this sort, worthy applause or notice, has ever yet appeared.

The few, even among professed scholars, that are able to read the
ancient Historians in their inimitable, originals, are startled at the
paradox, of Bolingbroke who boldly prefers Guicciardini to Thucydides;
that is, the most verbose and tedious to the most comprehensive and
concise of writers, and a collector of facts to one who was himself an
eye-witness and a principal actor in the important story he relates.
And, indeed, it may be well presumed, that the ancient histories
exceed the modern from this single consideration, that the latter are
commonly compiled by recluse scholars, unpractised in business, war,
and politics; whilst the former are many of them written by ministers,
commanders, and princes themselves. We have, indeed, a few flimsy
memoirs, particularly in a neighbouring nation, written by persons
deeply interested in the transactions they describe; but these I
imagine will not be compared to "The retreat of the ten thousand"
which Xenophon himself conducted and related, nor to "the Galic war"
of Cæsar, nor "The precious fragments" of Polybius, which our modern
generals and ministers would not have discredited by diligently
perusing, and making them the models of their conduct as well as of
their style. Are the reflections of Machiavel so subtle and refined as
those of Tacitus? Are the portraits of Thuanus so strong and
expressive as those of Sallust and Plutarch? Are the narrations of
Davila so lively and animated, or do his sentiments breathe such a
love of liberty and virtue, as those of Livy and Herodotus?

The supreme excellence of the ancient Architecture the last particular
to be touched, I shall not enlarge upon, because it has never once
been called in question, and because it is abundantly testified by the
awful ruins of amphitheatres, aqueducts, arches, and columns, that are