I know two ladies of fashion now, whose manners have this effect upon me. The Lady in question, and the Lady Spencer. I am a shy animal, and want much kindness to make me easy. Such I shall be to my dying day. Here sit I, calling myself shy, yet have just published by the by, two great volumes of poetry.

This reminds me of Ranger's observation in the 'Suspicious Husband,' who says to somebody, I forget whom-'There is a degree of assurance in you modest men, that the impudent fellows can never arrive at!' Assurance indeed! Have you seen 'em? What do you think they are? Nothing less I can tell you than a translation of Homer. Of the sublimest poet in the world. That's all. Can I ever have the impudence to call myself shy again?

You live, I think, in the neighbourhood cf Birmingham ? What must you not have felt on the late alarming occasion! You I suppose could see the fires from your windows. We, who only heard the news of them, have trembled. Never sure was religious zeal more terribly manifested, or more to the prejudice of its own cause.

Adieu, my dear friend. I am, with Mrs. Unwin's best compliments, Ever yours.

CXCIV.

The beauty, the misfortunes, and the talent of Charlotte Smith combined to make her figure universally fascinating to her contemporaries. At the time this letter was written, however, she had just thrown in her lot, with her customary ardour, with the French Revolution, and had thereby estranged many of her friends. But Hayley, through whom she became acquainted with Cowper, remained staunch to her.

William Cowper to Mrs. Charlotte Smith.

October 26, 1793.

Dear Madam,-Your two counsellors are of one mind. We both are of opinion that you will do well to make your second volume a suitable companion to the first, by embellishing it in the same manner; and have no doubt, considering the well-deserved popularity of your verse that the expense will be amply refunded by the public.

I would give you, Madam, not my counsel only, but consolation also, were I not disqualified for that delightful service by a great dearth of it in my own experience. I, too, often seek but cannot find it. Of this however I can assure you, if that may at all comfort you, that both my friend Hayley and myself most truly sympathize with you under all your sufferings; neither have you, I am persuaded, in any degree lost the interest you always had in him, or your claim to any service of whatever kind that it may be in his power to render you. Had you no other title to his esteem, his respect for your talents and his feelings for your misfortunes must insure to you the friendship of such a man for ever. I know, however, that there are seasons when, look which way we will, we see the same dismal gloom enveloping all objects. This is itself an affliction, and the worse because it makes us think ourselves more unhappy than we are; and at such a season it is, I doubt not, that you suspect a diminution of our friend's zeal to serve you.

I was much struck by an expression in your letter to Hayley where you say that 'you will endeavour to take an interest in green leaves again.' This seems the sound of my own voice reflected to me from a distance; I have so often had the same thought and desire.

A day scarcely passes at this season of the year when I do not contemplate the trees so soon to be stript, and, say, perhaps I shall never see you clothed again; every year as it passes makes this expectation more reasonable, and the year, with me, cannot be very distant when the event will verify it. Well-may God grant us a good hope of arriving in due time where the leaves never fall, and all will be right.

Mrs. Unwin I think is a little better than when you saw her, but still feeble; so feeble as to keep me in a state of continual apprehension. I live under the point of a sword suspended by a hair. She begs you to accept her compliments.

Adieu, my dear madam, believe me

Your sincere and affectionate humble servant,

WM. COWPER.

CXCV.

The most appropriate introduction to this letter will be from Gibbon's Memoirs of my Life and Writings.' Referring to the opponents who had been provoked by his memorable attack on Christianity in the fifteenth and sixteenth chapters of his History, he says: "In his "History of the Corruptions of Christianity," Dr. Priestley threw down his two gauntlets to Bishop Hurd and Mr. Gibbon. I declined the challenge in a letter exhorting my opponent to enlighten the world by his philosophical discoveries, &c. Priestley's object evidently was to induce Gibbon to avow plainly his opposition to Christianity.

Edward Gibbon to Dr. Priestley.

