342 | 
fection for his wife and daughter. 
It-was during his concealment of 
ten months at Paris that he wrote 
his excellent history of the progress 
of human | understanding.—T hus 
perished one of the most illustrious 
of the French literari that the pre- 
sent age had produced. 
Biographical Anecdoies of the Count 
de Buffon, extradied from a Ma- 
nuscript Fourney to Montbart in 
1785, by Herault de Sechelles. 
‘ I beheld -a fine figure noble and 
placid. Notwithstanding he is 78 
years old, one would not attribute 
to ,him ‘above 60 years; and al- 
though he had spent sixteen sleep- 
less nights, in consequence of being 
affliéted with the stone, he looked 
as fresh as a child, and as calm as 
ifin health. “His bust, by Houdon, 
appears to me very like ; although 
the effe& of the black eyes and 
brows is lost. 
- His white hair was accurately 
drest: this was one of his whims, 
and he owns it. He has it papered 
,at night, and curled with irons 
sometimes twice a day, in the morn- 
ing and before supper. He had five 
small curls on each side. His bed- 
gown was a yellow and white stripe, 
flowered with blue. 
* His voice is strong for his age, 
and very pleasant: in~ general, 
when he speaks, his looks are 
fixed on nothing, but roll unguard- 
edly about. His favourite words 
are tout ga and pardien, which recur 
perpetually, His vanity is undis- 
guised and prominent; here are a 
few inctances. 
I told him I read much in his 
works, ‘‘ What are you reading?” 
said he. I answered, the Vues sur 
la Nature, ‘ There’are passages 
of the highest eloquence in’ them :” 
replied'he instantly, 
ANNUAL REGISTER, | 1796. 
His son has ereétéd a monument 
to the father in the gardens: of 
Montbart. It is a simple column, 
near a lofty tower, and it is 
inscribed ° 
Excelsz turri humilis clumna — - 
Parenti suo flius Burron, 1585. 
The™father burst into tears’on 
seeing this monument, ‘and said to 
the young man, ‘* Son, this will do 
you hénour.” 
The son shewed me about ‘the 
grounds. We came to the closet 
in which this great man laboured ; - 
it is in‘a pavillion called the towér 
of Saint Louis, and it is up stairs. 
The entrance is by a green folding 
door. ‘The simplicity of the labo- 
ratory astonishes. The ceiling is 
vaulted, the walls are green, the’ 
floor is in squares: it contains an 
ordinary wooden desk, and an afm 
chair; but not 4 book nor a paper. 
‘This nakedness has its*effe@t. The 
imagination clothes’ “it with the 
splendid pages of Buffon. There 
is another sanétuary in which he 
was wont to compose ; ‘* the cradle 
of natural history,’’ as prince Henry 
called it, whet’ ‘he ‘went thither.: 
It was there that Rousseau pros— 
trated himself and (kissed the’ 
threshold. I ‘hentidnéd this ¢irz 
cumstanceé to Buffon. ‘* Yes,’? said 
he, ‘* Rousseau bowed down to me.’’” 
This cabinet is wainscoted, farnish- 
ed with ‘screens, a sofa, and with 
drawings of birds and beasts. The 
chairs ate covered with black lea. 
ther, and the desk is near the chim. 
ney, and of walnut tree. A trea= 
tise on the loadstone, on which he 
was thenémployedy lay onit. 
His example and His discourse 
cohvince me, that he who passion. 
ately desires glory, is sure in the 
end to obtain it. The’ wish must’ 
not be‘a momentary, ‘but an every 
day erfhotion, Buffon said to me 
on 
