorph. 1. iU. 302, &c,*) which you may read.
Madame de Stael has produced a second son. She talks
wildly enough of visiting England this winter. She is a
• Qua tamen usque potest, vires sibi demere tentat.
Nee, quo centimanum dejecerat igne Typhoea,
Nunc armatureo ; nimium ferrit^tis iuUlo.
Est aUud levius fulmen ; cui dextra Cyclopum
Saevitim, flammueque mmus, minus addit km ;
Tela Bocunda vocant Superi.

344 LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, SSQ.
pleasant little woman. Poor Severy's cond'iion is hope
less. Should he drag through the winter, Madame de
S. would scarcely survive him. She kUls herself with
grief and fatigue. What a difference in Lausanne ! I
hope triple answers are on the road. I must write soon ;
the times will not allow me to read or think. Ever yours.
TO THE SAME. Lausanne, Dec. I4th, 1793.
Our little storm has now completely subsided, and we
are again spectators, though anxious spectatoraj of the
general tempest that invades or threatens aliBttst every
country of Europe. Our troops are every "i^y disband
ing and returning home, and the greatest part of the
French have evacuated the neighbourhood of Geneva.
Monsieur Barthelemy, whom you have seen secretary in
London, is most courteously entertained, as ambassador,
by the Helvetic body. He is now at Berne, where a
diet wUl speedUy be convened ; the language on both
sides is now pacific, and even friendly, and some hopes
are given of a provision for the officers of the Swiss
guards who have survived the massacres of Paris.
Jauuaty 1st, 1793.
With the return of peace I have relapsed into my
former indolence ; but now awakening, after a fortnight's
slumber, I have little or nothing to add, with regard to
the internal state of this country, only the revolution of
Geneva has already taken place, as I announced, but
sooner than I expected. The Swiss troops had no sooner
evacuated the place,, than the Egaliseurs, as they are

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 34^

caUed, assembled in arms ; and as no resistance was
made, no blood was shed on the occasion. They seized
the gates, disarmed the garrison, imprisoned the magis
trates, imparted the rights of citizens to all the rabble of
the town and country, and proclaimed a national con
vention, which has not yet met. They are all for a pure
and absolute democracy ; but wish to remain a small in
dependent state, whilst others aspire to become a part of
the republic of France ; and as the latter, though less
numerous, are more violent and absurd than their adver
saries, it is highly probable that they will succeed. The
citizens of the best famUies and fortunes have retired
from Geneva into the Pays de Vaud, but the French
methods of recalling or proscribing emigrants will soon
be adopted. You must have observed, that Savoy has
now become "le department du Mont Blanc," I cannot
satisfy myself whether the mass of the people is pleased
or displeased with the change ; but my noble scenery is
clouded by the democratical aspect of twelve leagues of
the opposite coast, which every morning obtrude them
selves on my view, I here conclude the first part of
the history of our Alpine troubles, and now consider
myself as disengaged from all promises of periodical
writing. Upon the whole, I kept it beyond our expec
tation ; nor do I think that you have been sufficiently
astonished by the wonderful effort of the triple dispatch.
You must now succeed to my task, and I shall expect,
during the winter, a regular political journal ofthe events
of your greater world. You are on the theatre, and may
often be behind the scenes. You can always see, and
may sometimes foresee. My own choice has indeed trans-

845 LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
ported me into a foreign land ; but I am truly attached,
from interest and inclination, to my native country ; and
even as a citizen of the world, I wish the stabiUty and
happiness of England, the sole great refuge of mankind
against the opposite mischiefs of despotism and de
mocracy, I Was indeed alarmed, and the more so, as I
saw that you were not without apprehension ; but I now
glory in the triumph of reason and genuine patriotism,
which seems to pervade the country ; nor do I dislike
some mixture of popular enthusiasm, which may be
requisite to encounter our mad or wicked enemies with
equal arms, -The behaviour of Fox does not surprise me.
You may remember what I told you last year at Lau
sanne, when you attempted his defence, that * * * *
You have now crushed the daring subverters of the con
stitution ; but I now fear the moderate well-meaners —
reformers. Do not, I beseech you, tamper with parlia
mentary representation. The present house of commons
forms, in practice, a body of gentlemen, who must always
sympathise with the interests and opinions of the people ;
and the slightest innovation launches you, without rud
der or compass, on a dark and dangerous ocean of theo
retical experiment. On this subject I am indeed serious.
Upon the whole, I like the beginning of ninety-three
better than the end of ninety-two. The illusion seems
to break away throughout Europe, I think England and
Switzerland are safe, Brabant adheres to the old con
stitution. The Germans are disgusted with the rapine
and insolence of their deliverers. The pope is resolved
to head his armies, and the lazzaroni of Naples have
presented St. Januarius with a gold fuzee, to fire on

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 347
the brigands Frangais. So much for politics, which till
now never had such possession of my mind. Next post
I will write about myself and my own designs. Alas,
your poor eyes I make the Maria write ; I will speedily
answer her. My lady is still dumb. The German posts
are now slow and irregular. You had better write by
the way of France, under cover. Direct to Le citoyen
Rebeurs. i Pontalier, France. Adieu ; ever yours.
TO THE SAME. Lausanne, Jan. 6th, 1793.
There was formerly a time when our correspondence
was a painful discussion of my private affairs ; a vexatious
repetition of losses, of disappointments, of sales, &c.
These affairs are decently arranged : but public cares
have now succeeded to private anxiety, and our whole
attention is lately turned from Lenborough and Beriton,
to the political state of France and of Europe. From
these politics, however, one letter shall be free, while I
talk of myself and of my own plans ; a subject most in
teresting to a friend, and only to a friend.
I know not whether I am sorry or glad that my expe
dition has been postponed to the present year. It is true,
that I now wish myself in England, and almost repent
that I did not grasp the opportunity when the obstacles
were comparatively smaller than they are now likely to
prove. Yet had I reached you last summer before the
month of August, a considerable portion of my time
would be now elapsed, and I should already begin to
think of my departure. If the gout should spare me this ,

348 LETTEES FEOM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.

winter, (and as yet I have not felt any symptom,) and if
the spring should make a soft and early appearance, it is
my intention to be with you in Downing-street before
the end of April, and thus to enjoy six weeks or two
months of the most agreeable season of London and the
neighbourhood, after the hurry of parliament is subsided,
and before the great rural dispersion* As the banks of
the Rhine and the Belgic provinces are completely over
spread with anarchy and war, I have made up my mind
to pass through the territories of the French repubUc.
From the best and most recent information, I am satisfied
that there is little or no real danger in the journey ; and
I must arm myself with patience to support the vexatious
insolence of democratical tyranny. I have even a sort
of curiosity to spetid some days at Paris, to assist at the
debates of the Pandsemonium, to seek an introduction to
the principal devils, and to contemplate a new form of
public and private life, which never existed before, and
which I devoutly hope will not long continue to exist.
Should the obstacles of health or weather confine me at
Lausanne till the month of May, I shall scarcely be able
to resist the temptation of passing some part at least of
the summer in my own little paradise. But all these
schemes must ultimately depend on the great question of
peace or war, which will indeed be speedily determined.
Should France become impervious to an English travel
ler, what must I do ? I shaU not easily resolve to ex
plore my way through the unknown language and abom
inable roads of the interior parts of Germany, to embark
in Holland, or perhaps at Hamburgh, and to, be finally in
tercepted by a French privateer. My stay in England

