The critical accuracy of Gibbon is well shown in the following just observation:

"Sur l'autorité d'un auteur contemporain et témoin oculaire, my Lord Lyttleton avoit compté l'armée du duc Guillaume à cinquante mille chevaux et dix mille fantassins (milites). Je respecte ce témoignage, et plus encore le jugement du savant auteur; mais l'un et l'autre doivent être soumis aux lois de la vraisemblance. Une cavalerie aussi nombreuse n'a jamais passé la mer. Elle composeroit même avec le cortége des chevaliers une armée de près de deux cent mille hommes: je sais que le mot de miles, qui n'avoit distingué qu'un soldat quelconque, commençoit vers le XIe siècle de prendre le sens exclusif d'un cavalier; mais l'ancienne signification de ce mot n'étoit point perdue. On me permettra de croire que l'historien normand l'a employée, et que l'armée entière du duc Guillaume n'alloit qu'à environ cinquante mille combattants."

Lord Lyttleton introduces the beautiful anecdote of Robert of Normandy, who, when, with William Rufus, he was besieging their brother Henry in Mt. St. Michael, on hearing that Henry was suffering for want of water, sent him a supply. Being reproached by William for his misplaced humanity, he replied, "Am I to be blamed for not permitting my brother to perish of thirst ?" Gibbon subjoins, "My Lord Lyttleton discute un peu trop froidement cette réponse: 'J'aime mieux la sentir.'" The quiet irony of the following is in Gibbon's best style: My Lord L., enhardi par l'exemple de tous les anciens et de quelques uns des modernes, compose pour le comte d'Arundel une harangue de trois pages, que ce comte auroit dû prononcer. Notre savant auteur, qui connoît à fond le xre siècle, avoit sans doute ses raisons pour prêter à l'orateur la vertu de Caton plutôt que l'éloquence de Cicéron."

Gibbon anticipated the privilege assumed by modern reviewers, to which we owe much admirable writing, that of selecting the chief facts from a passage in a dull, and perhaps prolix writer, compressing it into life, and arraying it in his own glowing language. The whole character of Becket, which he has thus founded on Lord Lyttleton, is extremely curious. These sentences might be given as a translation from the Decline and Fall. "Henri avoit mal connu le caractère de son favori. Cet esprit ambitieux aima mieux être le rival que le ministre de son maître. Si la grâce l'éclaira dans ce moment, il faut convenir qu'elle avoit attendu le temps où elle s'accordoit parfaitement avec ses intérêts temporels." He thus describes the death of Becket. "Becket rentra dans Canterberi au milieu des acclamations du peuple, qui vint à sa rencontre en criant: Loué soit celui qui vient au nom du Seigneur.' Il paroît par sa correspondance que l'archevêque, instruit du nombre et de la rage de ses ennemis s'attendoit au martyre et le désiroit. Le fanatisme, que cet habile politique avoit si longtemps inspiré aux autres l'avoit enfin saisi, et le fourbe n'étoit plus qu'un enthousiaste. Un philosophe qui auroit vu de près les progrès de ce fanatisme dans l'âme du prélat, eût pu enrichir d'un morceau très curieux l'histoire de l'esprit humain. Je ne m'appesantirai pas sur les détails de la mort de Becket on sait assez que Henri irrité des nouveaux excès de l'archevêque, laissa échapper le désir d'une vengeance, qui ne fut servie que trop fidèlement. Becket fut tué au pied de l'autel de sa cathédrale, et les derniers moments de sa vie furent ceux d'un saint et d'un grand homme!"

The review concludes with the following estimate of Lord Lyttleton, carefully reserving the third place among the historians of the age: "Les autres nations de l'Europe avoient devancé les Anglais dans la carrière de l'Histoire. L'Angleterre possédoit des poètes et des philosophes, mais on lui reprochoit de n'avoir que de froids annalistes, ou des déclamateurs passionnés. Deux grands hommes ont fait taire ce reproche; un Robertson a paré les annales de sa patrie de toutes les grâces de l'éloquence la plus mâle. Un Hume, ne pour éclairer et pour juger les hommes, a porté dans l'Histoire la lumière d'une

philosophie profonde et élégante. Nous ne prodiguerons jamais à la grandeur la récompense des talents. My Lord L. ne doit pas prétendre à la gloire de ces hommes de génie, mais il lui reste les qualités d'un bon écrivain, d'un savant très éclairé, d'un écrivain exact et impartial, et c'est avec plaisir que nous les lui accordons."

