not where we have a country, but where we have a fociety that we wish to refide. Mr. Gibbon had friends in England, but all the endearing ideas connected with youthful affociations, and all the local emotions which render places and things delightful, were to be found only in Switzerland. He fet out, accordingly, a few weeks after the publication of his history, and foon regained his habitation, where, he informs us, after a full repaft on Homer and Aristophanes, he involved himself in the philofophic mazes. of the writings of Plato.

But the happiness he expected in his favourite retreat was confiderably leffened by the death of his friend Deyverdun, and the disorders of revolutionary France began to interrupt the general tranquillity that had long prevailed in Switzerland. Troops of emigrants flocked to Laufanne, and brought with them the spirit of political discuffion, not guided by reason, but inflamed by passion and prejudice. The language of disappointment on the one hand, and of prefumption on the other, marked the rife of two parties, between whom the peaceful enjoyments of nearly three centuries were finally destroyed.

Mr. Gibbon arrived at Lausanne, July 30, 1788. Of his employment during his ftay, we have little account. It appears by his correfpondence that he amused himself by writing a part of thofe Memoirs of his Life, which Lord Sheffield has fince given to the public, and he projected a feries of biographical portraits of eminent Englishmen from the time of Henry VIII., but in this probably no great progrefs was made. His habits of industry, he tells us, became now much impaired, and he had reduced his studies to be the loose amusement of his morning hours. He remained here, however, as long as it was fafe, and until the murder of the King of France, and the war in which Great Britain was involved, rendered Switzerland no longer an asylum either for the enthusiast of literature, or the victim of tyranny.

He left Laufanne in May 1793, and arrived in June at

Lord

Lord Sheffield's houfe in Downing-street, and foon after fettled for the fummer, with that nobleman, at Sheffieldplace. In October he went to Bath, to pay a vifit of affection to Mrs. Gibbon, the widow of his father, and to Althorp, the seat of Lord Spencer, from which he returned to London, and for the first time avowed to his friend, Lord Sheffield, by letter, the caufe of the decay of his health, which he had hitherto concealed from every human being, except a fervant, although it was a complaint of about thirty-three years ftanding. This was originally a rupture, which had now produced a hydrocele, and required immediate chirurgical aid. Tapping procured fome relief for a time, but his conftitution could no longer divert or support the discharge. The last events of his life are thus related by his biographer.

"After I left him, on Tuesday afternoon (Jan. 14. 1794) he faw fome company, Lady Lucan and Lady Spencer, and thought himself well enough at night to omit the opium draught, which he had been used to take for fome time. He flept very indifferently: before nine the next morning he rofe, but could not eat his breakfast. However, he appeared tolerably well, yet complained at times of a pain in his stomach. At one o'clock he received a vifit of an hour from Madame de Sylva, and at three, his friend Mr. Crauford, of Auchinames, (whom he always mentioned with particular regard,) called, and ftaid with him till paft five o'clock. They talked, as ufual, on various fubjects; 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 faid, that he thought himself a good life for ten, twelve, or perhaps twenty years. About fix, he ate the wing of a chicken, and drank three glaffes of Madeira. After dinner he became very uneafy and impatient; complained a good deal, and appeared fo weak that his fervant was alarmed. Mr. Gibbon had fent to his friend and relation, Mr. Robert Darell, whose house

VOL. I.

b

was

was not far diftant, defiring to see him, and adding, that he had fomething particular to fay. But, unfortunately, this defired interview never took place.

