Fonthill Abbey, which had been destroyed by fire, and re-built during the life-time of the elder Beckford, was on account of its bad site demolished, and again re-built under the superintendence of our author himself, assisted by James Wyatt, Esq., the architect, with a magnificence that excited the greatest attention and wonder at the time. The total outlay of building Fonthill, including furniture, articles of virtu, etc., must have been enormous, not much within the million, as estimated by the “Times.” A writer in the “Athenæum” mentions £400,000 as the sum. Beckford informed Mr. Cyrus Redding, that the exact cost of building Fonthill was £273,000. The distinguishing architectural peculiarity of Fonthill Abbey, was a lofty tower, 280 feet in height. This tower was prominently shadowed forth in “Vathek,” and shows how strong a hold the idea had upon his mind. Such was his impatience to see Fonthill completed, that he had the works continued by torchlight, with relays of workmen. During the progress of the building, the tower caught fire, and was partly destroyed. The owner, however, was present, and enjoyed the magnificent burning spectacle. It was soon restored; but a radical fault in laying the foundation, caused it eventually to fall down, and leave Fonthill a ruin in the life-time of its founder. Not so much his extravagant mode of life, which is the common notion, as the loss of two large estates in a law suit (the value of which may be inferred from the fact, that _fifteen hundred slaves_ were upon them) induced our author to quit Fonthill, and offer it and its contents for public sale. There was a general desire to see the interior of the palace, in which its lord had lived in a luxurious seclusion, so little admired by the curious of the fashionable world. “He is fortunate,” says the “Times” of 1822, “who finds a vacant chair within twenty miles of Fonthill; the solitude of a private apartment is a luxury which few can hope for.” . . . “Falstaff himself could not _take his ease_ at this moment within a dozen leagues of Fonthill.” . . . “The beds through the county are (literally) doing double duty—people who come in from a distance during the night must wait to go to bed until others get up in the morning.” . . . “Not a farm-house, however humble,—not a cottage near Fonthill, but gives shelter to fashion, to beauty, and rank; ostrich plumes, which, by their very waving, we can trace back to Piccadilly, are seen nodding at a casement window over a depopulated poultry-yard.” The costly treasures of art and virtu, as well as the furniture of the rich mansion, were scattered far and wide; and one of its tables served the writer of this memoir to scribble upon, when first stern necessity, or yet sterner ambition, urged him to add his mite to the Babel tower of literature. At that table I first read “Vathek.” I have read it often since, and every perusal has increased my admiration.