I can discover no indications of Gibbon's style or sentiment in the second volume of these Memoirs. The review of a dialogue ascribed to Lord Herbert of Cherbury approaches the nearest to his manner, but I doubt his authorship of this.-M.

(3) page 146.

"Look at Flatus, and learn how miserable they are, who are left to the folly of their own passions.

"Flatus is rich and in health, yet always uneasy, and always searching after happiness. Every time you visit him, you find some new project in his head; he is eager upon it as something that is more worth his while, and will do more for him than anything that is already past. Every new thing so seizes him, that if you were to take him from it, he would think himself quite undone. His sanguine temper, and strong passions, promise him so much happiness in every thing, that he is always cheated, and is satisfied with nothing.

"At his first setting out in life, fine clothes was his delight, his inquiry was only after the best tailors and peruke-makers, and he had no thoughts of excelling in any thing but dress. He spared no expense, but carried every nicety to its greatest height. But this happiness not answering his expectations, he left off his brocades, put on a plain coat, railed at fops and beaus, and gave himself up to gaming with great eagerness.

This new pleasure satisfied him for some time, he envied no other way of life. But being by the fate of play drawn into a duel, where he narrowly escaped his death, he left off the dice, and sought for happiness no longer amongst the gamesters.

The next thing that seized his wandering imagination, was the diversion of the town and for more than a twelvemonth, you heard him talk of nothing but ladies, drawing-rooms, birth days, plays, balls, and assemblies. But growing sick of these, he had recourse to hard drinking. Here he had many a merry night, and met with stronger joys than any he had felt before. Here he had thoughts of setting up his staff, and looking out no farther; but unluckily falling into a fever, he grew angry at all strong liquors, and took his leave of the happiness of being drunk.

The next attempt after happiness carried him into the field; for two or three years, nothing was so happy as hunting; he entered upon it with all his soul, and leaped more hedges and ditches, than had ever been known in so short a time. You never saw him but in a green coat; he was the envy of all that blow the horn, and always spoke to his dogs in great propriety of language. If you met him at home in a bad day, you would hear him blow his horn, and be entertained with the surprising accidents of the noble chase. No sooner had Flatus outdone all the world in the breed and education of his dogs, built new kennels, new stables, and bought a new hunting-seat, but he immediately got sight of another happiness, hated the senseless noise and hurry of hunting, gave away the dogs, and was for some time after deep in the pleasures of building.

"Now he invents new kinds of dove-cotes, and has such contrivances in his barns and stables, as were never seen before: he wonders at the dulness of the old builders, is wholly bent upon the improvement of architecture, and will hardly hang a door in the ordinary way. He tells his friends that he never was

so delighted with any thing in his life; that he has more happiness amongst his brick and mortar than ever he had at court; and that he is contriving how to have some little matter to do that way as long as he lives.

"The next year he leaves his house unfinished, complains to every body of masons and carpenters, and devotes himself wholly to the business of riding about. After this, you can never see him but on horseback, and so highly delighted with this new way of life, that he would tell you, give him but his horse and a clean country to ride in, and you might take all the rest to yourself. A variety of new saddles and bridles, and a great change of horses, added much to the pleasure of this new way of life. But, however, having after some time tired both himself and his horses, the happiest thing he could think of next, was to go abroad and visit foreign countries; and there, indeed, happiness exceeded his imagination, and he was only uneasy that he had begun so fine a life no sooner. The next month he returned home, unable to bear any longer the impertinence of foreigners.

"After this he was a great student for one whole year; he was up early and late at his Italian grammar, that he might have the happiness of understanding the opera, whenever he should hear one, and not be like those unreasonable people, that are pleased with they know not what.

"Flatus is very ill-natured, or otherwise, just as his affairs happen to be when you visit him; if you find him when some project is almost worn out, you will find a peevish ill-bred man; but if you had seen him just as he entered upon his riding regimen, or begun to excel in sounding of the horn, you had been saluted with great civility.

"Flatus is now at a full stand, and is doing what he never did in his life before, he is reasoning and reflecting with himself. He loses several days in considering which of his cast off ways of life he should try again.

"But here a new project comes in to his relief. He is now living upon herbs, and running about the country, to get himself into as good wind as any runningfootman in the kingdom." - Law's Serious Call.-M.

(4) page 147.

