SECTION I.

THERE can be no stronger proof of the high estimation in which Mr. Hume was held, and of his being considered as an extra­ordinary character, than the eager, yet, per­haps, idle curiosity which the public enter­tained to learn the most minute circumstances respecting his exit.

Mr. Hume's natural temper disposed him to feel, with exquisite sensibility, every thing which affected his literary fame; and notwith­standing his boasted equanimity, philosophy did not shield him from the excessive chagrin which he felt from those arrows, which Envy and Prejudice darted at his reputation. Anxiety, [Page 2]relative to his difference with the whimsical Rous­seau extracted from him a personal, but com­plete justification. The illiberal criticisms which Mr: Gray ^* threw out against him, in his Epistolary Correspondence, gave him much concern. He saw, with mortification, the laurel wreath which Oxford weaved to cover the bald reputation of Beattie, his antagonist, not his rival. And such was the antipathy that subsisted between him and Mr. Tytler, [Page 3]the author of the Vindication of Mary Queen of Scots; that not satisfied with a most acri­monious note, ^* which he has published in the last edition of his History, he would not even sit in company with him, and the appearance of the one effected the instantaneous withdraw­ing of the other.

Mr. Hume, in the History of his Life, has not informed us of his having stood candi­date for the Professorship of Moral Philosophy, in the University of Edinburgh; of the oppo­sition which the Scots clergy excited to his pre­tensions; [Page 4]nor of the enquiry which was moved for in the venerable assembly of the Church of Scotland, respecting the principles incul­cated in his writings; and of the censures pro­posed to be inflicted on him as the author of Heretical Doctrines.

He has observed in the nineteenth page of his Life, that his History of Great Britain met at first with an indifferent reception. But with respect to this, Mr. Hume himself was mistaken. The first edition of the History of Great Britain, for the reigns of James the First and Charles the First, was printed at Edin­burgh, A. D. 1754, for Hamilton, Balfour, and Neil. Hamilton, upon his expectations from this book, took a shop, and settled in London. He applied to the London booksellers to take copies of the History from him, but none of them would deal with an interloper. Hamilton, sadly distressed, has recourse to his friend, Mr. Millar; Millar obliges him by taking fifty copies: but when gentlemen, in his well-frequented shop, asked for the book, ‘Pho, (says Millar generously) it is incomplete, another vo­lume is coming out soon. You are wel­come to the use of this in the mean time.’ Thus did Millar circulate the fifty copies among some hundred readers, without selling one, [Page 5]And by this ingenious device attained his fa­vourite purpose, of getting Hamilton to sell him his right in the copy for a trifle, as being an insignificant performance.

Mr. Hume, and the late Reverend Dr. Jar­dine, one of the ministers of Edinburgh, lived in habits of much intimacy. Religion, natural and revealed, was frequently the subject of their conversation. It happened one night, after they had entertained themselves with theological con­troversy, that Mr. Hume's politeness, when bidding adieu, would not permit Dr. Jardine (whose oeconomy was not incumbered with many domesticks) to light him down stairs. Mr. Hume stumbled in the dark, and the Doc­tor hearing it, ran to his assistance with a candle, and when he had recovered, his guest said to him, ‘David, I have often told you not to rely too much upon yourself, and that natural light is not sufficient.’ This pleasantry Mr. Hume never relished.

As a proof of the steadiness of Mr. Hume's sceptical tenets it may be observed, that when he published the first volume of his History of Great Britain, he was advised, that the opi­nions he had delivered concerning matters of religion, would hurt the sale of his work; and [Page 6]that some apology would be proper. He ac­cordingly in his second volume, p. 449, when speaking of the religious parties, subjoins the following note, which when his fame was esta­blished beyond the reach of party, he cancelled as unworthy of admission.

To say barely, that Mr. Hume in his moral character was unexceptionable, would be doing him injustice; he was truly amiable, gentle, hospitable, and humane. His temper was cast in the happiest mould, if we may not except to his anxious and extreme sensibility, in every thing which affected his literary reputation. It is told, that an elderly woman in the suburbs of Edinburgh, whose excess of zeal was pro­portionable to her want of sense and discretion, called on Mr. Hume; declaimed violently against his sceptical principles, as she had [Page 10]learned them by report; represented, that he was nodding on the brink of everlasting de­struction; and delivered an earnest prayer, that it would please divine grace to give him to see the error of his ways. Mr. Hume listened to her with attention and good humour, thanked the lady for her concern about his future wel­fare, and expressed a desire to know what was her line in life. She informed him, that she was a married woman, and that her husband was a tallow-chandler in the neighbourhood; upon which Mr. Hume replied, ‘Good wo­man, since you have expressed so earnest a desire that I should be inspired with inward light, I beg you will supply me with out­ward light also.’ The matron retired, not a little satisfied with the commission which he gave her, and her husband thenceforwards sup­plied Mr. Hume's family with candles.

