Hannah More to her Sister-Dr. Johnson. Lord Monboddo. Would you believe it, my daddy, everybody now-myself and my father excepted-turned about, Sir Joshua leading the way, to make a little playful bow to-can you ever guess to whom? Mr. Burke then, archly shrugging his shoulders, added: "What is left now, exclusively, for us, and what we are to devise in our defence, I know not. We seem to have nothing for it but assuming a sovereign contempt, for the next most dignified thing to possessing merit is an heroic barbarism in despising it.” I can recollect nothing else; so adieu! One word more, by way of my last speech and confession on this subject: Should you demand, now that I have seen, in their own social circles, the two first men of letters of our day, how, in one word, I should discriminate them, I answer that I think Dr. Johnson the first discourser, and Mr. Burke the first converser, of the British empire. FANNY BURNEY. XIX.-DR. JOHNSON-LORD MONBODDO. Hannah More to her Sister. LONDON, 1782. Thursday I spent the evening at the Bishop of Llandaff's. Mrs. Barrington is so perfectly well bred, and the Bishop so delightful, that it is impossible not to be happy in their company. Mitred Chester and all the favorites were there. Good Friday I went to hear the Bishop of Llandaff preach; he is extremely sensible and deeply serious. Mrs. Carter and I met at a little breakfast party with a French lady who writes metaphysical books. We got into great disgrace for saying that a little common sense and a little Scripture would lead one much further Hannah More to her Sister-Dr. Johnson. Lord Monboddo. and safer than volumes of metaphysics. She forgave us, however, on condition that we would promise to read two huge quartos which she had just translated. What Mrs. Carter will do I know not, but I certainly never shall fulfil my part of the compact. It is a terrible fetter upon the liberty of free-born English conversation, to have so many foreigners as this town now abounds with, imposing their language upon us. It has affected me very much to hear of our King's being obliged to part with all his confidential friends, and his own personal servants, in the late general sweep. Out of a hundred stories I will only tell you one, which concerns your old acquaintance, Lord Bateman; he went to the King, as usual, overnight, to ask if his Majesty would please to hunt the next day. "Yes, my Lord," replied the King, "but I find with great grief that I am not to have the satisfaction of your company." This was the first intimation he had had of the loss of his place; and I really think the contest with France and America might have been settled, though the buck-hounds retained their old master. I dined very pleasantly one day last week at the Bishop of Chester's. Johnson was there, and the Bishop was very desirous to draw him out, as he wished to show him off to some of the company who had never seen him. He begged me to sit next him at dinner, and to devote myself to making him talk. To this end I consented to talk more than became me, and our stratagem succeeded. You would have enjoyed seeing him take me by the hand in the middle of dinner and repeat, with no small enthusiasm, many passages from the "Fair Penitent," etc. I urged him to take a little wine; he replied: "I can't drink a little, child, therefore I never touch it. Abstinence is as easy to me as temperance would be difficult." He was very good Hannah More to her Sister-Dr. Johnson. Lord Monboddo. humored and gay. word about poetry. One of the company happened to say a "Hush, hush," said he, "it is dangerous to say a word of poetry before her; it is talking of the art of war before Hannibal." He continued his jokes, and lamented that I had not married Chatterton, that posterity might have seen a propagation of poets. The metaphysical and philological Lord Monboddo breakfasted with us yesterday; he is such an extravagant adorer of the ancients, that he scarcely allows the English language to be capable of any excellency, still less the French. He has a hearty contempt for that people and their language; he said we moderns are entirely degenerated. I asked in what. 6. In every thing," was his reply. "Men are not so tall as they were, women are not so handsome as they were, nobody can now write a long period, every thing dwindles." I ventured to say that, though long periods were fine in oratory and declamation, yet that such was not the language of passion. He insisted that it was. I defended my opinion by many passages from Shakspeare-among others, those broken bursts of passion in Constance: "Gone to be married!"—"Gone to swear a truce!". "False blood with false blood joined!" Again, "My name is Constance! I am Geoffrey's wife-young Arthur is my son, and he is slain !” We then resumed our old quarrel about the slave-trade: he loves slavery upon principle. I asked him how he could vindicate such an enormity. He owned it was because Plutarch justified it. Among much just thinking and some taste, especially in his valuable third volume on the "Origin and Progress of Language," he entertains some opinions so absurd, that they would be hardly credible if he did not deliver them himself, both in Edward Gibbon to Mrs. Partens-Life at Lausanne. writing and conversation, with a gravity which shows that he is in earnest, but which makes the hearer feel that to be grave exceeds all power of face. He is so wedded to system that, as Lord Barrington said to me the other day, rather than sacrifice his favorite opinion that men were born with tails, he would be contented to wear one himself. XX.-LIFE AT LAUSANNE. Edward Gibbon to Mrs. Partens. LAUSANNE, December 27th, 1783. * * From this base subject I descend to one which more strongly and seriously engages your thoughts, the consideration of my health and happiness. And you will give me credit when I assure you with sincerity, that I have not repented a single moment of the step I have taken, and that I only regret the not having executed the same design two, or five, or even ten years ago. By this time I might have returned independent and rich to my native country; I should have escaped many disagreeable events that have happened in the meanwhile, and I should have avoided the parliamentary life which experience has proved to be neither suitable to my temper nor conducive to my fortune. In speaking of the happiness I enjoy, you will agree with me in giving the preference to a sincere and sensible friend; and though you cannot discern the full extent of his merit, you will easily believe that Deyverdun is the man. Perhaps two persons so perfectly fitted to live together, were never formed by nature and education. We have both read and seen a great variety of objects; the lights and shades of our different characters are Edward Gibbon to Mrs. Partens-Life at Lausanne. happily blended, and a friendship of thirty years has taught us to enjoy our mutual advantages, and to support our unavoidable imperfections. In love and marriage some harsh sounds will sometimes interrupt the harmony, and in the course of time, like our neighbors, we must expect some disagreeable moments; but confidence and freedom are the two pillars of our union, and I am much mistaken if the building be not solid and comfortable. One disappointment I have indeed experienced, and patiently supported. The family who were settled in Deyverdun's house started some unexpected difficulties, and will not leave it till the spring, so that you must not yet expect any poetical or even historical description of the beauties of my habitation. During the dull months of winter we are satisfied with a very comfortable apartment in the middle of the town, and even derive some advantage from this delay, as it gives us time to arrange some plans of alteration and furniture, which will embellish our future and more elegant dwelling. In this season I rise (not at four in the morning), but a little before eight; at nine I am called from my study to breakfast, which I always perform alone in the English style; and with the aid of Caplin, I perceive no difference between Lausanne and Bentinck street. Our mornings are usually passed in separate studies; we never approach each other's door without a previous message, or thrice knocking, and my apartment is already sacred and formidable to strangers. I dress at half-past one, and at two (an early hour, to which I am not perfectly reconciled) we sit down to dinner. We have hired a female cook, well-skilled in her profession, and accustomed to the taste of every nation; as, for instance, we had excellent mince-pie yesterday. After dinner, and the departure of our company, one, two, or three friends, we read together some |