weak understanding, gave car to their calumay, and they worked upon his passions to that degree that he resolved to murder the unfortu rate princess. Accordingly he set out to perpetrate the horrid deed, accompied by three et his courtiers, and a number of zaned men. Donna Ignez at this time resided in Coimbra, in the patree of Santa Clara, where she passed her time in the most private manner, edueating her children, and attending to the duties of her domestic af fairs.. The prince, unfortunately, was abroad on a hunting party when the king arrived. The beautiful victim came out to meet him, with her two infant children, who clung about his knees, streaming aloud for mercy. She prostrates herself at his feet, bathes them with tears, and supplicates pity for her chil. dren, beseeching him to banish her to some reinote desert, where she would glad.y wander an exile with her babes. The feelings of nature arrested his arm, just raised to plunge a dagger into her breast. But his Counsellors arging the necessity of her death, and reproaching him for his disregard to the welfare of the nation, he relapsed into his former resolution, and commanded them to dispatch her! at which they rushed forward, regardless of the cries of innocence and beauty, and instantly struck off her head. Soon after the above transaction the prince arrived; but, alas! found those eyes that were wont to watch his return with impatience, closed in death. The sight of his beloved Igne weltering in gere filled his mind with distrac tion, and kindied overy "spark ef revenge within a se in the agony et pr. be called cloud on the avenging bedret Traven to punch those mensters, who ut. prived him of all he held dear upta earth. As soon as her remains were interred, he put himself at the head of an army, who sympathized with his distress; they carried fire and sword through the adjacent provinces, and laid waste the estates of the murderers. The royal troops could not oppose them; they fed at the appearance of the gallant avengers of innocence. But the king, wretched man! could not fly from himself; the cries of his grand children still echoed in his ears, and the bleeding image of their unfortunate mother was con stantly before his eyes. Death at length commiserated his situation, and he expired full of repentance for his accumulated crimes. He was an indutiful son, an unnatural brother, and a cruci taʼher. The prince now ascended the throne, in the thirty seventh year of his age. He no sooner obtaized the power, than he edit, ted ta revenge the death of his belov Ignez. The three murderers; namely, Pedro Collo, Diogo Lo. pez Pacheo, and Alvaro Gonsalvez, had fled into Castile, previous to the death of the late king. The prince ordered them to be tried os a charge of high treason, and being found guilty, their estates were confiscated. Next he contrived to seize their persons, by agreeing with the king of Castile, dat bok should reciprocally deliver up the Portuguese and Castilian fugitives who sought protection in their respective dominions. Gonsalvez and 1 and Coello were accordingly at rested, and sent in chains to Portygal; Pacheo escaped into France. The king was at Santarem when the delinquents were brought to him; he instantly ordered them to be laid on a pyre that was previous. ly formed, contiguous to which he had a banquet prepared. Before the torch was kindied, and whilst they agonized at every pore under the most lingering torture, their hearts were cut out, one at his breast, the other at his back. Lastly, the pyre was set on a blaze, in presence of which he dined, whilst they evaporated in flames. Having thus far appeased his insatiable thirst of revenge, he ordered his marriage with Donna Ignez to be published throughout the kingdom; then her body was taken out of the sepulchre, covered with regal robes, and placed on a magni. ficent throne, around which his ministers assembled, and did homage to their lawful queen. After this ceremony, her corpse was translated from Coimbra to Alcobaca, with a pomp hitherto unknown in the kingdom; though the distance between these two places is fifty-two miles, yet the road was lined on both sides all the way, with people holding lighted tapers. The funeral was attended by all the noblemen and gentlemen in Portugal, dressed in Jong mourning cloks; their ladies also attended, dressed in white mourning veils. The cloud which the above disaster cast over the mind of Don Pedro was never totally dispersed; and as he lived in a state of celibacy the remainder of his life, agreeably to his vow, there was nothing to divert his attention from rumi. nating on the fate of his beloved spouses The impression her death made on him was strongly characterized, not only in the tortures he infided on her murderers, but also in dl the acts of his administra tion, which, from their severity, induced some to give him the appellation of Pedro the Cruel; by others he was called Pedro the Just and, upon the whole, it appears, that the last title most properly appertained to him. Extracts from the Garrespondence of Extrail if a Letter from Dr. Robert- **** Since my last I have read Mr. Gibbon's history with much attention, and great pleasure. It is a work of very high merit indeed. He possesses that industry of research, without which no man deserves the name of an historian. His narrative is perspicuous and interesting; his style is elegant and forcible, though in some passages I think rather too laboured, and in others too quaint. But these defects are amply compensated by the beauty of the genral flow of language, and a very peculiar happiness in many of his expression.. 