Notwithstanding the ideas which zealots may have formed of Mr. Hume's principles, as latitudinarian, as atheistical, as damnable: his brother's notions of them were very different. For, speaking of the Historian one day, he expressed himself in this manner, ‘My bro­ther Davie is a good enough sort of a man, but rather narrow minded.’

[Page 11]As to Mr. Hume's abilities as a Philoso­pher, and an Historian, his Works are the basis on which posterity will rear his everlast­ing fame.

A few months before his death, Mr. Hume was persuaded by his friends to try the effects of a long journey, and the Bath waters: but finding his malady to increase, he resigned all hopes of life. He main­tained, however, his usual chearfulness; and being resolved to make the most of the short remainder of his lease, he wrote to his friends in Edinburgh, informing them of his resolution to be in that city by a cer­tain day, which he named; and separate­ly requested their company to dinner on the day following. Accordingly, Lord Elibank, Professor Ferguson, Mr. Home the Dramatic Poet, Dr. Smith, Dr. Blair, Dr. Black, and others of his literary friends, obeyed the summons, and took a sort of farewel dinner with their dying friend. His flowery rival in historic fame was also invited. But, alas! the Lord Advocate of Scotland invites this Reverend Doctor on that very day to a turtle feast. What was to be done? both invitations could not be embraced;—the con­test was short: For as it would seem, this [Page 12]Historian's taste is almost as elegant in eating, as in writing, he judiciously preferred the turtle of my Lord Advocate to the mutton of David Hume.

Never did death make more regular and visible approaches than to Mr. Hume. He met these with a chearfulness and resignation, which could only be the result of a vigorous understanding, and a well-spent life. He still went abroad, called upon his friends, but as the fatigue of a chaise was now become in­tolerable, he went in a sedan chair, and his ghastly looks bore the most striking appear­ances of speedy death. His situation was the more uncomfortable, that in his weak ema­ciated state, the physicians prescribed to him instead of a down bed, to lie on a rugged pallet ^*.

He had already settled his affairs, and his facetiousness still suggested to him to make some verbal legacies, which would not have been so suitable to the gravity of a solemn deed. His friend Mr. Home the Poet, af­fected [Page 13]a delicacy which abhorred even the taste of Port wine; this whimsical nicety had often been the subject of Mr. Hume's rail­lery, and he left verbally to his friend the poet, one bottle of Port, and ten dozen of Claret, but on this condition, that the poet should drink the Port at two sittings, before he tasted the Claret.

Such was the estimation in which Mr. Hume was held, from his amiable qualities as a citizen, as well as from his literary fame, that for some weeks before his death, his situation became the universal topick of con­versation and enquiry; each individual ex­pressing an anxious solicitude about his health, as if he had been his intimate and particular friend.

On the twenty-fifth of August, Mr. Hume's character was put beyond the reach of being sullied by human frailty ^*. As soon as he conceived himself to be in a dying way, he purchased a spot for the depositing of his [Page 14]ashes; the south-west corner of the Caston burying-ground at Edinburgh, a rock wherein never man had been laid. And from the par­ticular charge he gave about his corpse, it would seem he was not altogether devoid of apprehensions of its being treated with in­sult.

The anxious attention with which the public viewed every circumstance respecting Mr. Hume's illness was not terminated even by his death. From the busy curiosity of the mob, one would have presumed them to entertain notions that the ashes of Mr. Hume were to have been the cause or the object of miraculous exertion. As the physicians of London and Edinburgh were divided about the seat of his disorder, those of the city where he died, proposed that his body should be opened: but this, his brother, who was also his executor, agreeably to the orders of the deceased, would not permit.

It is hardly to be credited, that the grave­diggers, digging with pick-axes Mr. Hume's grave, should have attracted the gaping curio­sity of the multitude. That, notwithstand­ing [Page 15]a heavy rain, which fell during the in­terment, multitudes of all ranks gazed at the funeral procession ^*, as if they had expected the hearse to have been consumed in livid flames, or encircled with a ray of glory; that people in a sphere much above the rab­ble would have sent to the sexton for the keys of the burying-ground, and paid him to have access to visit the grave. And that on a Sunday evening (the gates of the bury­ing-ground being opened for another funeral) the company, from a public walk in the neighbourhood, flocked in such crouds to Mr. Hume's grave, that his brother actually became apprehensive upon the unusual con­course, and ordered the grave to be railed in with all expedition.

After his interment, two trusty persons watched the grave for about eight nights. The watch was set by eight at night; at which time a pistol was fired, and so continued to be every hour till day-light. Candles in a [Page 16]lanthorn were placed upon the grave, where they burned all night; and the grease which dropped in renewing or snuffing the candles was to be seen upon the grave afterwards.

SECTION II. On DEDICATIONS.

THE above particulars will have shewn to readers, the man and the philosopher, as well as the highest respect that was paid to eminent virtue and abilities, even by those in the lower classes, who had differed so widely from Mr. Hume in religious and political opi­nions, or who continued to reprobate his prin­ciples.

But let us next proceed to the apology for the life and writings of our philosopher, and see the reasons for his not having dedicated his works to any great men.