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 349
appears not less doubtful than the means of transporting
myself. Should I arrive in the spring, it is possible, and
barely possible, that I should return here in the autumn,
it is much more probiable that I shall pass the winter,
and there may be even a chance of my giving my
own country a longer trial. In my letter to my lady I
fairly exposed the decline of Lausanne ; but such an
establishment as mine must not be lightly abandoned ;
nor can I discover what adequate mode of life my private
circumstances, easy as they now are, could afford me in
England. London and Bath have doubtless their respec
tive merits, and I could wish to reside within a day's
journey of Sheffield-place. But a state of perfect happi
ness is not to be found here below ; and in the possession
of my library, house, and garden, with the relics of our
society, and a frequent intercourse with the Neckers, I
may stiU be tolerably content. Among the disastrous
changes of Lausanne, I must principally reckon the
approaching dissolution of poor Severy and his family.
He is stUl alive, but in such hopeless and painful decay,
that we no longer conceal our wishes for his speedy re
lease. I never loved nor esteemed him so much as in
this last mortal disease, which he supports with a degree
of energy, patience, and even cheerfulness, beyond all
belief. His wife, whose whole time and soul are devoted
to him, is almost sinking under her long anxiety. The
children are most amiably assiduous to both their parents,
and at all events, his filial duties and worldly cares must
detain the son some time at home.
And now approach, and let me drop into your most

350 LETTERS FEOM EDWABD GIBBON, ESQ.
private ear, a literary secret. Of the Memoirs little has
been done, and with that little I am not satisfied. They
must be postponed tUl a mature season; and I much
doubt whether the book and the author can ever see the
light at the same time. But I have long revolved in my
mind another scheme of biographical writing : the lives,
or rather the characters, of the most eminent persons in
arts and arms, in church and state, who have flourished
in Britain from the reign of Henry VIII. to the present
age. This work, extensive as it may be, would be an
amusement rather than a toil ; the materials are accessi
ble in our own language, and for the most part ready to
my hands : but the subject, which would afford a rich
display of human nature and domestic history, would
powerfully address itself to the feelings of every English
man. The taste or fashion of the times seems to delight
in picturesque decorations, and this series of British por
traits might be aptly accompanied by tbe respective
heads, taken from originals, and engraved by the best
masters. Alderman Boydell, and his son-in-law, Mr.
George Nicoll, bookseller in Pallmall, are the great under
takers in this line. On my arrival in England I shall be
free to consider, whether it may suit»me tp proceed in a
mere literary work witiiout any othe;r decorations than
those which it may derive from the pen of the author.
It is a serious truth, that I am no longer ambitious of
fame or money ; that my habits of industry are much
impaired, and that I have reduced my studies to be the
loose amusement of my morning hours, the repetition of
which will insensibly lead me to the last term of

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 851
existence. And for this very reason I shall not be sorry to
bind myself by a liberal engagement, from which I may
not with honour recede.
Before I conclude, we must say a word or two of par
liamentary and pecuniary concerns, 1, We all admire
the generous spirit with which you d  d the assas
sins * *, I hope that ***** The opinion of parliament
in favour of Louis was declared in a manner worthy of
the representatives of a great and wise nation. It wUI
certainly have a powerful effect ; and if the poor King
be not already murdered, I am satisfied that his life is in
safety : but is such a life worth his care ? Our debates
will now become every day more interesting ; and as I
expect from you only opinions and anecdotes, I most
earnestly conjure you to send me Woodfall's Register as
often (and that must be very often) as the occasion
deserves it, I now spare no expense for news,
I want some account of Mrs, G,'s health. Will my
lady never write ? How can people be so indolent I I
suppose this will find you at Sheffield-place during tha
recess, and that the heavy baggage wUl not move till
after the birthday. Shall I be with you by the first of
May? The Gods only know. I almost wish that I had
accompanied Madame de Stael. Ever yours,
TO THE SAME.
Begun Feb. 9,— ended Feb. 18, 1793.
The struggle is at length over, and poor De Severy is
no more I He expired about ten days ago, after every
vital principle had been exhausted by a complication of
disorders, which had lasted above five months: and a

352 LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
mortification in one of his legs, that gradually rose to the
more noble parts, was the immediate cause of his death.
His patience and even cheerfulness supported him to the
fatal moment ; and he enjoyed every comfort that could
alleviate his situation, the skill of his physicians, the assi
duous tenderness of his famUy, and the kind sympathy
not only of his particular friends, but even of common
acquaintance, and generally of the whole town. Tbe
stroke has been severely felt, yet I have the satisfaction
to perceive that Madame de Severy's health is not
affected ; and we may hope that in time she will recover
a tolerable share of composure and happiness. Her
firmness was checked by the violent sallies of grief; her
gentleness has preserved her from the worst of symp
toms, a dry, silent despair. She loves to talk of her
irreparable loss, she descants with pleasure on his virtues';
her words are interrupted with tears, but those tears are
her best relief; and her tender feelings wUl insensibly
subside into an affectionate remembraijce.* Wilhelm is
* She is no more — that virtuous wife, that venerated mother, that sure
and constant friend, whose value Mr. Gibbon so well appreciated, whom he
speaks of with so much interest, with whom aud whose worthy husband be
passed, in the pleasure of intimate friendship, the last ten years ofhis Ufe,
and whose children were adopted by bis heart.
Catherine Lonise Jacqueline de Chandieu was bom at Lausanne on the
3d of February, 1741. She had been endowed by nature with health and
beauty, and a good education had added to these gifts the most agreeable
and useful accomplishments, joined to the steady principles of an amiabie
and enlightened religion. Habimal association with those persons who
were most distinguished by their merit, birth, or talents, had crowned the
work of Nature and Education. In 1766 she married M. de Cbaridre de
Seveiy, and by these happy espousals insured that happiness which she had
a right to expect. Without entering into the detail of her private and