January 23, 1783.

Sir,-As a mark of your esteem, I should have accepted with pleasure your 'History of the Corruptions of Christianity.' You have been careful to inform me, that it is intended, not as a gift, but as a challenge, and such a challenge you must permit me to decline. At the same time you glory in outstripping the zeal of the Mufti and the Lama, it may be proper to declare, that I should equally refuse the defiance of those venerable divines. Once, and once only, the just defence of my own veracity provoked me to descend into the amphitheatre; but as long as you attack opinions which I have never maintained, or maintain principles which I have never denied, you may safely exult in my silence and your own victory. The difference between us, (on the credibility of miracles,) which you choose to suppose, and wish to argue, is a trite and antient topic of controversy, and, from the opinion which you entertain of yourself and of me, it does not appear probable that our dispute would either edify or enlighten the Public.

That Public will decide to whom the invidious name of unbeliever more justly belongs; to the Historian, who, without interposing his own sentiments, has delivered a simple narrative of authentic facts, or to the disputant who proudly rejects all natural proofs of the immortality of the soul, overthrows (by circumscribing) the inspiration of the evangelists and apostles, and condemns the religion of every Christian nation, as a fable less innocent, but not less absurd, than Mahomet's journey to the third Heaven.

And now, Sir, since you assume a right to determine the objects of my past and future studies, give me leave to convey to your ear the almost unanimous, and not offensive wish, of the philosophic world :—that you would confine your talents and industry to those sciences in which real and useful improvements can be made.. Remember the end of your predecessor Servetus, not of his life, (the Calvins of our days are restrained from the use of the same fiery arguments,) but, I mean, the end of his reputation. His theological writings are lost in oblivion; and if his book on the Trinity be still preserved, it is only because it contains the first rudiments of the discovery of the circulation of the blood.

I am, Sir, your obedient humble servant.

CXCVI.

In the letter to which the following is the reply, Dr Priestley, after some sneering remarks touching Gibbon's covert and insidious method of attacking Christianity, had observed that he admired Servetus more for his courage as a martyr than for his services as a scientific discoverer.

Edward Gibbon to Dr. Priestley.

February 6, 1783.

Sir,-As I do not pretend to judge of the sentiments or intentions of another, I shall not enquire how far you are inclined to suffer, or inflict, martyrdom. It only becomes me to say, that the style and temper of your last letter have satisfied me of the propriety of declining all farther correspondence, whether public or private, with such an adversary.

I am, Sir, your humble servant.

CXCVII.

It is difficult to associate with the cold and cynical historian of the Roman Empire so much tenderness and genuine depth of feeling as this letter displays. But Gibbon's attachment to Lord Sheffield and Mr. Deyverdun was singularly unselfish, almost romantic. It should be remembered that at the time he undertook this visit to England he was suffering from a dreadful disease which must have made travelling not only inconvenient but painful

Edward Gibbon to Lord Sheffield.

Lausanne: April 27, 1793.

My dearest Friend,-for such you most truly are, nor does there exist a person who obtains, or shall ever obtain, a superior place in my esteem and affection. After too long a silence I was sitting down to write, when, only yesterday morning (such is now the irregular slowness of the English post), I was suddenly struck, indeed struck to the heart, by the fatal intelligence from Sir Henry Clinton and M. de Lally. Alas! what is life, and what are our hopes and projects! When I embraced 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 apprehend that I never, never should see her again? I always 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 appearance. In four days! in your absence, in that of her children! But she is now at rest; and if there be a future life, her mild virtues have surely entitled her to the reward 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 affectionate friend, whom I had known and loved above three-andtwenty years, and whom I often styled by the endearing name of sister. But you are deprived of the companion of your life, the wife of your choice, and the mother of your children; poor children! the liveliness of Maria, and the softness of Louisa, render them almost equally the objects of my tenderest compassion. 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 the strength of your character will 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 letter