[Page 30]To confess the truth, he wrote, generally, upon subjects of which the modern nobility are, for the most part, so contemptibly ig­norant, that to have inscribed performances so scientific, to such patrons, would involve the Philosopher in a similar error of judg­ment. Indeed, nothing is more offensive to men of true taste, and right feeling, than the c [...]descension of persons of genius, to persons of [...], merely as such. This it is, more than any thing else, that hath helped to degrade the literary character; which, as it implies a superior vigour of intellect, and a more enlarged capacity, possesses, naturally, an unrivalled dignity. According to all the systems of all the sects, it is allowed that the human understanding is the greatest, as it is the most boasted, distinction of human beings; consequently, one of these beings must rise higher than another in the scale of rationality, only by so much, as the distinguishing part of him is elevated above that of others: So, like­wise, a shallow, illiterate, and vacant creature, must sink in the scale, by the same equitable proportion. Now, it is easy to prove, that, what are called the Great (who are but too com­monly the least of all God's little atoms), must, according to the very nature of things, be amongst the worst judges of literary merit, [Page 31]and therefore, speaking truly, its most im­proper patrons. Men, born to titles and to fortunes which descend without effort, or ex­ertion of any talent whatever, imagine the cul­tivation of the mind totally adventitious: nor does the man of fashion admit it into the catalogue of his accomplishments. Even the harlequin Lord Chesterfield—that successful smatterer—allows only such a share of phi­losophy, as belongs to the philosophy of the passions; which is nothing more in his idea, than guarding yourself while you make a fine, dextrous, and successful push at the passions of another. Giddiness, glitter, the indolence of plenty, and above all, its impudence, all contribute to render persons of rank, frivolous, voluble, superficial; the illustrious excep­tions of a Bacon, a Bolingbroke, a Shaftes­bury, a Lyttleton, a Prussia, a Clarendon, have nothing to do with a rule so deplorably general.

This being the case, can any thing be so preposterous, as to inscribe to the mere tin­sel of titles, the labours of learning, or the reflections of accurate and abstruse Philo­sophy? Yet hath this been, for many ages, the practice. Whence hath it happened? [Page 32]The question cannot be answered without affecting us.

Fortune seems to have neglected those, whom Nature hath most favoured; and men of genius, I suppose, think it but fair, to supply the defect by soliciting men of money. This solicitation, however, subjects them to all that rudeness and disdain, which those who have only a handful of authority, be­stow upon their flatterers. The flatterers are, in turn, well served; they set out upon a wrong principle.—The intercourse is alto­gether ill managed. Dedications, being an­other source of our national Hypocrisy, de­serve a more correct investigation. It has been just observed, that they are fundamen­tally false.

A dedication admits of two distinct defini­tions, of which, one belongs to the Patron, and one to the Author. The Patron not only receives every untruth that can be ex­pressed in the pride of Panegyric, as his due, but believes, at the same time, that he re­ceives it from an unprovided being, who is to exist for a certain space of time upon the success of his encomium. Something there­fore is usually sent to keep—(for I would [Page 33]adopt the great man's language—"the poor devil of an Author from starving:" The Au­thor's definition, is, on the other hand, so servile, as to deduct from every sentiment of pity, and make us confess the justice of his disgrace.—He is contented to lavish praises, of which the best man on earth, might blush to be the object, and he expects a golden reward, proportionate to the violent colour­ings of the varnish, and to the fainter, or fuller blaze of the "lye courteous." Which conduct shall we most reprobate? They are equally contemptible. The traffic should be regulated more consistently. If men of genius must needs address their works to men of rank, let them assert a more noble equality. If they draw the portraits of any person re­markable for any thing, let not a writer think, he is more honoured, than he honours; if he emblazons a name, which was before, glim­mering in obscurity, the obligation is, to all intents and purposes, on the side of the Patron; who, but for such imputed excel­lence, would have passed unobserved through life: if he faithfully displays a character al­ready much celebrated, he is still a benefac­tor to that character, if it were only for jog­ging the elbow of the public, which, but for [Page 34]such occasional mementos would soon forget the best and brightest man in the world.

Seriously, were literary persons to act upon some such principle as this, and shew their Patrons, that the dealing, was, in point both of praise and profit, entirely on the square, it would check much of that assurance which is now indulged, on the supposition that writers are to offer incense at the shrine of greatness; or,—in words more worthy so grovling a sub­ject, to making the faggot blaze to gratify folly, and then to be paid for burning the fingers, as the pittance is dispensed by a task­master. Of much more service, indeed, would it be to genius, science, and general learn­ing, if their votaries were more inclined to cherish a spirit of intellectual independency— if, instead of cringing to a courtier, or run­ning, from the most fordid motives, into panegyrical hyperbole, they were to assert their dignity, and shew the superior lustre of ta­lents to the dullness of titles, I say, if a spirit of this kind were aroused, it would soon restore to men of genius, the original rights of literature, at the same time that it would effectually crush that daring insolence, which is now common among a set of people, who [Page 35]pique themselves upon advantages which, were the proper levelling power maintained, would of itself, by no means entitle them to equal honours.