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 353
much more deeply wounded than I could imagine, or
than he expected himself; nor have I ever seen the
affliction of a son more lively and sincere. Severy was
indeed a very valuable man: without any shining qualifi
cations, he was endowed in a high degree with good sense,
honour, and benevolence ; and few men have filled with
active virtues, we shall be contented with saying that Madame de Severy
knew how to unite, during the course of her life, with a wisdom that was
the fruit of reflection and piety, duties apparently the most opposite ; that
ihe was able to reconcile the faculty of pleasing with the most scrupulous
reserve ; to accept with discrimination the tributes paid to youth and
beauty, and to preserve an angelic purity in an age of levity and folly.
Happy in the bosom of her family, yet at her estates, in the city, and in
its most briUiant circles, she was everywhere in her appropriate place, and
everywhere an object of consideration and respect. On the 29th of Janu
ary, 1793, she was deprived, by a lingering malady, of a beloved husband.
Her anxieties, watchings, and profound grief did not in the least abate her
courage ; she comforted and strengthened her chUdren by inculcating into
them the principles of a religion, which she had always looked on as her
surest refuge in distress. She was still mourning in seclusion for the loss
of her tenderly loved husband when tbe death of Mr. Gibbon called for
renewed tears. Time had with difliculty begun to heal this double wound ;
she began again to adorn and animate society bj her presence, her blooming
beauty and noble carriage attracted every eye; she appeared and vanished.
Her illness, which was of a complicated character, was neither long nor
painful J and the serenity of a pure soul accompanied her, without anguish,
into the bosom of eternal repose onthe 17th of January, 1796.
Madame de Severy left two children, M. W. de Severy (whom Mr,
Gibbon has sufficieuUy made known by these words inserted in his wiU,
"whom I wish to style by the endearing name of son,") aud M. Angletine
de Severy, who vividly recalls to the mind the recoUection of the graces
and virtues of his mother. The happiness enjoyed by this family in inti
mate and continued intercourse with a mother who was their best friend,
renders their loss irreparable, aud their grief agonizing ; they Ksten to no
consolations but those offered by that pure religion whose cheering princi
ples were implanted in their breasts by their virtuons mother.— S.

3S4 LETTERS FEOM EDWAED GIBBON ESQ.
more propriety their circle in private life. For myself,
I have had the misfortune of knowing him too late, and of
losing him too soon. But enough of this melancholy
subject. The affairs of this theatre, which must always be
minute, are now grown so tame and tranquil, that tbey
no longer deserve the historian's pen. The new consti
tution of Geneva is slowly forming, without much noise
or any bloodshed ; and the patriots, who have staid in*
hopes of guiding or restraining the multitude, flatter them
selves that they shall be able at least to prevent their mad
countrymen from giving themselves to the French, the
only mischief that would be absolutely irretrievable.
The revolution of Geneva is of less consequence to us,
however, than that of Savoy ; but our fate wUl depend
on the general event, rather than on these particular
causes. In the meanwhUe we hope to be quiet spectators
of the struggle of this year ; and we seem to have assu
rances that both the emperor and the French will com
pound for the neutrality of the Swiss. The Helvetic
body does not acknowledge the republic of France; but
Barthelemy, their ambassador, resides at Baden, and
steal,"!, like Chauvelin, into a kind of extra official nego
tiation. All spirit of opposition is quelled in the canton
of Berne, and the perpetual banishment of the ***** *
family has scarcely excited a murmur. It will probably
be followed by that of ********** *: the crime
alleged in their sentence is the having assisted at the
federation dinner at RoUe two years ago ; and as they
are absent, I could almost wish that they had been sum
moned to appear, and heard in their own defence. To

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 355
the general supineness of the inhabitants of Lausanne
I must ascribe, that the death of Louis the Sixteenth has
been received with less horror and indignation than I
could have wished, I was much tempted to go into
mourning, and probably should, had the duchess been
still here ; but as the only Englishman of any mark, I
was afraid of being singular; more especially as our
French emigrants, either from prudence or poverty, do
not wear black, nor do even the Neckers, Have you
read his discourse for the king ? It might indeed super
sede the necessity of mourning, I should judge from your
last letter, and from the diary, that the French declaration
of war must have rather surprised you, I wish, although
I know not how it could have been avoided, that we
might still have continued to enjoy our safe and prospe
rous neutrality. You will not doubt my best wishes for
the destruction of the miscreants ; but I love England
still more than I hate France. All reasonable chances
are in favour of a confederacy, such as was never op'
posed to the ambition of Louis the Fourteenth ; but, after
the experience of last year, I distrust reason, and confess
myself fearful for the event. The French are strong in
numbers, activity, enthusiasm ; they are rich in rapine ;
and although their strength may be only that of a
frenzy fever, they may do infinite mischief to their neigh
bours before they can be reduced to a strait waistcoat.
I dread the effects that may be produced on the minds
of the people by the increase of debt and taxes, probable
losses, and possible mismanagement. Our trade must
suffer ; and though projects of invasion have been always

856 LETTEES FEOM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
abortive, I cannot forget that the fleets and armies of
Europe have failed before the towns in America, which
have been taken and plundered by a handful of bucca
neers. I know nothing of Pitt as a war minister ; but it
aflTords me much satisfaction that the intrepid wisdom of
the new chancellor* is introduced into the cabinet. I
wish, not merely on your own account, that you were
placed in an active, useful station in government. I
should not dislike you secretary at war.
I have little more to say of myself, or of my journey to
England : you know my intentions, and the great events
of Europe must determine whether they can be carried
into execution this summer. If * * * * * has warmly
adopted your idea, I shall speedily hear from him ; but,
in truth, I know not what will be my answer : I see dif
ficulties which at first did not occur : I doubt my own
perseverance, and my fancy begins to wander into new
paths. The amusement of reading and thinking may
perhaps satisfy a man who has paid his debt to the pub
lic ; and there is more pleasure in building castles in the
air than on the ground. I shall contrive some small
assistance for your correspondent, though I cannot learn
any thing that distinguishes him from many of his coun
trymen : we have had our full share of poor imigrants ;
but if you wish that anything extraordinary should be
done for this man, you must send me a measure. Adieu.
I embrace my lady and Maria, as also Louisa. Perhaps
I may soon write, without expecting an answer. Ever
yours. * Lord Loughborough.

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 357
TO THE SAME. Lausanne, April 27, 1793.
My dearest friend, for such you most truly are,*nor
does there exist a person who obtains, or shall ever ob
tain a superior place in my esteem and aflfection.
After too long a silence I was sitting down to write,
when, only yesterday morning (such is the irregular
slowness of the English post) I was suddenly struck, in
deed struck to the heart, by the fatal intelligence* from
Sir Henry Clinton and M, de Lally, Alas 1 what is life,
and what are our hopes and projects ! When I em
braced her at your departure from Lausanne, could I
imagine that it was for the last time ? When I postponed
to another summer my journey to England, could I ap
prehend that I never, never should see her again ? I al
ways hoped that she would spin her feeble thread to a
long duration, and that her delicate frame would survive
(as is often the case) many constitutions of a stouter ap
pearance. In four days 1 in your absence, in that of her
children ! But she is now at rest, and if there be a future
life, her niild virtues have Surely entitled her to the re
ward of pure and perfect felicity. It is for you that I
feel ; and I can judge of your sentiments by comparing
them with my own. I have lost, it is true, an amiable
and aflfectionate friend, whom I had known and loved
above three and twenty years, and whom 1 often styled
by the endearing name of sister. But you are deprived
ofthe companion of your life, the wife of your choice,
and the -mother of your children— poor chUdren ! The
* The death of Lady Sheflield.

