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sonable desire, in which we are sometimes disappointed after all. And yet we must allow, that, while his manner of writing is neither easy nor graceful, it is more in keeping with his subject than it would be with any other, resembling the lordly march of a Roman emperor in his flowing purple, stately and majestic, though restricting the free movements of the form. But while it had some obvious defects, its merits were superlatively great; the two great historians of the time delighted to honor it, — Hume with friendly and sympathizing interest, Robertson with gentlemanly praise. Moreover, it had the honor of being dedicated to a royal duke, and history has recorded the exclamation of distaste which fell from the Mæcenas, when he saw the historian heaving in sight with "his great square book." Thus heralded, the work was received with great applause; while Hume's history was left on the bookseller's shelves, the first edition of this was sold almost in a day; it was found in the studies of the learned, and in the saloons of fashion. One can hardly tell how it happened that such a work, with all its great merit, should have gained favor with those who had no taste for the delightful narrative of Hume. But the voice of applause was not the only sound which the author heard on this occasion. The church militant, always sufficiently warlike for a religion of peace, was at this time up in arms. Various divines, with Bishop Watson at their head, assailed him for the unfairness and malignant spirit of those parts in which Christianity is mentioned, and confronted him with charges which he was not able to disprove. When they accused him of incorrect statement and false quotation, he was prepared to meet them; his regard to his character as a historian was enough to save him from those errors and crimes. But he could not deny that he wrote in the character of a Christian, with an evident design to throw contempt on the religion; that he intimated, in language sharp and sneering, what he dared not openly advance; that he made his history a means of gratifying a spiteful and resentful feeling, which he seemed to want courage to avow; and that, under some strange perversion of feeling, he seemed to enjoy and defend the persecution of the early martyrs, making light of their patient fortitude, and justifying the oppressor's crimes. It is not easy to explain how this venomous feeling against the religion originated in his breast. It does not seem so much like a doubt of its truth

and divinity, as an aversion to the name.

But he finds

his retribution now; his credit as a historian is far lower than if he had come out with an open declaration of his unbelief; and, instead of exciting admiration by his vast power of irony, he gives the impression of something unsound in his heart.

In the two years between the publication of the first and the commencement of the second volume, he employed himself in his attendance as a member of parliament, and in a visit to his friends, the Neckars, in Paris, where his familiarity with the French language made him generally welcome. Hume, who was a favorite there, was laughed at for his ignorance of French and his awkward simplicity of manners. Gibbon appears to have been more respected than beloved. In parliament, he gained credit by drawing up a memorial in defence of the British government against the French claims, in 1778. For this he was rewarded with the sinecure place of Lord of Trade, which he held till the board was abolished, in 1784, when, finding his income unequal to the expense of living in London, he determined to spend the rest of his days at Lausanne. He longed to take a part in the debates of parliament, but as often as he thought of the horrors of a failure he shrank back with dismay. He was not aware how many empty vessels in all public bodies make the welkin ring with their abundance and endlessness of sound. Extemporaneous speaking in its ordinary forms is easily acquired, too easily, indeed, for the comfort and respectability of our halls of state. Even now the silent members are the chief ornaments of such places, and the country would not lament if a prevailing lockjaw should suppress the eloquence of many who might as

well be still.

After the completion of his second and third volumes, which, as he was well aware, were not received as warmly as the first, not, however, on account of the matter or style, but simply because the great majority of readers have no delight in books that are long, he was in doubt whether to proceed, or to close the history with the fall of the Western Empire. But the same necessity which urged him to begin required him to persevere; indeed, it was more difficult, when once accustomed to the routine, to sink back into listless repose. He therefore kept on, and nearly completed his fourth volume before leaving England, after narrowly escaping a controversy

with Dr. Priestley, to which he was earnestly invited by that excellent but somewhat warlike divine. He was pre

pared to hear his treatment of Christianity condemned, and was not surprised when the censure came, though rather stunned by its depth and loudness; but he does not seem to have been in the least aware that the indecency of his notes would be matter of reproach. One can hardly conceive what his habits of thought must have been, to see nothing objectionable in his account of Theodora, for example. Even when Porson thundered out his anathema, Gibbon seemed more disposed to smile at such a person officiating in the capacity of moralist, than to resent, or even to feel, the reproach. The only excuse he thinks it necessary to make is that the narrative is what it should be, and only the notes are licentious; whereas it is evident that this very consciousness, and the thin veil of another language, only serve to excite attention which the reader without them never would have thought of giving. It implies an enlightened knowledge of human nature, like that of one who should inclose what he wished to conceal in a thin covering, writing on it a request to the public that no one would look in.