Instead of this spirited conduct, however, we have the misfortune to perceive a style of baseness and adulation, creep through most of the epistles dedicatory for the space of several centuries; by which means flattery and fulsomeness is associated with the very idea of those addresses, and the literary character is held, by the dullest of the species, in utter contempt.

What hath, undoubtedly, contributed to bring about so disgraceful a circumstance, is a custom which prevails amongst authors, of swelling the ignorant vanity of Patrons, by submitting to them a performance prior to its entry into the public world: this mode, might, indeed, be reasonable enough, were it only designed as a compliment to the taste of the Patron, which the Authors may be supposed anxious to gratify, before the matter becomes, as it were, public proper­ty; but when it is done with a view of begging permission to say civil things of the Patron and his family, it degenerates [Page 36]into a meanness which justly merits the neg­lect that commonly attends it.

Ask permission! for what? For distin­guishing a man? For circulating the know­ledge of his good qualities beyond the nar­row circle of very likely, a frivilous set of companions! Require leave to do this! —Was there ever heard such an inconsist­ency?—The point is misconceived. Be it again remarked, that, in true science there is a greatness which can seldom receive, though it may often, confer obligations. Genius may more properly be said to patronize, than be patronized.

If a production is fit for the eye of men of taste, it ought to be acceptable to men of rank; who are ready enough to be thought in possession of a fine taste them­selves, and very frequently, no doubt, pay liberally, for their dedications, solely upon that principle.

If, on the other hand, a performance is crude, trifling, ill-written, and notwithstand­ing such defects, is, without the consent of the Patron, adorned with a name which it disgraces, such Patron ought publicly to re­nounce [Page 37]his protection, and treat the pre­tender, as every pretender of whatever pro­fession deserves to be treated; still, however, with this salvo, that if the production could have done any service to literature, or pro­moted, but in a small degree, the cause of science, he would have been the first man to acknowledge his obligations, for having been thought a fit patron to assist that cause, and strengthen those services.—While the pre­sent scandalous concessions remain, the sneer will inevitably be thrown upon such abomin­able prostration. I have been somewhat co­pious on this subject, because it has never, to my recollection, been placed in a proper light.

Perhaps, this doctrine of dedications, may be little relished by those who are daily pam­pered into conceit by daily panegyric, but it is a justice which every man of letters owes to a character, founded on qualities, which ought to be a better passport to ho­norary distinctions, than any that can be con­ferred by royal grant, or by the pride of ancestry.

On such qualities was sounded the reputa­tion of David Hume, so that upon this oc­casion, [Page 38]at least, his example may be held up to the persons engaged in literary pursuits, as a proper standard.

It would seem from these ingenious remarks, on dedicators, that authors should maintain dignity of character, and not prostitute them­selves by addressing either folly or stupidity in high stations; but if they dedicate at all, to address the wise and good only. This would undoubtedly greatly lessen the number of dedications, and Dedicatees might be held up to view from the middling, or lower ranks, which would exhibit new phoenomena in the literary region. But alas! this, tho' a debt due to superior merit, is not to be expect­ed, for there would seldom be patronage, or emoluments in the case.

Certainly, in this insinuating kind of busi­ness, all daubing, flattery, or bombast, should be laid aside, as what may be termed, "coarse, plaistering work," has brought addresses of this sort into contempt. A production of genius requires not patronage, That, marked by the uninteresting, the dull, or insipid, will not be pushed into public esteem by any patron, or dedication whatsoever.

[Page 39]The names of several sensible, and even eminent writers, have not a little been dis­graced by fulsome dedications. Dryden, Colley Cibber, Mrs. Centlivre, Lee, Otway, and others, witness to the truth of this; as do some of our modern miscellanies, novels, plays, adventures, &c.; not forgetting the author of liberal opinions. But it is hoped, that with the increase of science, a general reform in this abuse, will take place. Literary parasites, in an age of light and knowledge, should neither be seen, felt, heard, or understood.

SECTION III. A PARALLEL betwixt DAVID HUME and LORD CHESTERFIELD, both with re­spect to Abilities and Principles.