358 LETTEES FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
liveliness of Maria, and the softness of Louisa, render
them almost equally the objects of my tenderest com
passion. I do not wish to aggravate your grief; but, in
the sincerity of friendship, I cannot hold a different
language. I know the impotence of reason, and I much
fear that tbe strength of your character wUl serve to
make a sharper and more lasting impression.
The only consolation in these melancholy trials to
which human life is exposed, the only one at least in
which I have any confidence, is the presence of a real
friend ; and of that, as far as it depends on myself, you
shall not be destitute. I regret the few days that must
be lost in some necessary preparations ; but I trust that
to-morrow se'nnight (May the fifth) I shall be able to set
forwards on my journey to England ; and when this let
ter reaches you, I shall be considerably advanced on my
way. As it is yet prudent to keep at a respectful dis
tance from the banks of the French Rhine, I shall incline a
little to the right, and proceed by Scaffhausen and Stut-
gard to Frankfort and Cologne: the Austrian Nether
lands are now open and safe, and I am sure of being
able at least to pass from Ostend to Dover ; whence,
without passing through London, I shall pursue the direct
road to Sheffield-place. Unless I should meet with
some unforeseen accidents and delays, I hope, before the
end of the month, to share your solitude, and sympathise
with your grief. All the difficulties of the journey, which
my indolence had probably magnified, have now disap
peared before a stronger passion ; and you will not be
sorry to hear, that, as far as Frankfort to Cologne, I shall
enjoy the advantage of the society, the conversation, the

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 359
German language, and the active assistance of Severy,
His attachment to me is the sole motive which prompts
him to undertake this troublesoi^ journey : and as soon
as he has seen me over the roughest ground, he will im
mediately return lo Lausanne, The poor young man
loved Lady S, as a mother, and the whole family is
deeply affected by an event which reminds them too
painfully of their own misfortune. Adieu. I could write
volumes, and shall therefore break off abruptly. I shall
write on the road, and hope to find a few lines a poste
restante at Frankfort and Brussels. Adieu ; ever yours.
TO THE SAME. Lausanne, May, 1793.
My dear Friend, — I must write a few lines before my
departure, though indeed I scarcely know what to say.
Nearly a fortnight has elapsed since the first melancholy
tidings, without my having received the slightest subse
quent accounts of your health and situation. Your own
silence announces too forcibly how much you are in
volved in your feelings; and I can but Joo easUy conceive
that a letter to me would be more painful than to an in
different person. But that amiable man. Count LaUy,
inight surely have written a second time ; but your sister,
who is probably with you ; but Maria, alas 1 poor Maria!
I am left in a state of darkness to the workings of my own
fency, which imagines every thing that is sad and shock
ing. What can I think of for your reUef and comfort?
I wUl not expatiate on those common-place topics, which
have never dried a single tear ; but let me advise, let me
urge you to force yourself into business, as I would try

360 LETTEES FROM EDWAED GIBBON ESQ.
to force myself into study. The mind must not be idle 5
if it be not exertised on external objects, it will prey on
its own vitals. A tlrousand little arrangements, which
must precede a long journey, have postponed my depar
ture three or four days beyond the term which I had
first appointed; btit all is now in order, and I set off to
morrow, the ninth instant, with my valet de chambre, a
courier on horseback, and Severy, with his servant, as far
as Frankfort, I calculate my arrival at Sheffield-place
(how I dread and desire to see that mansion !) for the
first week in June, soon after this letter ; but I will try
to send you some later intelligence, I never found my
self stronger or in better health. The German road is
now cleared, both of enemies and allies, and though I
must expect fatigue, I have not any apprehensions of
danger. It is scarcely possible that you should meet me
at Frankfort, but I shall be much disappointed at not
finding a line at Brussels or Ostend. Adieu. If there
be any invisible guardians, may they watch over you
and yours I Adieu. TO THE SAME. Frankfort, May 19th, 1793,
And here I am, in good health and spirits, after one of
the easiest, safest, and pleasantest journies which I ever
performed in my whole life ; not the appearance of an
enemy, and hardly the appearance of a war. Yet I
hear, as I am writing, the cannon of the siege of May
ence, at the distance of twenty mUes ; and long, very
long, wUl it be heard. It is confessed on all sides, that
the French fight with a courage worthy of a better cause.

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS, 361
The town of Mayence is strong, their artUlery admirable ;
they are already reduced to horse-flesh, but they have
StiU the resource of eating the inhabitants, and at last of
eating one another ; and, if that repast could be extended
to Paris and the whole country, it might essentially con
tribute to the relief of mankind. Our operations are
carried on with more than German slowness, and when
the besieged are quiet, the besiegers are perfectly satis
fied W'lth their progress. A spirit of division undoubtedly
prevails ; and the character of the Prussians for courage
and discipline is sunk lower than you can possibly ima
gine. Their glory has expired with Frederick. I am
sorry to have missed Lord Elgin, who is beyond the
Rhine with the King of Prussia. As I am impatient, I
propose setting forwards to-morrow afternoon, and shall
reach Ostend in less than eight days. The passage must
depend on winds and packets ; and I hope to find at Brus
sels or Dover a letter which wiU direct me to Sheffield-
place or Downing-street, Severy goes back from hence.
Adieu : I embrace the dear girls. Ever your.
TO THE SAME. Brussels, May 27, 1793.
This day, between two and three o'clock in the after
noon, I arrived at this place in excellent preservation.
My expedition, which is now drawing to a close, has
been a journey of perseverance rather than speed, of
some labour since Frankfort, but without the smaUest
degree of difficulty or danger. As I have every morn
ing been seated in the chaise soon after sun-rise, I propose
indulging to-morrow till eleven o'clock, and going that

362 LETTERS FEOM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.
day no farther than Ghent, On Wednesday the 39th
instant I shall reach Ostend in good time, just eight days,
according to my former reckoning, from Frankfort Be
yond that I can say nothing positive ; but should the
winds be propitious, it is possible that I may appear next
Saturday, June 1, in Downing-street, After that earliest
date, you will expect me day by day till I arrive. Adieu.
I embrace the dear girls, and salute Mrs. Holroyd. I
rejoice that you have anticipated my advice by plunging
into business ; but I should now be sorry if that business,
however important, detained us long in town, I do not
wish to make a public exhibition, and only sigh to enjoy
you and the precious remnant in the soUtude of Sheffield-
place. Ever yours.
If I am successful I may outstrip or accompany this
letter. Yours and Maria's waited for me here, and over
paid the journey.

The preceding letters intimate that, in return for my
visit to Lausanne in 1791, Mr. Gibbon engaged to pass a
year with me in England : that the war having rendered
travelling exceedingly inconvenient, especially to a per
son who, from his bodily infirmities, required every
accommodation, prevented his undertaking so formidable
a journey at the time he proposed.
The call of friendship, however, was sufficient to make
him overlook every personal consideration, when he
thought his presence might prove a consolation. I must
ever regard it as the most endearing proof of his sensi
bility, and of his possessing the true spirit of friendship.

