do neither; that, as to Plutarch, it could not be done, without a breach of the contract with the Oxford press; and that I was unwilling that Julian should appear in such bad paper and type as those employed in Schäfer's reprint of the Oxford edition of Plutarch. I had heard that there was a quarrel between this Leipsic publisher and another at Tübingen about reprinting my Plutarch. I mentioned this circumstance in my preface to the Annotations, which I sent to England in 1798. Perhaps I spoke with too much severity of Schäfer, a gentleman for whom I entertain the highest respect, with the single exception of his piratical turn. But that Tübingen concern is downright plagiarism. * * * I have not yet seen Wolf's edition of Cicero, of which you speak. Two years ago I read those orations, and compared them with the others and with Markland's animadversions, and I have done the same since. They appeared to me then, and do still appear, to be genuine productions of Cicero. * WYTTENBACH TO J. C. BANG. Leyden, April 10, 1803. I received, my dear Bang, the letter of your son, overflowing with kindness and filial affection, and yet most painful to my feelings on account of the sad intelligence it brings from you. I sat down at once to reply to you, though actually unable to write. For I have been suffering more than a year from my diseased eyes, and from ill health, so that I am often obliged to neglect my daily lectures. I therefore left unfinished the letter which I had commenced, deferred writing from day to day, and attended to my health. But now, being somewhat refreshed by the warm spring weather, I will take advantage of the Easter holydays, in bringing up my neglected correspondence, first with yourself, and then, perhaps, with others. Shall I begin, my dear Bang, by attempting to console you, while I myself am so deeply affected by my own calamities and by yours, that I need consolation from others? * * * And what shall I say of my own circumstances? My health is such, that it would of itself throw a shade over any degree of prosperity. Besides, fortune now frowns, sufficiently to break down the stoutest heart. How am I cast down from that state of quiet and plenty, in which I had hoped to pass my old age! This hope I was still cherishing two years ago, when I gave your son a letter to Heyne, of Göttingen; but soon after that time, it was utterly destroyed by the desolating war which immediately began to rage, and from which we had but just escaped, with the loss of all we had to lose, when this new war broke out,—a war that is equally destructive to the State and to the fortunes of individuals. Not only was it the case then, but even since the present return of peace, the taxes are so enormous, as almost to deprive us of the means of subsistence, and to cut off all hope of a happier future. To all this are added the calamities which have befallen my native Switzerland, where my relatives reside, and where, but for the disasters which have also befallen them, I might, in case of necessity, have found a refuge. But their fortunes also are ruined. My brother, whose estate was consumed in supporting the war, has at last been disappointed in his hopes of promotion, and is even disgraced. When I came to Leyden, I left at Amsterdam a more lucrative and a more agreeable situation. I did it to oblige the family of Ruhnken, for whose subsistence I could not induce the government to make provision, except upon the condition that I would succeed him in the professorship. I formerly thought of providing for your younger son, by obtaining a stipend for him at Leyden, if he should give promise of eminence. But, in the first place, the stipend here is so small, that it will not more than half pay a student's expenses; and, furthermore, since the recent change in our government, all foreigners are excluded from that privilege. Therefore, it will be best for him, while he shall remain at Marburg, to study under his kinsman, Creuzer. * * * Remember me affectionately to your sons, and to Creuzer. And, as And, as to yourself, keep up all possible courage, and frequently call to mind the memorable words of Socrates; "There is nothing evil to a good man, whether living or dead; nor is he ever neglected by the gods." * * * WYTTENBACH TO C. D. BECK. Leyden, May 12, 1805. I fear that the accompanying pamphlets will be an old story to you. But my delay will be made up by your indulgence, and your confidence in my good intentions. For I think I may infer from your writings, that, to distinguished learning, you add equal gentleness and amiableness of character. I therefore indulge the hope, that you will kindly receive this trifling present, although it is nothing at all, either in quality or extent, when compared with the transactions of the Leipsic Philological Society, which you were so kind as to present to me three years ago. I should have sent something immediately in return, if any opportunity had offered. Of my Annotations on Plutarch, nothing but the introduction is yet printed. The remainder I dare not yet send to England. We have met with a great loss, in the death of our excellent friend, Villoison, which I feel the more sensibly, as I have, from the time of my first acquaintance with him in Paris, thirty years ago, maintained to the present time an interchange of letters and kind offices. WYTTENBACH TO F. A. WOLF. Leyden, July 5, 1805. I often call to mind, my dear Wolf, that day which you gave me at Amsterdam, and which I passed most agreeably in talking with you. I had hoped it would be but the beginning of an uninterrupted intimacy and intercourse by letter, between us, though absent from each other. But hitherto, that expectation has been disappointed, and the fault has been all my own. I regret exceedingly that I have permitted it to be so. We ought to be on terms of intimacy, from our common love of letters and of our lamented Ruhnken. Though, as I have said, the fault is mine, it was not owing to any want of inclination, but to a want of time and health, which has compelled me to drop, or defer my correspondence with my dearest friends, and with you among the rest. But your Homer, sent to me last September, by Gösch, a gift inscribed to me in your own hand-writing, has strangely moved me to reply. I have sent you in return, a present of my last work, which was conveyed through Luchtmans, to Leipsic, whence it will go to your friend, Eichstaedt, and thence to you. I now put my letter into the hands of Gösch, who will see that it is immediately delivered to you. After your return, I visited Ruhnken several times, who seemed to take great pleasure in speaking of you, and held you in so high estimation as to desire you for a colleague, and manifested unusual anxiety for your reply. You surely had good reason for declining such terms; for, on the salary which was offered, you would have had to starve like a hero; or if, as would have been necessary, you had received twice that amount, a flame of envy would have been kindled around you. Our friend Ruhnken died in May, 1798. I came to Leyden to make preparations for his funeral, and came frequently afterwards to console and cheer the afflicted family, the depth of whose sorrow I will not attempt to describe. Your letter arrived at the same time, but I could not well answer it then. These things, though I had not forgotten you, my dear Wolf, escaped my memory. The distress of the bereaved family engaged all my thoughts. In their behalf, I made application to the curators for a pension. As it was a time of change in our public affairs, and new curators frequently succeeded to the place of the old, much time was consumed without bringing any thing to pass, and the estate of the family was, in the meantime, wasting away. When the public commotions were in some degree allayed, I addressed a communication to the new curators, presenting as strongly as I could, the claims of the Ruhnken family. They replied, that my request could be granted only on condition of my succeeding Ruhnken myself. I hesitated, but at length consented, though with less salary than had been offered me here before, and less than I was then receiving in Amsterdam, where my situation was, furthermore, in every respect agreeable. I came to Leyden, supposing that every one applauded this good deed of mine. But how sadly was I disappointed! The daughters of my deceased friend proved ungrateful; the mother acknowledged my benefaction. But others envied and slandered me. I will mention, as you may not know it, that the younger daughter, the one who was blind, died in May, 1801. Elizabeth, the elder, went to France, and was married to a military surgeon, whose acquaintance she had made in Leyden. He is now a country doctor in Normandy. Her situation is not altogether agreeable; it |