LET me now, says the author of the Apo­logy, &c. draw a slight parallel betwixt this gentleman, and another celebrated writer, who descended into the tomb a little before him. I would persuade the reader to compare with me the system of David Hume, and that of the late Earl of Chesterfield. Not with a view of proposing the former to his imitation—for that point should always be settled by a man's own mind, after a great deal of premedita­tion upon the matter—but, as it may serve to shew, what hath, indeed, been a principal endeavour in these pages, that it is possible even for sceptics, to be more worthy mem­bers [Page 44]of society, more reverend to a first cause, whatever it may be, and more essentially the friend of mankind, than the most illustrious persons who have never ventured so far into the recesses of enquiry. Lord Chesterfield was a character more distinguished for the brillian­cy of his wit, than the solider powers of his understanding.—In points of philosophy, he was exceedingly superficial, in politics he did not want sagacity or experience. Assisted, however, very much, by the splendours of his title—for a little spark will make a large lustre in a Lord—he sustained his character with singular eclat, and passed in the world (which is very easily dazzled) as a compound of elegance, humour, morality, gaiety, and patronage.—These qualities, in a certain de­gree, we allow him to have possessed, except one: it certainly is not now necessary to ob­serve that it is the word morality which must be scratched out of this list. For many years, however, Lord Chesterfield's morals were un­suspected; at length, too superficial to be con­sistent, or perhaps, weary of deceiving the world into notions of his plain dealing, he condescended, in the eve of life, to shew man­kind what a bubble he had mad of it; how long, and how successful he had sported upon its weaknesses—with how much ease he had [Page 45]played the elegant trifler, and by what modes and manoeuvres, he had, with a facility which required no effort but a smooth face, and pli­able features, led, in victorious chains, a thou­sand fools to the altars either of ridicule, or de­bauchery, or destruction.

Such were the principles; such is the system of this distinguished hypocrite, by the adoption of whose precepts, it is utterly impossible either for youth or age, with or wisdom, to escape every thing that is execrable, contemptible, and delusive. The atheistical Hume, as some have called him, was, in comparison with Ches­terfield, deserving of every epithet that could be formed in language to express virtue. In his life, writing, and at his death, he seems to have abhorred dissimulation; and yet, his com­pany "was not unacceptible to the young and careless, as well as to the studious, and lite­rary;" nor had he "any reason to complain of the reception he met from modest women, in whose company he was particularly de­lighted." He did not, nevertheless, profess a fondness for the society of modest women, because it was safer to have an affair of gal­lantry with such, than with a prostitute pro­fessed; or because the connection was more elevated and consistent with the amours of a [Page 46]gentleman; nor did he mix with the gay, and careless, with any latent design to take an ad­vantage of the chearful hour, in order to make himself master of the secrets of the heart, im­parted in its fullness—and consequently master of the person to whom that entrapped heart had the misfortune to belong. By no means.— Whatever objections may lie against the phi­losophy of Hume; none of them are of this nature; since his most abstract researches were in favour of a behaviour perfectly irreproach­able.

Whoever is acquainted with Mr. Hume's writings, will bear witness, that he was a lover of decency, order and decorum. Whoever knew the man, can attest, that, the following passages are no wise exaggerated.

"I am," says he, "or rather was, (for that is the style I must now use in speaking of myself, which emboldens me the more to speak my sentiments); I was, I say, a man of mild dispositions, of command of temper, of an open, social, and cheerful humour, ca­pable of attachment, but little susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions. Even my love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper, not­withstanding [Page 47]my frequent disappointments. My company was not unacceptable to the young and careless, as well as to the studious and li­terary; and as I took a particular pleasure in the company of modest women, I had no rea­son to be displeased with the reception I met with from them. In a word, though most men any wise eminent, have found reason to complain of calumny, I never was touched, or even attacked by her baleful tooth: and though I wantonly exposed myself to the rage of both civil and religious factions, they seemed to be disarmed in my behalf of their wonted fury. My friends never had occasion to vindicate any one circumstance of my character and conduct: not but that the zealots, we may well suppose, would have been glad to invent and propa­gate any story to my disadvantage, but they could never find any which they thought would wear the face of probability. I cannot say there is no vanity in making this funeral ora­tion of myself, but I hope it is not a mis­placed one; and this is a matter of fact which is easily cleared and ascertained."

To a character so amiable, so complacent, and so little tinctured by that pedantry which always sticks to an affected philosopher, who, that hath any sense of agreeable qualities, will [Page 48]ever bring near him such a frivolous compound of whim, wickedness, cunning, and congee, as Lord Chesterfield; unless, indeed, he is brought forward by way of contrast. There appears likewise to me, to have been as wide a difference in the size of their abilities, as there was in the honesty of their, principles: every page in those Letters, which have laid open his Lordship's hypocrisy, furnishes us with examples of his futility: it would be the drudgery of a day to detect a single light sen­tence in Hume. The Earl of Chesterfield's utmost stretch of penetration, amounts to little more than shrewdness, partly caught from the suggestions of a mind naturally suspicious, and partly from observations upon the weak­nesses, and tender imperfections of men less capable to dissemble. This faculty, is at best, but a principal ingredient in the character of a cunning fellow, who, as it were, by impercepti­ble slight of hand, hath the art of appearing what he is not; and of cheating you, with sin­gular dexterity, even before your face.

But all the fame, or popular etiquette that could possibly arise from such practices, Hume would have discarded with disdain, And, chiefly, for two reasons: first, his genius had not a single grain of the petit maitre in it, [Page 49]which, by the way, was a considerable ingre­dient in Lord Chesterfield's; and, secondly, he had too much dignity in his nature, and too just a sense of the social compact between the individual, and the whole human race, to find any zest in gratifications, which emanated from neither more nor less flagrant treachery. Hence it appears obvious enough, that the Earl of Chesterfield's heart and head were both unable to bear any sort of parallel with the head and heart of David Hume. The one is the Au­thor of a system which seems to have been pillaged from the Dancing-master, the Per­fumer, and the Devil: the other pursues a philosophy, which, with all its exceptions, gives countenance neither to the follies of a coxcomb, nor the meanness and mischief of a hypocrite—a wretch, which, in the course of these pages hath been marked with sin­gular reprobation; and above all other hypo­crites, one that, in a kind of moral masquerade dress, perpetrates every baseness, and passes upon the world as a mighty good Christian creature.