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 363
that after having relinquished the thought of his intended
visit, he hastened to England, in spite of increasing im
pediments, to soothe me by the most generous sympathy,
and to alleviate my domestic affliction ; neither his great
cbrpulency, nor his extraordinary bodily infirmities, nor
any other consideration, could prevent him a moment
from resolving on an undertading that might have de*
terred the most active young man. He, almost imme
diately, with alertness by no means natural to him,
undertook a great cireuitous journey, along the frontiers
of an enemy, worse than savage, within the sound of
their cannon, within the range of the light troops of the
different armies, and through roads ruined by the enor
mous machinery of war.
The readiness with which he engaged in this kind
office of friendship, at a time when a selfish spirit might
have pleaded a thousand reasons for declining so hazard
ous a journey, conspired, with the peculiar charms of his
society, to render his arrival a cordial to my mind. I
had the satisfaction of finding that his own delicate and
precarious health had not suffered in the service of his
friend. He arrived in the beginning of June at my
house in Downing-street, safe and in good health ; and
after we had passed about a month together in London,
we settled at Sheffield-place for the summer ; where his
wit, learning, and cheerful politeness delighted a great
variety of characters.
Although he was inclined to represent his health as
better than it really was, his habitual dislike to motion
appeared to increase ; his inaptness to exercise confined
him to the library and dining-room, and there he joined

364 lETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
my friend Mr. Frederick North, in pleasant arguments
against exercise in general. He ridiculed the unsettled
and restless disposition, that summer, the most uncom
fortable, as he said, of all seasons, generally gives to
those who have the use of their limbs. Such arguments
were little required to keep society within doors, when
his company was only there to be enjoyed ; for neither
the fineness of the season, nor the most promising parties
of pleasure, could tempt the company of either sex to
desert him.
Those who have enjoyed the society of Mr, Gibbon
will agree with me, that his conversation was still more
captivating than his writings. Perhaps no man ever
divided time more fairly between literary labour and
social enjoyment ; and hence, probably, he derived his
peculiar excellence of making his very extensive know
ledge contribute, in the highest degree, to the use or
pleasure of those with whom he conversed. He united,
in the happiest manner imaginable, two characters which
are not often found in the same person, the profound
scholar and the fascinating companion.
It would be superfluous to attempt a very minute de
lineation of a character which is so distinctly marked in
the Memoirs and Letters, He has described himself
without reserve, and with perfect sincerity. The Let
ters, and especially the extracts from the Journal,
which could not have been written with any purpose of
being seen, will make the reader perfectly acquainted with
the man.
Excepting a visit to Lord Egremont and Mr, Hayley,
whom he very particularly esteemed, Mr, Gibbon was

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 365

not absent from Sheffield-place till the beginning of Oc
tober, when we were reluctantly obUged to part with
him, that he might perform his engagement to Mrs. Gib
bon at Bath, the widow of his father, who had early de
served, and invariably retained, his affection. From
Bath he proceeded to Lord Spenser's at Althorp, a famUy
which he always met with uncommon satisfaction. He
continued in good health during the summer, and in ex
cellent spirits (I never knew him enjoy better); and
when he went from Sheffield-place, little did I imagine
it would be the last time I should have the inexpressible
pleasure of seeing him there in full possession of health.
The few following short letters, though not important
in themselves, will fill up this part of the narrative better,
and more agreeably, than any thing I can substitute in
their place.
EDWARD GIBBON, EStt. TO THE EIGHT HON. LORD SHEPriETiD.
October 3nd, 1793;
The Cork^street hotel has answered its recommenda
tion ; it is clean, convenient, and quiet. My first even
ing was passed at home in a very agreeable tete-a-tete
with my friend Elmsley, Yesterday I dined at Crau-
furd's with an excellent set, in which were Pelham and
Lord Egremont. I dine to-day with my Portuguese
friend, Madame de Sylva, at Greniere's ; most probably
with Lady Webster, whom I met last night at Devon
shire-house ; a constant, though late, resort of society.
The duchess is as good, and Lady Elizabeth as seducing,
as ever. No news whatever. You wUl see in the
papers Lord Hervey's memorial, I love vig^r, but it is

366 LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
surely a strong a measure to tell a gentleman you have
resolved to pass the winter in his house. London is not
disagreeable ; yet I shall probably leave it Saturday. If
any thing should occur, I wUl write. Adieu ; ever
yours. TO THE SAME.
Sunday afternoon I left London, and lay at Reading,
and Monday in very good time I reached this place
after a very pleasant airing ; and am always so much
delighted, and improved, with this union of ease and
motion, that, were not the expense enormous, I would
travel every year some hundred mUes, more especially
in England. I passed the day with Mrs. G. yesterday.
In mind and conversation she is just the same as twenty
years ago. She has spirits, appetite, legs, and eyes, and
talks of living tUl ninety.* I can say from my heart.
Amen. We dine at two, and remain together till nine ;
but, although we have much to say, I am not sorry that
she talks of introducing a third or fourth actor. Lord
Spenser expects me about the 20th ; but if I can do it
without offence, I shaU steal away two or three days
sooner, and you shall have advice of my motions. The
troubles of Bristol have been serious and bloody. I
know not who was in fault ; but I do not like appeasing
the mob by the extinction of the toll, and the removal of
the Hereford militia, who had done their duty. Adieu.
The girls must dance at Tunbridge. What would dear
little aunt say if I was to answer her letter ? Ever
yours, &c.
York-house, Batb, October Sth, 1793.
A " She was then in her eightieth year.

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 367

I Still follow the old style, though the Convention
has abolished the Christian era, with months, weeks,
days, &G. TO THE SAME.
York-house, Bath, October 13th, 1793.
I am as ignorant of Bath in general as if I were still at
Sheffield. My impatience to get away makes me think
it better to devote my whole time to Mrs. G. ; and dear
little aunt, whom I tenderly salute, wUl excuse me to her
two friends, Mr. Hartley and Preston, if I make Uttle or
no use of their kind introduction. A tete-a-tHe of eight or
nine hours every day is rather difficult to support ; yet I
do assure you, that our conversation flows with more
ease and spirit when we are alone, than when any auxili
aries are summoned to our aid. She is indeed a wonder
ful woman, and I think all her faculties of the mind
stronger and more active than I have ever known them.
I have settled, that ten full days may be sufficient for all
the purposes of our interview. I should therefore depart
next Friday, the 18th instant, and am indeed expected
at Althorp on the 20th ; but I may possibly reckon with
out my host, as I have not yet apprised Mrs, G, of the
term of my visit ; and will certainly not quarrel with her
for a short delay. I must have some poUtical specula
tions. The campaign, at least on our side, seems to be
at an end. Ever yours. TO THE SAME.
Althorp Ubrary, Tuesday, four o'clock.
We have so completely exhausted this moming among