1 have traced him in many of his quotations (for experience has taught me ta suspect the accuracy of my brother" pon.msn}," and I find he refers to no passage but what he has seen with his own eyes. I hope the book will be as successful as it deserves to be. I B b3 have have not yet yet read the two last chapters, but am sorry, from what I have heard of them, that he has taken such a tone in them as will give great offence, and hurt the sale of the book. Mr. Ferguson to Mr. Gibbon. I received, about eight days ago, after I had been reading your history, the copy which you have been so good as to send me, and for which I now trouble you with my thanks. But even if I had not been thus called upon to offer you my respects, I could not have refrained from congratulating you on the merit, and undoubted success, of this valuable performance. The persons of this place whose judgment you will value most, agree in opinion, that you have made a great addition to the classical lite. rature of England, and given us what Thucydides proposed leav. ing with his own countrymen, a possession in perpetuity. Men of a certain modesty and merit always exceed the expectations of their friends; and it is with very great pleasure I tell you, that although you must have observed in me every mark of consideration and regard, that this is, nevertheless, the case, I receive your instruction, and study your model, with great deference, and join with every one else, in applauding the extent of your plan, in hands so well able to execute it. Some of your read. ers, I find, were impatient to get at the fifteenth chapter, and began at that place. I have not heard much of their criticism, but am told that many doubt of your or. thodoxy. I wish to be always of the charitable side, while I own you have proved that the clearest stream may become foul when it comes to run over the muddy bot. tom of human nature. I have not stayed to make any particular remarks. If any should occur on the second reading, I shall not fail to lay in ny claim to a more need. ed, and more useful admonition from you, in case I ever produce any thing that merits your attention. And am, with the greatest respect, Dear Sir, Your most obliged, and most humble Servant, ADAM FERGUSON. Extract of a Letter from Mr. David Hume to Mr. Strahan, dated Edieburgh, April 8th, 1776. **** I am very much taken with Mr. Gibbon's Roman history, which came from your press, and am glad to hear of its success. There will no books of reputation now be printed in London but through your hands and Mr. Cadell's. The author tells me, that he is already preparing a second edition. I re. solved to have given him my advice with regard to the manner of printing it; but as I am now writing to you. it is the same thing. He ought certainly to print the number of the chapter at the head of the margin; and it would be better if something of the contents could also be added. One is also plagued with his notes, according to the present method of printing the bock: when a note is aunounced, you turn to the end of the volume; and there you often find nothing but a reference to an authority. All these authorities ought only to be printed at the margin, or the bottom of the page. I de. sire a copy of my new edition should be sent to Mr. Gibbon; as wishing that gentleman, whom I so highly value, should peruse me in a form the least imperfect to which I can bring my work. ***** Dr. Smith's performance is another excellent work that has come from your press this winter; but I have ventured to tell him, that it requires too much thought to be as popular as Mr. Gibbon's. Mr. Ferguson to Mr. Gibbon. Edinburgh, April 18th, 1776. Dear Sir, I SHOULD make some apology for not writing you sooner an an. swer to your obliging letter: but if you should honour me frequently with such requests, you will find, that, with very good intentions, I am a very dilatory and irregular correspondent. I am sorry to tell you, that our respectable friend [Mr. Hume] is still declining in his health; he is greatly emaciated, and loses strength. He talks familiarly of his near prospect of dying. His mother, it seems, died under the same symptoms; and it appears so little necessary, or proper, to flatter him, that no one attempts it. I never observed