SECTION IV.

THE public will judge of the propriety and impartiality of the foregoing compari­son. Lord Chesterfield never pretended to be a moral philosopher; how far, then, compar­ing men of such opposite principles, tastes, and tempers was proper, is left to the sensible reader. But as unfavourable ideas of our noble author, may be formed from the above, as well as from some late strictures, on what is termed "the loose part of his letters to his son," I cannot in justice to his character, but give the following just observation made upon it.

The mental abilities of Lord Chesterfield have never been brought into question, for [Page 52]all have allowed the keenness of his wit, and the soundness of his understanding, but many on the evidence of a single fact have con­demned his principles, as unfavourable to the true interests of religion, honour, and vir­tue: His morals have been excerated, purely on the ground of accusation afforded by some of those private letters to Mr. Stanhope, which ought not to have been made public. Had these never seen the light, his Lordship's same had, perhaps, never suffered any impeach­ment, and his memory might have been transmitted to posterity, with that applause and admiration, which we see paid to the Mon­tagues, the Boyles, the Sackvilles, the Shef­fields, and the Granvill [...]s, who now repose on their laurels, unmolested by the fangs of envy, or the shafts of the censorious.

In public stations, (particularly in Ireland) Lord Chesterfield's conduct ever met with de­served plau [...]ts; in private life, his brilliant wit, his exquisite humour, and his invariable p [...]teness, rendered him the constant delight of his friends;—and in the tender domestic re­lations, he was not only irreproachable, but exemplary. In fine, a more amiable man [Page 53]scarce ever graced a court, or adorned the peaceful scenes of retirement.

With respect to that exceptionable part of his conduct,—his failure as a preceptor, lit­tle can be said in his defence, but let that little be heard.

A father so desirous that his son should answer in every respect, the model of per­fection he had sketched out to himself, must have been much mortified, on finding himself frustrated in his unwearied endeavours to po­lish and refine his manners.—The fertility of his genius in expedients to inspire Mr. Stan­hope with the desire of pleasing, is not any where more conspicuous than in this part of his letters. ^* Finding the disorder ob­stinate, he had recourse to more desperate remedies; as empirics too frequently admi­nister poison in their vain attempts to sub­due unconquerable maladies, or to cure dis­eases less dangerous, than those which their inconsiderate practice entails upon their pa­tients.

[Page 54]Far be it from me to endeavour to con­ceal, or excuse the luxuriances of a warm imagination. Vice can at no time, and under no pretence, become any part of a rational education; nor would it be suffi­cient to say, that the manners of great cities, especially Paris, have in some de­gree authorized polite gallantry. In vain also would it be urged, that Lord Chester­field, knowing, perhaps, by his own expe­rience, with how much difficulty certain passions are resisted in youth, might have thought there was no other choice but that of coarse debauchery, and sentimental engage­ments, or that the latter depending, some­times, on a fine address, (or being possessed of the graces) might stimulate his pupil to excel this way.

It might further be said, that when mu­tual liberty is allowed, in what is called in Paris, the married state, chastity can no more be expected on one side, than fidelity on the other; nor can the crime of corruption well be charged where general depravity pre­vails.

But we rest not the defence of Lord Ches­terfield on such weak foundations: Drawing a [Page 55]veil, therefore, on this part of his conduct, which was not intended, and ought not to have been exposed to the public eye, we must be content with deploring the weakness of hu­man nature, which hitherto never admitted of perfection.

SECTION V. A Portrait of Lord Chesterfield.

HIS character is generally well under­stood—It is agreed on all hands, that he was a discreet Clodius;—a sober Duke of Whar­ton, —born with inferiour abilities to those which distinguish that unfortunate nobleman, but with the same passion for universal admira­tion, he was master of more prudence and discretion.

He formed himself very early to make a distinguished figure in the state. Impelled by his ruling passion, he applied himself assi­duously to studies which might render him an accomplished speaker, an able negotiator, [Page 58]a counsellor in the cabinet;—to sum up all, one equal to any civil employment. There cannot be a doubt that he aimed at acquir­ing the office of prime minister; or at least the power of appointing the person whom he approved to that post.—But the superiour abilities of Walpole disappointed his ambi­tion.

His situation was flattering:—When young he was placed about the person of George the Second, when prince of Wales; he did not reflect that those who are in the most elevated station have no idea of friendship independent of a most implicit, not to say abject resignation to their will. His mar­riage with the Duchess of Kendal's neice, so far from advancing his interest at court, oc­casioned a litigation between him and his so­vereign.