368 LETTERS FROM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.
the first editions of Cicero, that I can mention only my
departure hence to-morrow, the sixth instant. I shall he
quieily at Woburn, and reach London in good time
Thursday. By the following post I will write some-
w'hat more largely. My stay in London will depend,
partly on my amusement, and your being fixed at Sheffield-
place ; unless you think I can be comfortably arranged
for a week or two with you at Brighton. The military
remarks seem good; but now to what purpose I Adieu.
I embrace and much rejoice in Louisa's improvement.
Lord Ossory was from home at Farning-woods.
TO THE SAME.
London, Friday, Nov. Sth, four o'clock.
Walpole has just delivered yours, and I hasten to the
direction, that you may not be ata loss, I wUl write
to-morrow, but I am now fatigued, and rather unwell.
Adieu. I have not seen a soul except Elmsley.
TO THE SAME.
St. James's Street, Nov. 9th, 1793.
As I dropt yesterday the word unwell, I flatter myself
that the family would have been a little alarmed by my
sUence to-day. I am stiU awkward, though without any
suspicions of gout, and have some idea of having recourse
to medical advice. Yet I creep out to-day in aTjhair, to
dine with Lord Lucan, But as it wiU be literaUy my
first going down stairs, and as scarcely any one is
apprised of my arrival, I know nothing, I have heard
nothing, I have nothing to say. My present lodging, a
house of Elmsley's, is cheerful, convenient, somewhat

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS. 869
dear,, but not so much as an hotel : a species of habitation
for which I have not conceived any great affection.
Had you been stationary at Sheffield, you would have
seen me before the twentieth ; for I am tired of rambling,
and pant for my home ; that is to say, for your house.
But whether I shall have courage to brave * * * * and
a bleak down, time only can discover. Adieu. I wish
you back to Sheffield-place. The health of dear Louisa
is doubtless the first object ; but I did not expect Brighton
after Tunbridge. Whenever dear Uttle aunt is separate
from you, I shall certainly write to her: but at present
how is it possible ? Ever yours.
TO THE SAME AT BKIGHTHELMSTONE. St. James's Street, Nov. llth, 1793.
I must at length withdraw the veil before my state of
health, though the naked truth may alarm you more than
a fit ofthe gout. Have you never observed, through my
inexpressibles, a large prominency, which, as it was not
at all painful, and very little .troublesome, I had strangely
neglected for many years? But since my departure
from Sheffield-place it has increased, most stupenduously,
is increasing, and ought to be diminished. Yesterday I
sent for Farquhar, who is allowed to be a very skilful
surgeon. After viewing and palping, he very seriously
desired to call in assistance, and has examined it again
to-day with Mr. Cline, a surgeon, as he says, of the first
eminence. They both pronounce it a hydrocele (a col
lection of water), which must baJet out by the operation
of tapping; but from its magmtude^ and long neglect,
they think it a most extraordinary case, and wish to have

370 LETTEES FEOM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.

another surgeon, Dr. Bayley, present. If the business
should go off smoothly, I shall be delivered from my
burthen, (it is almost as big as a small child), and walk
about in four or five days with a truss. But the medical
gentlemen, who never speak quite plain, insinuate to me
the possibility of an inflammation, of fever, &c. I am
not appalled at the thoughts of the operation, which is
fixed for Wednesday next, twelve o'clock; but it has
occured to me that you might wish to be present, before
and afterwards, till the crisis was past; and to give you
that opportunity, I shall solicit a delay till Thursday, or
even Friday, In the meanwhile, I crawl about with
some labour, and much indecency, to Devonshire-house,
where I left all the fine ladies making flannel waistcoats ;*
Lady Lucan's, &c. Adieu. Varnish the business for
the ladies ; yet I am afraid it will be public ; — the advan
tage of being notorious. Ever yours.

Immediately on receiving the last letter, I went the same
day from Brighthelmstone to London, and was agreeably
surprised to find that Mr. Gibbon had dined at Lord
Lucan's, and did not return to his lodgings, where I waited
for him till eleven o'clock at night. Those who have
seen him within the last eight or ten years must be surprised
to hear, that he could doubt whether his disorder was ap
parent. When he returned to England in 1787, 1 was
greatly alarmed by a prodigious increase, which I al
ways conceived to prqgped from a rupture. I did not
understand why he, who had talked with me on every
* For the soldiers in Flanders.

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 371
other subject relative to himself and his affairs without
reserve, should never in any shape hint at a malady so
troublesome ; but on speaking to his valet de chambre,
he told me, Mr. Gibbon could not bear the least^^lusion
to that subject, and never would suffer him to notice it.
I consulted some medical persons, who with me supposing
it to be a rupture, were of opinion that nothing could
be done, and said that he surely must have had advice,
and of course had taken all necessary precautions. He
now talked freely with me about his disorder ; which, he
said, began in the year 1761 ; thathe then consulted Mr.
HawkinSj the surgeon, who did not decide whether it
was the beginning of a rupture, or an hydrocele ; but he
desired to see Mr, Gibbon again when he came to town,
Mr. Gibbon not feeling any pain, nor suffering any in
convenience, as he said, never returned to Mr. Hawkins ;
and although the disorder continued to increase gra
dually, and of late years very much indeed, he never men
tioned it to any person, however incredible it may ap
pear, from n/l to November 1793. I told him, that I
had always supposed there was no doubt of its being a
rupture ; his answer was, that he had never thought so,
and that he, and the physicians who attended him, were
of opinion that it was an hydrocele. It is now certain
that it was originaUy a rupture, and that an hydrocele
had lately taken place in the same part ; and it is re
markable, that his legs, which had been swelled about
the ancle, particularly one of them, since he had the
erysipelas in 1790, recovered their former shape as soon
as the water appeared in another part, which did not
happen till between the time he left Sheffield-place, in

373 LETTERS FEOM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.
the beginning of October, and his arrival at Althorp, to
wards the latter end of that month. On the Thursday
following the date of his last letter, Mr. Gibbon was tap
ped fof the first time ; four quarts of transparent watery
fluid were discharged by that operation. Neither inflam
mation nor fever ensued : the tumour was diniinished to
nearly half its size ; the remainmg part was a soft irregu
lar mass. I had been with him two days before, and I
continued with him above a week after the first tapping,
during which time he enjoyed his usual spirits ; and the
three medical gentlemen who attended him wUl recollect
his pleasantry even during the operation. He was
abroad again in a few days, but the water evidently col
lecting very fast, it was agreed that a second puncture
should be made a fortnight after the first. Knowing
that I should be wanted at a meeting in the country, he
pressed me to attend it; and promised that soon after
the second operation was performed he would follow me
to Sheffield-place : but before he arrived I received the
two following letters. *
MR. gibbon to lord SHEFFIELD AT BRIGHTON.
St. James's Street, Nov. 25th, 1793.
Though Farquhar has promised to write you a line,
I conceive you may not be sorry to hear directly from
me. The operation of yesterday was much longer, more
searching, and more painful than the former ; but it has
eased and lightened me^to a much greater degree.* No
inflammation, no fever, a delicious night, leave to go
* Three quarts of the same fluid as before were discharged.

