onfederate states; the splendid
trophies of the Austrian, Burgundian, and Italian wars; and the wisdom
of a nation, which, after some sallies of martial adventure, has been
content to guard the blessings of peace with the sword of freedom.

--Manus haec inimica tyrannis
Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem.

My judgment, as well as my enthusiasm, was satisfied with the glorious
theme; and the assistance of Deyverdun seemed to remove an insuperable
obstacle. The French or Latin memorials, of which I was not ignorant,
are inconsiderable in number and weight; but in the perfect acquaintance
of my friend with the German language, I found the key of a more
valuable collection. The most necessary books were procured; he
translated, for my use, the folio volume of Schilling, a copious and
contemporary relation of the war of Burgundy; we read and marked the
most interesting parts of the great chronicle of Tschudi; and by his
labour, or that of an inferior assistant, large extracts were made
from the History of Lauffer and the Dictionary of Lew: yet such was the
distance and delay, that two years elapsed in these preparatory steps;
and it was late in the third summer (1767) before I entered, with these
slender materials, on the more agreeable task of composition. A specimen
of my History, the first book, was read the following winter in a
literary society of foreigners in London; and as the author was
unknown, I listened, without observation, to the free strictures,
and unfavourable sentence, of my judges. The momentary sensation was
painful; but their condemnation was ratified by my cooler thoughts. I
delivered my imperfect sheets to the flames,--and for ever renounced
a design in which some expence, much labour, and more time had been so
vainly consumed. I cannot regret the loss of a slight and superficial
essay, for such the work must have been in the hands of a stranger,
uninformed by the scholars and statesmen, and remote from the libraries
and archives of the Swiss republics. My ancient habits, and the presence
of Deyverdun, encouraged me to write in French for the continent of
Europe; but I was conscious myself that my style, above prose and below
poetry, degenerated into a verbose and turgid declamation. Perhaps I
may impute the failure to the injudicious choice of a foreign language.
Perhaps I may suspect that the language itself is ill adapted to sustain
the vigour and dignity of an important