He understood what is called the balance of Europe, or the several interests and claims of its princes, perfectly. This science, with his polished address, qualified him to be one of the ablest negociators of his time. He made himself acquainted with the characters of all the great men in the several courts of Europe; he knew their intrigues,—their at­tachments, [Page 59]their foibles; and was enabled from thence to counteract all their political machinations.

I am persuaded that his being sent on his first embassy to Holland, was rather an ho­nourable exile, than a mark of favour: He would, in all probability have been trouble­some at home—Walpole did not envy him the honour of shining among the Dutch, and eclipsing a French envoy by superior adroit­ness.

As a speaker, he is justly celebrated for a certain accuracy, as well as brilliancy of style; for pointed wit, gay humour, and sportive facetiousness. However, his admirers must confess, that he never could reach the sub­lime in oratory.—He frequently strove to disarm his adversaries by the most profuse commendation of their abilities; but what is certainly very reprehensible in him, while he bestowed unlimited commendations on the ministers whom he opposed, he threw out the most stinging reflections on the prince, as if he had forgotten that the servants of the crown are alone accountable for errors in govern­ment.

[Page 60]The most applauded, as well as unexcep­tionable part of his public character, was his administration in Ireland. As a Viceroy he shone with great lustre, and was universally approved; perhaps he was indebted to this sin­gular good fortune for his being called to the office of secretary of state, at the expiration of his first year's government of that king­dom.

In private life, we should naturally pro­nounce a Chesterfield the most satisfied of all men: Easy, gay, polite, and master of his passions, what could such a man want to ren­der his happiness complete? The same pas­sion for admiration which actuated him in public, accompanied him through every walk of life.

When he had reached one goal, he planned for another—He aimed at universality of cha­racter: He wished to be destined the patron of learned men, but wanted generosity of soul to merit that title.

[Page 61]He espoused and patronized a great ge­nius of the age, who addressed an admi­rable plan of his Dictionary to him; but the capriciousness and instability of his mind, prevented his gaining that honour he most ardently wished for,—a dedication of the work itself.—A Letter written to him on that memorable occasion by the author, who de­spised his meanness, and disdained to gratify his vanity, will live for ever in the memory of those who have been favoured with the recital of it.

It is impossible to reconcile to any prin­ciples of reason and morality the shocking advice which he gave his son, viz. "to treat all women alike, and to suppose them all equally liable to seduction."—Was then his Lordship so successful a lover?—Was his address so formidable, that no lady could resist him?—His Lordship, I am afraid was not wholly free from affectation.—Great wits, and men who court applause from all the world, are not generally the most passionate lovers.

Prior's Chloe was a poetical and ideal cha­racter, —Poor Pope was immoderately and os­tentatiously [Page 62]fond of Patty Blount;—Swift after having admired and courted the celebrated Stella near twenty years, married her, and was afterwards never in her company but when a third person was present!

I would not insinuate that his Lordship was so cold a lover as Swift; nor do I imagine him to be the libertine he wishes to pass for.—Like Lord Foppington in the play, he might think the reputation of an amour with a fine woman, the most delicious part of the business. I never heard of any of his Lordship's successful gallantries, except that which brought Mr. Stanhope into the world. His contempt of the sex might pos­sibly arife, from their dislike and aversion to him.

Thus have I given the character drawn of Lord Chesterfield; in which are excellencies, beauties, defects and blemishes.

In Ireland they experienced (at a most cri­tical conjuncture) his Lordship's wisdom, mode­ration, and disinterestedness, when in the pleni­tude of power.—That he was possessed of great athilities, and eminent merit, in many re­spects, [Page 63]cannot be controverted—This just re­mark, is a free will offering paid to departed worth, or an assemblage of amiable, agreeable qualities, joined to the most shining accom­plishments.

SECTION VI. The CONCLUSION.

THE above selections, and occasional ob­servations, will, it is hoped, be favourably re­ceived. The editor has endeavoured to pre­sent to the public, a pleasing and profitable entertainment, in a small compass, consider­ing the variety, or number of important par­ticulars introduced. Whatever relates to such distinguished characters as Lord Chesterfield, and Mr. Hume, cannot but claim attention from persons of taste, and a laudable curiosity.

After what has been said by Hume's advo­cates, particularly, by the apologist for his life and writings, it were wrong not to remark on some sentiments that have been thrown out, with an air of triumph by that writer.

[Page 66]He says, "perhaps it is one of the very worst circumstances against the cause of christi­anity, that very few of its professors were ever either so moral, so humane, or could so phi­losophically govern their passions, as the scep­tical David Hume.

It is admitted that the lives of too many who think themselves christians, are vicious and immoral, a disgrace to their profession, a re­proach to humanity. I will also admit Mr. Hume to have had, a virtuous, philosophic mind.