"During the evening he complained much of his ftomach, and of a difpofition to vomit. Soon after nine, he took his opium draught, and went to bed. About ten he complained of much pain, and defired that warm napkins might be applied to his ftomach. He almost inceffantly expreffed a fenfe of pain till about four o'clock in the morning, when he faid he found his ftomach much eafier. About seven, the servant afked, whether he should fend for Mr. Farquhar? he answered, No; that he was as well as he had been the day before. About half paft eight, he got out of bed, and said that he was “plus adroit" than he had been for three months past, and got into bed again, without assistance, better than ufual. About nine, he said that he would rife. The fervant, however, perfuaded him to remain in bed till Mr. Farquhar, who was expected at eleven, fhould come. Till about that hour he fpoke with great facility. Mr. Farquhar came at the time appointed, and he was then vifibly dying. When the valet de chambre returned, after attending Mr. Farquhar out of the room, Mr. Gibbon faid, Pourquoi eft ce que vous me quittez? This was about half past eleven. At twelve he drank some brandy and water from a tea-pot, and defired his favourite fervant to stay with him. These were the laft words he pronounced articulately. To the last he preserved his fenses; and when he could no longer fpeak, his fervant having asked a question, he made a sign to fhew that he understood him. He was quite tranquil, and did not ftir; his eyes half shut. About a quarter before one he ceafed to breathe. The valet de chambre obferved, that Mr. Gibbon did not at any time fhew the leaft fign of alarm, or apprehenfion of death; and it does not appear that he ever thought himself in danger, unless his desire to fpeak to Mr. Darell may be confidered in that light.”

Other

Other reports of Mr. Gibbon's death were circulated at the time, but the above proceeds from an authority which cannot be doubted. The religious public was eager to know the laft fentiments of Mr. Gibbon on the important point which conftituted his grand defect; but we find that there were no perfons near him at his death to whom that was a matter of curiofity; and it appears that he did not think his end approaching until he became incapable of collecting or expreffing his thoughts. If he has, therefore, added one more to the number of infidels who have died in full poffeffion of their incredulity, let it be remembered that as he faw no danger, he had no room to display the magnanimity which has been oftentatiously afcribed to dying fceptics.

TO

Mr. Gibbon was a man of fo much candour, or fo incapable of difguife, that his real character may be juftly appreciated from the Memoirs he has left behind him. He difclofes his fentiments there without the referve he has put on his more laboured compofitions, and has detailed his mental failings with an ingenuous minutenefs which is feldom met with. He candidly confeffes to the vanity of an author and the pride of a gentleman; but it is well known that it is the vanity of one of the first authors of modern times, and the pride of a gentleman of amiable manners and high accomplishments. At the fame time, it cannot be denied that his anxiety of fame fometimes obfcured the luftre of his focial qualities, parted him too widely from his brethren in literature, and led him to fpeak of his opponents with an arrogance, which, although uniformly characteristic of the cause he fupported, was yet unworthy of his general caft of character. His converfation is faid to have been rich in various information, communicated in a calm and pleasant manner, yet his warmest admirers do not give him the praise of excelling in converfation. He feldom brought his knowledge forwards, and was more ambitious in company to be thought a man of the world than a scholar. In parliament he b 2

never

never ventured to speak, and this probably leffened his value in the eyes of an administration, that required the frequent and ready fupport of eloquence.

But although he has difclofed much of his character in his Memoirs, there are fome points left unexplained, about which it would be important to be better informed. He appears to be anxious to exhibit the peculiarities of his temper, and the petty habits of his life, and he has given such ample details of the progrefs of his studies, from the first casual perusal of a book, to the completion of his history, as no scholar can perufe without interest and admiration. But he has not told us much of the progress of opinions in his mind. His conversion to popery is a boyish whim which can never be contemplated in the grave light in which he has reprefented it. His return to protestantism is related with more brevity and obscurity. What paffed in his mind during his first years of maturity, we know not; but on the publication of his History, we find him an implacable enemy to Christianity, without the pretence of a quarrel, or any previous declaration of hoftilities. It has been justly remarked by profeffor Porfon, that "he often makes where he cannot readily find an occafion to infult our religion, which he hates fo cordially, that he might seem to revenge some personal injury." But by what train of reading, or interchange of fentiments, he acquired this inveteracy, he has not thought proper to inform us. Left to conjecture, it is not unreasonable for us to fuppofe, that his intimacy with the French writers on the fide of infidelity, and particularly with Helvetius, and the correfpondence he carried on with Hume, to whom he looked up with the reverence of a pupil, induced him to think that the more he departed from the Christian belief, the nearer he approached to the perfection of the philofophical character.

As a hiftorian, the univerfal acknowledgment of the literary world has placed him in the very highest rank; and in that rank, had his tafte been equal to his knowledge,