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 ancient topic of controversy, and, from the opinion which you entertain of yourself and of me, it does not appear probable that our disputes would either edify or enlighten the public.

The 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 restraned 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.

CXLV. DR. PRIESTLEY TO MR. GIBBON.

Birmingham, 3rd February, 1783. Sir, It would have been impertinent in me, especially considering the object of my History, to have sent you a copy of it as a mark of my esteem or friendship. What I meant was to act the part of a fair and open adversary, and I am truly sorry that you decline the discussion I proposed: for, though you are of a different opinion, I do not think that either of us could be better employed; and, should the Mufti and the Lama, whose challenge, you say, you would also decline, become parties in the business, I should rejoice the more. I do not well know what you can mean by intimating, that I am a greater unbeliever than yourself; that I attack opinions which you never maintained, and maintain principles which you never denied. If you mean to assert that you are a believer in Christianity, and meant to recommend it, I must say, that your mode of writing has been very ill adapted to gain your purpose. If there be any certain method of discovering a man's real object, yours has been to discredit Christianity in fact, while in words you represent yourself as a friend to it: a conduct which I scruple not to call highly unworthy and mean; an insult on the common sense of the Christian world; as a method of screening you from the notice of

the law, (which is as hostile to me as it is to you,) you must know that it could avail you nothing; and, though that mode of writing might be deemed ingenious and witty in the first inventor of it, it has been too often repeated to deserve that appellation now.

According to your own rule of conduct, this charge ought to provoke you to descend into the amphitheatre once more, as much as the accusation of Mr. Davis: for it is a call upon you to defend, not your principles only, but also your honour. For what can reflect greater dishonour on a man, than to say one thing and mean another? You have certainly been very far from confining yourself, as you pretend, to a simple narrative of authentic facts, without interposing your own sentiments. I hold no opinions, obnoxious as they are, that I am not ready both to avow in the most explicit manner, and also to defend with any person of competent judgment and ability. Had I not considered you in this light, and also as fairly open, by the strain of your writings, to such a challenge, I should not have called upon you as I have done. The public will form its own judgment both of that and of your silence on the occasion; and finally decide between you, the humble historian, and me, the proud disputant.

As to my reputation, for which you are so very obligingly concerned, give me leave to observe, that, as far as it is an object with any person, and a thing to be enjoyed by himself, it must depend upon his particular notions and feelings. Now, odd as it will appear to you, the esteem of a very few rational Christian friends (though I know that it will insure me the detestation of the greater part of the present nominally Christian world that happen to hear me) gives me more real satisfaction, than the applause of what you call the philosophie world. I admire Servetus, by whose example you wish me to take warning, more for his courage in dying for the cause of important truth, than I should have done, if, besides the certain discovery of the circulation of the blood, he had made any other the most celebrated discovery in philosophy.

However, I do not see what my philosophical friends (of whom I have many, and whom I think I value as I ought,) have to do with my metaphysical or theological writings. They may, if they please, consider them as my particular whims or amusements, and accordingly neglect them. They have, in fact, interfered very little with my application to philosophy, since I have had the means of doing it. I was never more busy, or more successfully so, in my philosophical pursuits, than during the time that I have been employed about the History of the Corruptions of Christianity. I am at this very time, totus in illis, as my friends know, and as the public will know in due time, which with me is never long; and if you had thought proper to enter into the discussion I proposed, it would not have made me neglect my laboratory, or omit a single experiment that I should otherwise have made. I am, sir, your very humble servant,

J. PRIESTLEY.

CXLVI.-MR. GIBBON TO DR. PRIESTLEY.

Bentinck-street, February 6th, 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.

CXLVII.-DR. PRIESTLEY TO MR. GIBBON.

Birmingham, February 10th, 1783. Sir, I neither requested nor wished to have any private correspondence with you. All that my MS. card required, was a simple acknowledgment of the receipt of the copy of my work. You chose, however, to give me a specimen of your temper and feelings; and also, what I thought to be an opening to a further call upon you for a justification of yourself in public. Of this I was willing to take advantage; and at the same time to satisfy you that my philosophical pursuits, for which, whether in earnest or not, you were pleased to express some concern, would not be interrupted in consequence of it.

As this correspondence, from the origin and nature of it, cannot be deemed confidential, I may, especially if I resume my observations on your conduct as an historian, give the public an opportunity of judging of the propriety of my answer to your first extraordinary letter, and also to this last truly enigmatical one; to interpret which requires much more sagacity, than to discover your real intentions with respect to Christianity, though you might think you had carefully concealed them from all human inspection.

Wishing to hear from you just as little as you please in private, and just as much as you please in public, I am, sir, your humble

servant.

CXLVIII.-MR. GIBBON TO DR. PRIESTLEY.

February 22nd, 1783.