TO LOED SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 373
abroad to morrow, and to go out of town when I please,
en attendant the future measures of a radical cure. If
you hold your intention of returning next Saturday to
Sheffield-place, I shall probably join you about the Tues
day following, after having passed two nights at Becken-
ham.* The Devons are going to Bath, and the hospita-
able Craufurd foUows them. I passed a delightful day
with Burke ; an odd one with Monsignor Erskine, the
.Pope's Nuncio. Of public news, you and the papers
Jtnow more than I do. We seem to have strong sea
and land hopes, nor do I dislike the royalists having
beaten the sans cullottes and taken Dol, How many
minutes will it take to guillotine the seventy three new
members of the Convention, who are now arrested?
Adieu ; ever yours, MR, GIBBON TO LORD SHEFFIELD,
St, James's Street, Nov. 30th. 1793.
It will not be in my power to reach Sheffield-place
quite so soon as I wished and expected. Lord Auck
land informs me, that he shall be at Lambeth next week,
Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, t have therefore
agreed to dine at Beckenham on Friday. Saturday will
be spent there ; and unless some extraordinary temptation
should detain me another day, you will see me by four
o'clock Sunday the ninth of December, I dine to-morrow
with the chancellor at Hampstead, and, what I do not
like at this time of the year, without a proposal to stay
all night. Yet I would not refuse, more especially as I
had denied him on a former day. My health is good ;
* Eden-farm.

374 LETTERS FRO.M EDWABD GIBBON, ESQ.
but I shall have a final interview with Farquhar before
I leave town. We are still in darkness about Lord
Howe and the French ships, but hope seems to preppn~
derate. Adieu. Nothing that relates to Louisa can bt
forgotten. Ever yours. <

Mr. Gibbon generally took the opportunity of passing
a night or two with his friend Lord Auckland, at Eden-
farm, (ten miles from London) on his passage to Sheffield-
place ; and notwithstanding his indisposition, he had
lately made an excursion thither from London;
when he was much pleased by meeting the Arch
bishop of Canterbury, of whom he expressed a high
opinion. He returned to London, to dine with Lord
Loughborough, to meet Mr. Burke, Mr. Windham, and
particularly Mr, Pitt, with whom he was not acquainted ;
and in his last journey to Sussex, he revisited Eden-farm,
and was much gratified' by the opportunity of again see
ing, during a whole day, Mr. Pitt, who passed the night
there. From Lord Auckland's, Mr. Gibbon proceeded
to Sheffield-place ; and his discourse was never more
briUiant, nor more entertaining, than on his arrival. The
parrallel he drew, and the comparisons he made, between
the leading men of this country, were sketched in his
best manner, and were infinitely interesting. However,
this last visit to Sheffield-place became far different from
any he had ever made before. That ready, cheerful,
various, and Uluminating conversation, which we had
before admired in him was not always to be found in the
library or the dining-room. He moved with difficulty.

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHERS 376
and retired from company sooner than he had been used
to do. On the twenty-third of December, his appetite
began to fail him. He observed to me, that it was a
very bad sign with him when he could not eat his
breakfast, which he had done at all times very heartily ;
and this seems to have been the strongest expression of
apprehension that he was ever observed to utter, A
considerable degree of fever now made its appearance.
Inflammation arose from the weight and bulk of the tu
mour. Water again collected very fast, and when the fever
went off, he never entirely recovered his appetite, even
for breakfast. I became very uneasy indeed at his situa
tion towards the end of the month, and thought it neces
sary to advise him to set out for London. He had be
fore settled his plan to arrive there about the middle of
January, I had company in the house, and we expected
one of his particular friends; but he was obliged to
sacrifice all social pleasure to the immediate attention
which his health required. He went to London on the
seventh of January, and the next day I received the
following billet ; the last he ever wrote,
EDWARD GIBBON, ESa. TO LORD SHEFFIELD,
St. James's Street, four o'clock, Tuesday.
'This date says every thing, I was almost kUIed
between Sheffieldiplace and East Grinstead, by hard,
frozen, long, and cross ruts, that would disgrace the
approach of an Indian wigwam. The rest was some
thing less painful ; and I reached this place half dead,
ut not seriously feverish, or ill, I found a dinner invi-
ition from Lord Lucan ; but what are dinners to me ?

376 LETTEES FROM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.
I wish they did not know of my departure, I catch the
flying post. What an effort I Adieu, till Thursday or
Friday." By his own desire, I did not follow him tiU Thursday
the 9th. I then found him far from well. The tumour
more distended than before, inflamed, and ulcerated in
several places. Remedies were applied to abat-e the
inflammation ; but it was not thought proper to puncture
the tumour for a third time, till Monday the 13th of
January, when no less than six quarts of fluid were dis
charged. He seemed much relieved by the evacuation.
His spirits continued good. He talked, as usual, of pass
ing his time at houses which he had often frequented with
great pleasure, the Duke of Devonshire's, Mr, Craufurd's,
Lord Spencer's, Lord Lucan's, Sir Ralph Payne's, and
Mr, Batt's ; and when I told him that I should not return
to the country, as I had intended, he pressed me to go ;;
knowing I had an engagement there on public business,.
he said, " you may be back on Saturday, and I intend to
go on Thursday to Devonshire- house," I had not any
apprehension that his life was in danger, although I
began to fear that he might not be restored to a comfort
able state, and that motion would be very troublesome
to him ; but he talked of a radical cure. He said, that
it was fortunate the disorder had shown itself while he
was in England, where he might procure the best assist
ance ; and if a radical cure could not be obtained before
his return to Lausanne, there was an able surgeon at
Geneva, who could come to tap him when it should be
necessary.

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 377
On Tuesday the fourteenth, whenthe risk of inflamma
tion and fever from the last operation was supposed to be
past, as^the medical gentlemen who attended him expressed
no fears for his life, I went that afternoon part of the way
to Sussex, and the following day reached Sheffield-place,
The next morning, the sixteenth, I received by the post
a good account of Mr. Gibbon, which mentioned also that
he hourly gained strength. In the evening came a letter
by express, dated noon that day, which acquainted me
that Mr, Gibbon had had a violent attack the preceding
night, and that it was not probable he should live tiU I
could come to him. I reached his lodgings in St, James's
Street about midnight, and learned that my friend had
expired a quarter before one o'clock that day, the 16th
of January, 1794,
After I left him on Tuesday afternoon the fourteenth,
he saw some company. Lady Lucan and Lady Spenser,
and thought himself well enough at night to emit the
opium draught, which he had been used to take for some
time. He slept very indifferently; before nine the next
morning he rose, but could not eat his breakfast. How
ever, he appeared tolerably well, yet complained at
times of a pain in his stomach. At one o'clock, he re
ceived a visit of an hour from Madame de Sylva ; and at
three, his friend, Mr. Craufurd, of Auchinames (whom
he always mehtioned with particular regard) called, and
stayed with him till past five o'clock. They talked, as
usual, on various subjects ; and twenty hours before his
death, Mr. Gibbon happened to fall into a conversation,
not uncommon with him, on the probable duration of his
life. He said, that he thought himself a good life for ten,

