ke of Gloucester when
Gibbon brought him the second volume of the "Decline and Fall." Laying
the quarto on the table he said, "Another d--d thick square book! Always
scribble, scribble, scribble! Eh! Mr. Gibbon?"[149]

During my researches at the Athenaeum, I found an octavo edition, the
first volume of which was published in 1791, and on the cover was
written, "Given to the Athenaeum by Charles Cabot. Received December 10,
1807." This was the year of the foundation of the Athenaeum. On the
quarto of 1777 there was no indication, but the scholarly cataloguer
informed me that it was probably also received in 1807. Three later
editions than these two are in this library, the last of which is Bury's
of 1900 to which I have constantly referred. Meditating in the quiet
alcove, with the two early editions of Gibbon before me, I found an
answer to the comment of H. G. Wells in his book "The Future in America"
which I confess had somewhat irritated me. Thus wrote Wells: "Frankly I
grieve over Boston as a great waste of leisure and energy, as a
frittering away of moral and intellectual possibilities. We give too
much to the past.... We are obsessed by the scholastic prestige of mere
knowledge and genteel remoteness."[150] Pondering this iconoclastic
utterance, how delightful it is to light upon evidence in the way of
well-worn volumes that, since 1807, men and women here have been
carefully reading Gibbon, who, as Dean Milman said, "has bridged the
abyss between ancient and modern times and connected together the two
worlds of history."[151] A knowledge of "The Decline and Fall" is a
basis for the study of all other history; it is a mental discipline, and
a training for the problems of modern life. These Athenaeum readers did
not waste their leisure, did not give too much to the past. They were
supremely right to take account of the scholastic prestige of Gibbon,
and to endeavor to make part of their mental fiber this greatest history
of modern times.

I will close with a quotation from the Autobiography, which in its
sincerity and absolute freedom from literary cant will be cherished by
all whose desire is to behold "the bright countenance of truth in the
quiet and still air of delightful studies." "I have drawn a high prize
in the lottery of life," wrote Gibbon. "I am disgusted with the
affectation of men of letters, who complain that they have renounced a
substance for a shadow and that their fame affords a poor compensation