but beyond that period, it is hardly reasonable or desirable to wish it; for if he die, he will then have been gathered to his fathers in a good old age.[156] But the labours of Dom Brial are not confined to the “Recueil,” just mentioned.  They shine conspicuous in the “Histoire Litteraire de la France,” of which fifteen goodly quarto volumes are already printed; and they may be also traced in the famous work entitled L’Art de, Verifier les Dates, in three large folio volumes, published in 1783, &c.  “Quand il est mort, il n’a point son eleve"[157]—­says his old and intimate friend the ABBE BETENCOURT; an observation, which, when I heard it, filled me with mingled regret and surprise—­for why is this valuable, and most patriotic of all departments of literature, neglected abroad as well as at home?  It is worth all the digamma disquisitions in the world; and France, as well as Italy, was once rich in historical Literati.

Dom Brial is very little above the mean height.  He stoops somewhat from age; but, considering his years, and incessantly sedentary labours, it is rather marvellous that he does not exhibit more striking proofs of infirmity.  His voice is full and strong; his memory is yet retentive, and his judgment sound.  His hand-writing is extremely firm and legible.  No man ever lived, or ever will, or can live, more completely devoted to his labours.  They are his meat and drink—­as much as his “bouilli et petites poies:”—­of which I saw him partaking on repeated visits.  Occupied from morning till night in the prosecution of his studies—­in a quarter of Paris extremely secluded—­he appears to be almost unconscious of passing occurrences without;[158] except it be of the sittings of the Institute, which he constantly attends, on Fridays, as one of the Secretaries.  I have twice dined with him; and, each time, in company with the Abbe Betencourt, his brother Secretary at the Institute; and his old, long-tried, and most intimate friend.

The Abbe BETENCOURT was not unknown to me during his late residence in England, as an Emigre:  but he is still-better known to our common friend * * *, who gave me the letter of introduction to Dom Brial.  That mutual knowledge brought us quickly together, and made us as quickly intimate.  The Abbe is above the middle height; wears his own grey hair; has an expressive countenance, talks much; and well, and at times drolly.  Yet his wit or mirth is well attempered to his years.  His manner of rallying his venerable friend is very amusing; for Dom Brial, from his deafness, (like most deaf men) drops at times into silence and abstraction.  On each of my dinner-visits, it was difficult to say which was the hotter day.  But Dom Brial’s residence, at the hour of dinner, (which was four—­for my own accommodation) happened luckily to be in the shade.  We sat down, three, to a small circular table, (in the further or fourth room) on the tiled floor of which was some very ancient wine, within the immediate grasp of the right hand of the host.  An elderly female servant attended in the neighbouring room.  The dinner was equally simple, relishing, and abundant; and the virtues of the “old wine” were quickly put into circulation by the Benedictin founder of the feast.