478 LETTEES FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ.
twelve, or perhaps twenty years. About six, he ate the
wing of a chicken, and drank three glasses of Madeira.
After dinner, he became very uneasy and impatient;
complained a good deal, and appeared so weak that his
servant was alarmed. Mr. Gibbon had sent to his friend
and relation, Mr. Robert Darell, whose house was not far
distant, desiring to see him, and adding that he had some
thing particular to say. But, unfortunately, this desired
interview never took place.
, During the evening, he complained very much of his
stomach, and of a disposition to vomit. Soon after nine,
he took his opium draught, and went to bed. About,
ten, he complained of much pain, and desired that warm
napkins might be applied to his stomach. He almost.
incessantly expressed a sense of pain tiU about four
o'clock in the morning, when he said he found his
stomach much easier. About seven, the servant asked,
whether he should send for Mr, Farquhar? He an
swered, no ; that he was as well as he had been the day
before. At about half past eight, he got out of bed, and
said he was " plus adroit" than he had been for three
months past, and got into bed again, without assistance,
better than usual. About nine he said that he would
rise. The servant, however, persuaded him to remain in
bed till Mr. Farquhar, who was expected at eleven, should
come. Till about that hour, he spoke with great facility.
Mr. Farquhar came at the time appointed, and he was
then visibly dying. When the valet de chambre re
turned, after attending Mr, Farquhai out of the room,
Mr, Gibbon said, " Pourquoi est ce ^ouz me quittez ?"
This was about half past eleven. At twelve, hp drank

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 379
some brandy and water from a tea-pot, and desired his
favourite servant to stay with him. These were the last
words he pronounced articulately. To the last he pre
served his senses ; and when he could no longer
speak, his servant having asked a question, he made
a sign, to show that he understood him. He was quite
tranquil, and did not stir ; his eyes half shut. About a
quarter before one, he ceased to breathe,*
* The body was not opened till the fifth day after his death. It was
then sound, except that a degree of mortification, not very considerable,
had taken place on a part of the colon ; which, with the whole of tho
omentum, of a very enlarged size, had descended into the scrotum, forming
a bag that hung down nearly as low as the knee. Since that part had been
inflamed and ulcerated, Mr. Gibhon could not bear a truss ; and when the
last six quarts of fluid were discharged, the colon and omentum descend
ing lower, they, by their weight, drew the mouth of the stomach down
wards to the ospubis, and this probably was the immediate cause ofhis death.
The following is the account of the appearance of the body, given by an
eminent surgeon who opened it:
" Aperto tumore, qui ab inguine usque ad genu se extenderat, observatum
est partem ejus inferiorem constare ex tunica vaginali testis continent!
dnas quasi libras liquoris serosi tincti sanguine. Ea autem fuit sacci illius
ampUtudo nt portioni liquoris longS majori capiendse sufficeret. In pos
teriori parte hujus sacci testis situs fuit. Hunc omino sanum invenimus.
" Partem tumoris superiorem occupaverant integrum ferS omentum et
major pars intestini coli. Hee partes, sacco sibi proprio inclusie, sibi invi-
cem et sacco suo adeo arete adhaeserunt ut coivisse viderentur in massam
unam solidam et irregnlarem ; cujus a tergo chorda spermatica sedem suam
obtinuerat. " In omento et in intestino colo baud dnbia recentis inflammationis signs
vidimus, necnon maculas nonnuUas lividi coloris hinc inde sparsas.
" Aperto abdomine, ventriculum invenimus a naturali suo situ detractum
usque ad annulum musculi obliqui extemi. Pylorum retrorsiim et quasi
sursiim a duodeno retractum. In hepato ingentum numerum parvorum tn
berculorum. Vesicam felleambUeadmodiimdistentam. In ceeteris visceri
bus, oxamini an atomico subjectia, nulla morbi vestigia extitemnt."

380 LETTEES FEOM EDWAED GIBBON, ESQ.
The valet de chambre observed, that Mr, Gibbon did
not, at any time, show the least sign of alarm, or appre
hension of death; and it does not appear that he ever
thought himself in danger, unless his desire to speak to
Mr. Darell may be considered in that light.
Perhaps I dwell too long on these minute and
melancholy circumstances. Yet the close of such a life
can hardly fail to interest every reader ; and I know that
the public has received a very different and erroneous
account of my friend's last hours,
1 can never cease to feel regret that I was not by his
side at this awful period : a regret so strong that I can
express it only by borrowing (as the eloquent Mr, Mason
has done on a similar occasion) the forcible language of
Tacitus: — "Mihi praeter acerbitatem amici erepti, auget
msestitiam quod assidere valetudini, fovere deficientem,
.satiari vultu, complexu non contigit," It is some con
solation to me, that I have not, like Tacitus, by a long
absence, anticipated the loss of my friend several years
before his decease. Although I had not the mournful
gratification of being near him on the day he expired,
yet durmg his illness I had not failed to attend him, with
that assiduity which his genius, his virtues, and, above
all, our long, uninterrupted, and happy friendship de
manded. Postscript, — Mr, Gibbon's wUl is dated the 1st of Oc-
ber, 1791, just before I left Lausanne; he distinguishes
me, as usual, in the most flattering manner :
" I constitute and appoint the Right Honourable John
Lord Sheffield, Edward DareU, Esquire, and John Thomas

TO LORD SHEFFIELD AND OTHEES. 381
Batt, Esquire, to be the executors of this my last will and
testament ; and as the execution of this trust will not be
attended with much difficulty or trouble, I shall indulge
these gentlemen in the pleasure of this last disinterested
service, without wronging my feeling or oppressing my
heir, by too light or too weighty a testimony of my grati
tude. My obligations to the long and active friendship
of Lord Sheffield, I could never sufficiently repay."
He then observes, that the Right Hon. Lady Eliot, of
Port Eliot is his nearest relation on his father's side ; but
that her three sons are in such prosperous circumstances,
that he may well be excused from making the two chil
dren of his late uncle. Sir Stanier Porten, his heirs, they
being in a very different situation. He bequeathes an
nuities to two old servants ; three thousand pounds, and
his furniture, plate, &,c. at Lausanne, to Mr, WUhelm de
Severy ; one hundred pounds to the poor of Lausanne,
and fifty guineas each to the following persons : Lady
Sheffield and daughters, Maria and Louisa, Madame and
Madamoiselle de Severy, the Count de Schomberg,
Mademoiselle la Chanoinesse de Poller, and M. le
Ministre Le Vade, for the purchase of some token which
may remind them of a sincere fr,iend. The remains of
Mr. Gibbon were deposited in Lord Sheffield's family
burial-place in Sussex.

FINIS.

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