If Dr. Priestley consults his friends, he will probably learn, that a single copy of a paper, addressed under a seal to a single person, and not relative to any public or official business, must always be considered as private correspondence; which a man of honour is not at liberty to print without the consent of the writer. That consent in the present instance, Mr. Gibbon thinks proper to withhold; and, as he desires to escape all further altercation, he shall not trouble Dr. Priestley or himself with explaining the motives of his refusal,

CXLIX. DR. PRIESTLEY TO MR. GIBBON.

Birmingham, February 25th, 1783.

Dr. Priestley is as unwilling to be guilty of any real impropriety as Mr. Gibbon can wish him to be: but as the correspondence between them relates not to any private, but only to a public matter, he apprehends that it may, according to Mr. Gibbon's own distinction, at the pleasure of either of the parties be laid before the publie; who, in fact, are interested to know, at least, the result of it. Dr. Priestley's conduct will always be open to the animadversion of Mr. Gibbon, or of any other person. His appeal is to men of honour, and even men of the world: and he desires no favour.

Dr. Priestley has sent a single copy of the correspondence to a friend in London, with leave to show it to any other common friends, but with a prohibition to take any other copy; but between this and printing there is no difference, except in mode and extent. In the eye of the law and of reason both are equally publications; and has Mr. Gibbon never thought himself at liberty to show a copy of letter to a third person?

Mr. Gibbon may easily escape all further altercation by discontinuing this mutually disagreeable correspondence, by leaving Dr. Priestley to act as his own discretion or indiscretion my dictate; and for this, himself only, and not Mr. Gibbon, is responsible.

CL. MR. GIBBON TO MR. DEYVERDUN, AT LAUSANNE.

London, May 20th, 1783.

How I love the sweet and free communication of our reciprocal feelings! We love each other during distance and silence, and we find it mutually sufficient to hear from time to time news of each other's health and welfare. To-day I want to write to you, and I begin without reproaches or apologies, as if we were about to resume the familiar conversation of yesterday. If I intended

to give you a perfect account of my studies, my pleasures, my new connexions, my political course (still silent but rather nearer to great events) I should multiply my quarto volumes, and I do not yet know your opinion of those I have already sent you. This modern "History" would always treat of the " Decline of Empires," and so far as I can judge from my own recollections and from the communications of our friend Bugnon, you are no fonder of the English power than that of the "Roman." Our "Fall" has, however, been more gradual. After an unsuccessful war, and an inglorious peace, we still have enough left to make us live contented and happy; and when I shall have laid down my character of member of parliament to reassume that of a man, a philosopher, and a historian, we shall find ourselves very well agreed upon the greatest part of the astonishing scenes that have just passed before our eyes, and which will furnish plenty of employment for the most skilful of

our successors.

But at the present moment let us attend to a subject, less illustrious, undoubtedly, but more interesting to both of us; and it is a considerable matter that the same object can be interesting to two mortals, who have not seen, and scarcely even written to each other for-yes, I declare-eight years. My pen, which is very lazy at the beginning, or rather before the beginning, travels along quick enough when it is once set a-going; but one reason that prevents my giving it its full scope, is the hope of soon being able to communicate with you by a still more convenient instrumentthe tongue. What a foolish animal is a man, an Englishman, the man Gibbon ! I hope it, I wish for it, I can accomplish it, and yet I do not know whether I will it, still less whether I shall execute that will. Here is my history as far as it can enlighten you, as far as it can enlighten myself on my real intentions, which appear to me to be very uncertain and equivocal and you will have the goodness to tell me what shall be the course of my future conduct. You will recollect, sir, that my grandfather made his fortune, and that my father devoured it with rather too good an appetite, and that I am now enjoying the fruit, or rather the remainder, of their labours. You have not forgotten that I went into parliament with out patriotism, and without ambition, and that all my views tended to the convenient and respectable place of a lord of trade. This situation I at length obtained; I possessed it for three years, from 1779 to 1782, and the net produce, which amounted to £750 sterling, augmented my income to the level of my wants and desires. But in the spring of last year, the storm burst over our heads; Lord North was overthrown, your humble servant turned out, and even the board of which I was a member, abolished and broken up for ever by Mr. Burke's reform, tegether with several other offices of the state and the king's household. To complete my misfortune I still remain a member of the lower house. At the end of the last parliament (in 1780) Mr. Eliot withdrew his nomination, but the favour of Lord North facilitated my re-election, and gratitude imposed on me the duty of making available for his service, the rights which I held in part from him. That winter we fought under the allied standards (you are acquainted with our history) of Lord North and Mr. Fox; we triumphed over Lord Shelburne and the peace; and my friend (I do not like to profane that name) remounted his steed in quality of secretary of state. Now he can easily say to me "it was a great deal for me; it was nothing for you; " and in spite of the strongest assurances, I have too 'much reason to allow me to have much faith. With great genius, and very respectable talents, he has now neither the title nor credit of prime minister; more active colleagues carry off the most savoury morsels, which their voracious creatures immediately devour; our misfortunes and reforms have diminished the number of favours; either through pride or through indolence, I am but a bad suitor; and, if at last I obtain something, it may perhaps be on the eve of a fresh revolution, which will, in an instant, snatch from me that which has cost me so many cares