The history was completed in 1787, and most readers are familiar with the striking description of his feelings as he wrote the closing words in a summer-house in his garden, at the hour of midnight, when the air was mild, the sky serene, and the moonlight sweetly reflected from the waters. His first thought was that of joy at recovering his freedom, and perhaps establishing his fame. But on reflection, he felt that he had parted with an old and agreeable companion, which had been a source of high and intellectual interest for years, and that, however the history might endure, the days of the writer were wasting to their close. The question of the duration of the history was soon decided. Every intelligent reader felt that only a most uncommon sagacity could have seen through the confusion of the chaotic variety of his materials, estimating their claims and merits, and their often obscure relations with each other. So far from complaining of any want of clearness in the narrative, the wonder is, that he should ever have been able to subdue them into tolerable harmony and order. He seems never to have been weary of searching into the endless range of subjects presented, balancing authorities and determining their accuracy with a

precision and faithfulness which few will venture to impeach. Guizot, himself a great authority, admires this power of judicious discrimination; and every one is struck with his watchful penetration, his painstaking industry, and the rich abundance of learning sprinkled over the work almost to profusion. In these respects he is as much superior to Hume as that great historian excelled him in the easy grace with which he tells, his story; and the result is, that, while Hume is no authority, the verdict of Gibbon is almost decisive in every historical question which he ever undertook to explore.

Though the cold sarcasm which runs through Gibbon's history gives an unpleasant impression of the man, he appears to have been kind and affectionate in his intercourse with his friends, steady and faithful in his attachments, and manly and honorable in all the relations of life. No human being could well be less attractive in the outward man. His head enormously large, with no elevation of feature, his mouth a round orifice directly in the centre, his form heavy and unmanageable, partly with corpulence, but still more by a fearful rupture, descending to his knees, but which he seemed unconscious. that any one ever saw, and which he never mentioned either to his physician or his attendant till it had brought him nearly to the grave. With all these impediments to personal display, he appears to have taken pains and pride in dress. Colman describes him in company, with a suit of flowered velvet, together with a bag and sword, while Dr. Johnson sat opposite in his coarse black stockings and raiment of rusty brown. This, however, may have been nothing more than the full dress of gentlemen, while the foppery of the great moralist was excessive on the opposite side. His conversation is said to have been of a very high order, though somewhat formal and labored; his remarks appeared as if studied, and even his wit had the air of careful preparation; but he was ready in argument, full of information, and pleasant in manner, though not exempt from affectation. He had the oppressive consciousness of a great reputation to sustain, which is never favorable to the true social manner, nor indeed to the best display of the powers. Madame du Deffand believed him to be very learned, but was not sure that he was very clever; while Suard speaks of his conversation as full and animated. On the whole, he appears to have borne in social life and conversation a part not unequal to his literary

name.

It is honorable to Gibbon that he was able to secure and retain so many friends, among whom the most confidential was Lord Sheffield, a man of sense and honor, whose infirmity was, that he could not refrain from writing pamphlets which Lord Brougham pronounces unreadably dry. When in England, Gibbon was domesticated in his house, and he with his family made visits to the historian at Lausanne. When his Lordship suffered under the loss of his wife, the heaviest of domestic sorrows, he at once, though disabled by infirmity, set out on a long, painful, and dangerous journey, to comfort his mourning friend. He was not at the time aware that he was returning to die in his native land. But soon after his return, he found it necessary to consult physicians, who relieved him for the time by a surgical operation; but the difficulty returned, and a second operation was more painful and less beneficial than the first. The evening before he died, he was conversing with his friends about the probable duration of his life, which he fixed at ten, and possibly twenty, years. That night he was taken more ill, and shortly after noon on the next day he expired.

The transition from Gibbon to Sir Joseph Banks bears some resemblance to a decline and fall; and yet the latter was useful and distinguished in his day and generation, though his renown will not be likely to sail far beyond it. Very great credit is due to those who, having the means of living in luxury and self-indulgence, rise above the temptations of their position, and feel so strong a determination toward the walks of science, that they cannot be content to spend life in lazy epicureanism, or an empty fashionable display. Even if they do not make any great discoveries, nor extend the boundaries of science, themselves, their aid and influence are of service to those who do; and under their circumstances, to possess such a taste implies a certain degree of superiority, which entitles them to a place in the general estimation far higher than that of intelligent and cultivated persons who live entirely for themselves. He certainly is no common man who loves knowledge for its own sake, looking to no other recompense than the enjoyment of the pursuit, delighting in his own intimacy with nature, and contentedly leaving it to others to write their names where they will shine in the eyes of men.

Not much is known of the history of his childhood, save that he was born with the prospect of wealth, his family

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