generous mind can cherish towards a benefactor. She lauds you to the skies, and speaks of your benevolence, your attentions, and your kind solicitude, as I never heard one speak in regard to any being. Not only were these kind offices in themselves grateful to her, but they were doubly so, coming, as they did, from one who is at the same time an accomplished scholar, and a most amiable and gentlemanly man, in forming whose genius and manners, Attic grace seems to have vied with Roman urbanity. This is the way my niece talks, and I usually tell her that her opinion is quite correct; for it is exactly the same as mine. I must be brief, as this opportunity of sending you a package of books was unexpected. I was unwilling to send it without a few lines to accompany it. Here is a copy of Plutarch, the only one which was reserved for me. I should have sent it long ago, had not these calamitous times hindered me. If your partiality towards me induces you to value this work on that account, more than you could from its insignificance, you shall receive the remaining volumes as fast as they appear. Wherr that will be, I cannot say; for I am obliged to keep a copy, in consequence of the double exposure to the chances of war and to the uncertainty of the seas. I make some progress in it, to be sure, but it is a slow affair.

WYTTENBACH TO LARCHER

Leyden, July 22, 1805.

I have just received Sainte Croix's book and his letter, which, as it contains a friendly message from you, brings you into such fresh remembrance, that I cannot resist the temptation to write at once. You are alive and well, then, my dear Larcher, and have not yet grown cold in your studies, but are still warm and glowing. May God long preserve you to enlighten me and the republic of letters. My desire for this is the stronger, as so many of

our younger scholars are dying, and as the number of learned and good men of my particular acquaintance is constantly diminishing. How deep is the wound lately inflicted upon us by the death of our friend Villoison! From the anguish of my own feelings, I can form some estimate how painful this occurrence must be to you. But we must do as Socrates says, "Let these things, my dear Criton, be as it may please the gods."

For the splendid present of your Herodotus, I return you my most cordial thanks. This is all I can do ;-I cannot promise to repay you. I see the evidence of your friendship in many passages, where you make honorable mention of my name. You seem to have acted the part of a friend rather than of a severe critic, and I cannot help loving you all the better for it. On every page I see and admire the variety and exuberance of your learning, united with equal accuracy of judgment. Ever since your book reached me, I have had it by my side, in preparing my notes on Plutarch, in which I have, as was due, often spoken of you in terms of commendation. I hope they will appear while you are alive and in health, that you may read them yourself. I am obliged at present to retain them by me after they are written, on account of the hazard of sending them across the sea in time of war. The fate of my last package is a sad warning to me. I desire to commend publicly the merits of your Herodotus, while you yourself are able to read what I write; and I hope to do it very soon, in the two parts which I have resolved to add, after a suspension of fifteen years, to my Bibliotheca Critica. Be so good, therefore, as to point out the passages which deserve notice, and those in which the new edition differs from the first, and you will save me much labor. For as I always prefer to use your new edition, I cannot, without considerable labor, examine the other for comparison.

Make my most respectful compliments to the learned Coray, "who is not only a Grecian, but a veritable Greek." My niece sends her cordial regards. She often speaks of you as a gentleman, in temper, genius, learning, and manners, amiable, admirable and venerable; and I always agree with her, and add the wish, that you may yet enjoy many years of health and prosperity.

WYTTENBACH TO SAINTE CROIX.

In the country, Oct 27, 1805.

On receiving your excellent treatise respecting the historians of Alexander the Great, and the agreeable and friendly letter which accompanied it, I immediately wrote you a reply, expressing my thanks for the beautiful present, and giving you an account of my affairs, in answer to your inquiries. At the same time I wrote to our friend Larcher, and to Chardon Rochette. Soon afterwards Bast sent me a copy of his excellent Lettre Critique, and I wrote, without delay, a letter of acknowledgement, with thanks for his kindness, and praise for his rare knowledge of the Greek. I requested him to send me his collations of Plato to embellish and improve my Phaedo, which was then in hand. To all these four letters I have received not a word of reply from any one of you; and I have reason to fear either that they were all intercepted, or that some calamity has befallen you and my other friends, which may Heaven forbid. Let the letters go; their loss, though unpleasant, can be made up. But what fortune could restore to me such friends as you, in Paris? Now I beg you, my dear Sainte Croix, write me at your earliest convenience, and inform me whether you received my letter, and whether the others, to whom I wrote, received theirs. The silence of Bast gives me particular anxiety; for I expressly requested him to write to me as soon as possible respecting the collations of Plato, as my necessities

were urgent. In the forth-coming additions to my journal, I have reviewed his Critical Epistle, Larcher's Herodotus, and your treatise on Alexander. I have also given brief notices of Villoison and de Santen. With Villoison and with your work I did as well as I could, considering that you did not furnish me with hints nor information according to my request. I read your book from beginning to end, preferring that course to comparing the two editions. It is an entirely new production. How I admire your eloquence combined with equal wisdom,-your knowledge of subjects, human and divine, your insight into character, and your genuine philosophy! How I wonder at your knowledge of all history and literature, so that no passage, no mention of any writer, no part of a subject has been overlooked. All this matter, too, is animated by a living soul, at the same time critical and philosophical, distinguishing the true from the false, the good from the bad. You will see more in the review itself.

The calumny which Luzac, a scribbler for the political papers, is spitting out against Ruhnken, I shall sometime chastise. It belongs to you to do the same in the Magazin Encyclopédique. Be sure that Sluiter's Lectiones Andocideae be not commended without any notice of his puerile mistakes in Greek, and his unjust attacks upon Ruhnken.

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I believe I have some notes on your work relating to the mysteries of the ancients, but they are jotted down in my note-book, and scattered in various places. In the winter, when I am in the city, with my library around me, I can collect them, but not during the summer, while I am in the country. All, however, which I have, shall be at your command, and shall be collected in season. My niece remembers your kindness, and sends her cordial regards.

WYTTENBACH TO SAINTE CROIX.

Leyden, May, 1807.

I have, my dear Sainte Croix, been favored with many friendly letters from you, particularly with your last, in which you inquire, with the greatest affection, respecting my welfare. The reason of my delaying to answer these letters, written with so great love, and so tender a solicitude for me, is the confused state of my affairs, which does not even yet afford me the leisure and composure of mind, suitable for writing. Many of my remote friends, even those living in other countries, alarmed for me, by the intelligence which they had received of our calamity, wrote me nearly at the same time, requesting me to inform them as soon as possible, of my condition; and you, my dear friend, are the first to whom I shall undertake to reply, if, indeed, I can summon courage and strength enough to enter upon a correspondence.

The explosion took place on the twelfth day of January, 1807, the last of the winter vacation, which I had been employing in writing my Annotations to Plutarch. In my library, all the books which I then needed, and especially the notes already written on this and other authors, were spread out on tables near the windows. I left them in that condition, to go to dinner, expecting to return immediately afterwards to my work. While I was sitting at table with my niece, a strange and frightful noise, as of many cannons, fell upon our ears. Suddenly, the roof of the adjoining house fell in. The windows of our apartment were dashed in pieces, and a storm of broken glass was beating upon us. We sprang up and ran into the street, the affrighted servant and waiting-maid following us. Our neighbors, also, were at their doors in a state of amazement. Many persons were mangled; some of them escaped from their houses; some were enclosed, and were