his understanding more clear, or his humour more pleasant and lively, He has a great aversion to leave the tranquillity of his own house, to go in search of health among inns and hostlers. And his friends here gave way to him for some time; but now think it necessary that he should make an effort to try what change of place and air, or any thing else sir John Pringle may ad. vise, can do for him. I left him this morning in the mind to com ply in this article, and I hope that he will be prevailed on to set out in a few days. He is just now sixty-five. I am very glad that the pleasure you give us, recoils a little on yourself, through our feeble testimony. I have, as you suppose, been employed, at any intervals of leisure or rest I have had for some years, in taking notes, or collect ing materials, for a history of the distractions that broke down the' Roman republic, and ended in the establishment of Augustus and his immediate successors. The compliment you are pleased to pay, I cannot accept of, even to my subject. Your subject now appears with advantages it was not supposed to have had; and I suspect that the magnificence of the mouldering ruin will appear more strik. ing, than the same building when the view is perplexed with scaf folding, workinen, and disorderly lodgers, and the car is stunned with the noise of destructions and repairs, and the alarms of fire. The night which you begin to describe is solemn, and there are gleams of light superior to what is to be found in any other time. I comfort myself, that as my trade is the study of human nature, I could not fix on a more interesting corner of it, than the end of the Roman republic. Whether my compilations should ever deserve the attention of any one besides myself, must remain to be determined, after they are farther advanced. I take the liberty to trouble you with the inclosed for Mr. Smith, whose uncertain stay in London makes me at a loss how to direct for him. You have both such reason to be pleased with the world just now, Bb 4 that that I hope you are pleased with cach other. I am, with the greatest respect, Your most obedient. Mr. Gibbon to Dr. Raberizon. SIR, WHEN I ventured to assume the character of historian, the first, the most natural, but at the same time most ambitious, wish which I en. tertained, was to obtain the approbation of Dr. Robertson and of Mr. Hume; two names which friendship united, and which pos. terity will never separate. I shall not therefore attempt to dissemble, though I cannot easily express, the pleasure which I received from your obliging letter, as well as from the intelligence of your most valuable present. The satisfaction which I should otherwise have enjoyed, in common with the public, will now be heightened by a sentiment of a more personal and flattering na. ture; and I shall frequently whis. per to myself, that I have in some measure deserved th esteem of the writer whom I admire. A short excursion which I made to this place, during the summer months, has occasioned some delay in my receiving your letter, and will prevent my possessing, till my return, the copy of your history, which you so politely desired Mr. Strahan to send me. But I have already gratified the eagerness of my impatience; and although I was obliged to return the book much sooner than I could have wished, I have seen enough to con. vince ine, that the present publi. cation will suppert, and, if pos sible, will extend the fame of the author; that the materials are colletted with diligence, and arranged with skill; that the first book contains a learned satisfactory account of the progress of discovery; that the achievements, the dangers, and the crimes, of the Spanish adrenturers are related with a temperate spirit; and that the most original, perhaps the most curious, portion of the history of human manners is at length rescued from the hands of sophists and declaimers. Lord Stormont, and the few in this ca. pital, who have had an opportunity of perusing the history of America, unanimously concur in the same sentiments. Your work is already become a favourite topic of public conversation; and Mr. Suard is repeatedly pres-ed, in my hearing, to fix the time when his translation will appear. I flatter myself you will not abandon your design of visiting London next winter: as I already anticipate, in my own mind, the advantages which I shall derive from so picasing and so honourable a connexion. In the mean while, I should esteem myself happy, if you cau'd think of any iterary commission, in the execution of which I might be useful to you at Paris, where I propose to stay till very near the meeting of Parliamest. Let me, for instance, sugges: an inquiry, which cannot be indifferent to you, and which might, perhaps, be within my reach. A few days ago I dined with Beniofski, the tamaus adventurer, who escaped from his exile at Kamschatska, and returned Vinto Europe by Japan and China. His narrative was amusing, though |