That great diary of the conversations held at "the Club," Boswell's Johnson, has little which relates to Gibbon. The following is the best :

6

"Johnson, whose mind had been led to think of wild beasts, suddenly broke in upon the conversation with, Pennant tells of bears.' When the first ludicrous effect from this ejaculation of the "great Bear" had subsided, silence ensued. He (then) proceeded, We are told that the black bear is innocent; but I should not like to trust myself with him.' Mr. Gibbon muttered, in a low tone of voice, I should not much like to trust myself to you.' This piece of sarcastic pleasantry was a prudent resolution if applied to a competition of abilities." To this passage Mr. Croker (vol. iii. p. 222.) subjoins the following note: -" Mr. Green, the anonymons author of the Diary of a Lover of Literature' (printed at Ipswich), states (under the date of 13th June, 1796,) that a friend, whom he designates by the initial M. (and whom I believe to be my able and obliging friend, Sir James Mackintosh), talking to him of the relative ability of Burke and Gibbon, said, 'Gibbon might have been cut out of a corner of Burke's mind without his missing it.' I fancy, now that enthusiasm has cooled, Sir James would be inclined to allow Gibbon a larger share of mind, though his intellectual powers can never be compared with Burke's."

Yet Gibbon's History enjoys and will probably maintain a much higher European reputation than any of Johnson's, perhaps of Burke's writings. There is no just standard of admeasurement between the minds of writers distinguished in such different departments of literature. Johnson or even Burke (excellent as

his sketch of the early History of England is) could no more have written the History of the Decline and Fall of Rome, than Gibbon the Rambler, or the Letters on the French Revolution.

In page 335. (vol. iii.) we have a specimen of Boswell's own small wit on the "" infidelity" contained in the History.

"Lord Eliot informs me, that one day when Johnson and he were at dinner at a gentleman's house in London, after Lord Chesterfield's Letters being mentioned, Johnson surprised the company by this sentence, Every man of education would rather be called a rascal, than accused of deficiency in the graces.' Mr. Gibbon, who was present, turned to a lady who knew Johnson well, and lived much with him, and in his quaint manner, tapping his box, addressed her thus: 'Don't you think, Madam, (looking towards Johnson) that among all your acquaintance, you could not find one exception?' The lady smiled and seemed to acquiesce."-Croker's Boswell, iii. p. 419.

Note.-Mr. Colman, in his Random Records lately published, has given a lively sketch of the appearance and manners of Johnson and Gibbon in society : "The learned Gibbon was a curious counterbalance to the learned (may I not say, less learned) Johnson. Their manners and taste both in writing and conversation, were as different as their habiliments. On the day I first sat down with Johnson, in his rusty brown suit, and his black worsted stockings, Gibbon was placed opposite to me in a suit of flowered velvet, with a bag and sword. Each had his measured phraseology; and Johnson's famous parallel between Dryden and Pope might be loosely parodied, in reference to himself and Gibbon. Johnson's style was grand, and Gibbon's elegant; the stateliness of the former was sometimes pedantic, and the polish of the latter was occasionally finical. Johnson marched to kettle-drums and trumpets; Gibbon moved to flutes and hautboys: Johnson hewed passages through the Alps, while Gibbon levelled walks through parks and gardens. Mauled as I had been by Johnson, Gibbon poured balm upon my bruises, by condescending once or twice in the evening to talk with me: the great historian was light and playful, suiting his matter to the capacity of the boy; but it was done more suo: still his mannerism prevailed, still he tapped his snuff-box, still he smirked and smiled, and rounded his periods with the same air of good breeding as if he were conversing with men. His mouth, mellifluous as Plato's, was a round hole, nearly in the centre of his visage.-Vol. i. p. 121. Mr. Croker's Note.-M.

CHAPTER VIII.

Mr. Gibbon settles in London.-Begins his History of the Decline and Fall.-Becomes a Member of the House of Commons.-Characters of the principal Speakers.Publishes his first Volume; its Reception.-Mr. Hume's Opinion, in a Letter to the Author.

No sooner was I settled in my house and library, than I undertook the composition of the first volume of my history. At the outset all was dark and doubtful; even the title of the work, the true æra of the Decline 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 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 remainder 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 compressed, without any loss of facts or sentiments. An opposite fault may he imputed to the concise and superficial 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 Leskeard (1). 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 humble station of a mute. I was not armed by Nature and education with the intrepid energy of mind and voice,