NOTES AND ADDITIONS. No. 1. page 283. Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. It is needless to repeat the reflections which we have sometimes debated together, and which I have often seriously weighed in my silent solitary walks. Notwithstanding your active and ardent spirits, you must allow that there is some perplexity in my present situation, and that my future prospects are distant and cloudy. I have lived too long in the world to entertain a very sanguine idea of the friendship or zeal of ministerial patrons; and we are all sensible how much the powers of patronage are reduced. * At the end of the Parliament, or rather long before that time (for their lives are not worth a year's purchase), our ministers are kicked down stairs, and I am left their disinterested friend, to fight through another opposition, and to expect the fruits of another revolution. But I will take a more favourable supposition, and conceive myself in six months firmly seated at the Board of Customs; before the end of the next six months I should infallibly hang myself. Instead of regretting my disappointment, I rejoice in my escape; as I am satisfied that no salary could pay me for the irksomeness of attendance, and the twenty, one year is a tenth, perhaps, of the time which has elapsed within our consciousness and memory: at the age of fifty it is no more than the fortieth, and this relative value continues to decrease till the last sands are shaken by the hand of death. This reasoning may seem metaphysical; but on a trial it will be found satisfactory and just. The warm desires, the long expectations of youth are founded on the ignorance of themselves and of the world: they are gradually damped by time and experience, by disappointment and possession; and after the middle season the crowd must be content to remain at the foot of the mountain; while the few who have climbed the summit aspire to descend or expect to fall. In old age the consolation of hope is reserved for the tenderness of parents who commence a new life in their children; the faith of enthusiasts, who sing hallelujahs above the clouds ; and the vanity of authors, who presume the immortality of their name and writings.* *It is melancholy to think that Gibbon found no place for the confidence with which the rational Christian looks forward to the enjoyment of another and a higher state of existence; that state of which his confessed inability to comprehend the real nature, confirms, rather than weakens, his humble reliance on its certainty. - M. drudgery of business so repugnant to my taste (and I will dare to say) so unworthy of my character. Without looking forwards to the possibility, still more remote, of exchanging that laborious office for a smaller annuity, there is surely another plan, more reasonable, more simple, and more pleasant; a temporary retreat to a quiet and less expensive, scene. In a four years' residence at Lausanne, I should live within my income, save, and even accumulate, my ready money; finish my History, an object of profit, as well as fame, expect the contingencies of elderly lives, and return to England at the age of fifty, to form a lasting independent establishment, without courting the smiles of a minister, or apprehending the downfal of a party. Such have been my serious sober reflections. Yet I much question, whether I should have found courage to follow my reason and my inclination, if a friend had not stretched his hand to draw me out of the dirt. The twentieth of last May I wrote to my friend Deyverdun, after a long interval of silence, to expose my situation, and to consult in what manner I might best arrange myself at Lausanne. From his answer, which I received about a fortnight ago, I have the pleasure to learn, that his heart and his house are both open for my reception; that a family which he had lodged for some years is about to leave him, and that at no other time my company could have been so acceptable and convenient. I shall step at my arrival into an excellent apartment and a delightful situation; the fair division of our expenses will render them very moderate, and I shall pass my time with the companion of my youth, whose temper and studies have always been congenial to my own. I have given him my word of honour to be at Lausanne in the beginning of October, and no power or persuasion can divert me from this IRREVOCABLE resolution, which I am every day proceeding to execute. No. 2. page 294. OCCASIONAL STANZAS, by Mr. HAYLEY, 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 birth-day. GENII of ENGLAND, and of ROME! The honours each may claim! This social scene with smiles survey! To Friendship and to Fame! Enough, by Desolation's tide, And mourn'd that Time, in Havoc's hour, To speak her truly great : O'er maim'd POLYBIUS, just and sage, How deep was her regret! Touch'd by this Queen, in ruin grand, Lo! sacred to the ROMAN Name, The splendid Work is crown'd to-day, ENGLAND, exult! and view not now In every path of liberal art, Thy Sons to prime distinction start, Science for Thee a NEWTON raised; Eager to honour living worth, Let artless Truth this homage pay, No. 3. page 294. of his poetical admirer The following pleasing Gibbon's manifest delight at the flat adulation is better proof of his gratitude than of his taste. thought relieves the general dulness of Hayley's eulogy on Gibbon, in his "Essay on History." After denouncing the polemic rancour of Gibbon's adversaries, he begins himself blandly to remonstrate against the profane tendency of his writings. Humility herself, divinely mild, Sublime Religion's meek and modest child, Essay on History, iii. 379. M. No. 4. page 294. SONNET TO EDWARD GIBBON, Esq. On the publication of his Second and Third Volumes, 1781. With proud delight th' imperial founder gazed On the new beauty of his second Rome, No hasty marks of vain ambition lurk : Shall baffle foes more savage than the Turk; As ages multiply, its fame shall rise,' And earth must perish ere its splendour dies. No. 5. page 294. A CARD OF INVITATION TO MR. GIBBON AT BRIGHTHELMSTONE, 1781. An English sparrow, pert and free, Tho' he is but a twittering sparrow, Tho' issuing from the holy towers, In which they build their warmest bowers, Some molted feather he lets fall, And swear he cannot fly at all. Lord of the sky! whose pounce can tear These croakers, that infest the air, Trust him! the sparrow loves to sing The praise of thy imperial wing! He thinks thou'lt deem him, on his word, An honest, though familiar bird; And hopes thou soon wilt condescend A visit from the bird of Jove. No. 6. page 295. "Mr. Gibbon's industry is indefatigable; his accuracy scrupulous ; his reading, which is sometimes ostentatiously displayed, immense; his attention always awake; his memory retentive; his style emphatic and expressive; his sentences harmonious; his reflections are just and profound; nor does his humanity ever slumber, unless when women are ravished, or the Christians persecuted. He often makes, when he cannot find, an occasion to insult our religion, which he hates so cordially that he might seem to revenge some personal injury. Such is his eagerness in the cause, that he stoops to the most despicable pun, or to the most awkward perversion of language, for the pleasure of turning the Scripture into ribaldry, or of calling Jesus an impostor. Though his style is in general correct and elegant, he sometimes draws out "the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument." In endeavouring to avoid vulgar terms he too frequently dignifies trifles, and clothes common thoughts in a splendid dress, that would be rich enough for the noblest ideas. In short, we are too often reminded of that great man, Mr. Prig the auctioneer, whose manner was so inimitably fine, that he had as much to say upon a ribbon as a Raphael. "A less pardonable fault is that rage for indecency which pervades the whole work, but especially the last volumes; and to the honour of his consistency, this is the same man who is so prudish that he does not call Belisarius a cuckold, because it is too bad a word for a decent historian to use. If the history were anonymous, I should guess that those disgraceful obscenities were written by some debauchee, who, having from age, or accident, or excess, survived the practices of lust, still indulged himself in the luxury of speculation, and exposed the impotent imbecillity, after he had lost the vigour, of his passions.”—Porson, Letters to Travis. Gibbon showed some forbearance in his allusion to the "bitter-sweet" of this criticism. The professor's own habits, and, unless he is much belied, the style of his conversation, laid him open to some retaliation, when he assumed the tone of a moral and religious censor.-M. |