rous egotism--the fate of those
who concentrate all their observations in their own individual
feelings. There are minds which may think too much, by conversing too
little with books and men. Hobbes exulted he had read little; he had
not more than half-a-dozen books about him; hence he always saw things
in his own way, and doubtless this was the cause of his mania for
disputation.

He wrote against dogmas with a spirit perfectly dogmatic. He liked
conversation on the terms of his own political system, provided
absolute authority was established, peevishly referring to his own
works whenever contradicted; and his friends stipulated with
strangers, that "they should not dispute with the old man." But what
are we to think of that pertinacity of opinion which he held even with
one as great as himself? Selden has often quitted the room, or Hobbes
been driven from it, in the fierceness of their battle.[374] Even to
his latest day, the "war of words" delighted the man of confined
reading. The literary duels between Hobbes and another hero celebrated
in logomachy, the Catholic priest, Thomas White, have been recorded by
Wood. They had both passed their eightieth year, and were fond of
paying visits to one another: but the two literary Nestors never met
to part in cool blood, "wrangling, squabbling, and scolding on
philosophical matters," as our blunt and lively historian has
described.[375]

His little qualities were the errors of his own selfish philosophy;
his great ones were those of nature. He was a votary to his
studies:[376] he avoided marriage, to which he was inclined; and
refused place and wealth, which he might have enjoyed, for literary
leisure. He treated with philosophic pleasantry his real contempt of
money.[377] His health and his studies were the sole objects of his
thoughts; and notwithstanding that panic which so often disturbed
them, he wrote and published beyond his ninetieth year. He closes the
metrical history of his life with more dignity than he did his life
itself; for his mind seems always to have been greater than his
actions. He appeals to his friends for the congruity of his life with
his writings; for his devotion to justice; and for a generous work,
which no miser could have planned; and closes thus:--

And now complete my four-and-eighty years,
Life's lengthen'd plot is o'er, and the last scene appears.[378]

Of the works of Hobbes we must not conclude, as Hume tells us, that
"they have