But surely christianity ought not to be blamed for the profligacy of its professors. It were as unjust to declaim against the beauty and excellence of our civil constitution, because it hath been so frequently violated by the venal, and the wicked. Christianity gives not shelter to any sin; but on the contrary, hath set the precepts and example of its divine founder against all iniquity,—as well as the pains of the world to come.—If its votaries are not pure, self-denied, meek, humble, pious and benevolent, it is not the fault of their religion; because, for sublimity of precepts and doctrines, un­adulterated christianity will ever stand unri­valled.

[Page 67]But that very few of its professors, "were ever, either so moral, so humane, or could so philosophically govern their passions as Mr. Hume," I deny.—Tho' clerical characters may, probably, appear most exceptionable to the author of this unjust remark, yet the very respectable names of Leighton, Barrow, Which­cot, Tillotson, Cudworth, Burnet, Clarke, Hoad­ley, Butler, Middleton, Clayton, Berkley, Young, Sherlock, Secker—Foster, Chandler, Duchal— Abernethly, Watts, Leland, and others that might be named, fully evince the contrary.— Several of these were remarkable for self go­vernment, for an equanimity of temper, effected by moral discipline; all of them were men of abilities, and distinguished by eminent virtue: —Nor is there one of them, whose life was not as pure, and, perhaps, more useful than Mr. Hume's.

But our catalogue of christian worthies need not be confined to the clerical order. The lift of statesmen, patriots, and philosophers that have adorned our annals, likewise contradict so vague an assertion. When we speak of Sir Matthew Hale, Sir Thomas More, of Milton, Sydney, Locke, Newton, Boyle, Addison, Hut­cheson, —with certain cotemporaries of the two last, and Lord Lyttleton;—we shall see in [Page 68]some of these, that both Mr. Hume's virtues and abilities, more than equalled.

The LATTER END of most of the names above-mentioned, was so peaceful, so full of hope, so nobly supported by a consciousness to past rectitude of life, and at the same time, marked by such sublime sentiments;—that when we contrast their last scene, to Mr. Hume's not having an excuse to give Charon, which in­deed shewed much serenity of mind) a great superiority appears. The entertainment de­rived from Lucian's Dialogues of the Dead, was but cold and insipid at such an hour, compared to the elevated strains of devotion which fell from those who did honour to the christian name.

It were indelicate to speak of living cha­racters, or numbers would swell the recital, as moral, and humane as Mr. Hume. But if we look back to the first reformers, or days of persecution, when truth stood in need of sup­port from its votaries;—should we bring into this account those christian heroes and martyrs, who animated by virtuous resolution, suffered, and bled in the noblest of all causes,—a glo­rious cloud of witnesses in our favour would appear.

[Page 69]The magnimity, and greatness of mind that distinguished many of these when persecuted, and put to death for righteousness sake, cannot but command our admiration!—I shall not say, whether Mr. Hume would have shewn as much firmness in defence of his most favourite tenets; but he has, I believe, never made any expensive sacrifices on the altar of truth and li­berty, consequently not to be set in competi­tion with tried, triumphant integrity.

The calm retreats of philosophic ease, call not forth the heroic virtues. In such retire­ments (sometimes devoted to sceptical disqui­sitions) temptations to defection, have been, comparatively, but few; nor can individuals of this sort much boast of having exhibited to the world, many instances of persevering for­titude under persecuting trials, or of having met the King of Terrors, in his most awful ap­pearances with that generous contempt, or sur­prising resolution which marked the exits of many christian martyrs even at the stake, or when the flames had laid hold on them!

However moral and humane Mr. Hume may have been, (his merit is not controverted) yet his admirers ought not to celebrate his vir­tue [Page 70]at the expence of the christian character, (which we have seen is elevated) or, as if good morals, and deism, had before been strangers!— Such triumph on account of goodness and hu­manity in a sceptical individual, would seem to mark a deficiency in eminent worth among those of that cast.

Be this as it may, certain it is, that Mr. Hume's propositions, respecting CAUSE and EFFECT, would, if pursued in their conse­quences, terminate nearly in atheism: This hath been the opinion of wise and good men. It is needless to say, how such tenets tend to loosen moral obligation, consequently to destroy the most essential interests of society.—It is, therefore, with caution, that the young and unthinking should hear men of such principles, praised, or set above those eminent professors of christianity, to which honour, I trust, it now appears they have not a just claim.

Licentiousness in principle, has generally lead to libertinsm in practice, and I will assert, "that the man who is bound by the awful sanctions of religion, may be most depended on;" he bids fairest for being the honest trader, the good neighbour, and citizen, the sincere friend, and [Page 71]steadfast lover of his country; or for discharg­ing in a becoming manner, all the duties of civil and social life. Nay, I know not, whe­ther it would be a breach of charity to say, "that doubters or unbelievers, have seldombeen eminent for purity of manners, disinterested bene­ficence, exalted piety, or for true magnanimity mind.

It is not to persons of this description, that truth and liberty; the civil and religious rights of mankind; arts, sciences and philosophy; the peace and happiness of mens minds; or their advancement in useful knowledge, sub­stantial piety, and generous virtue, stand emi­nently indebted.

On the contrary, many of them, have been the most superficial, bigotted, and narrow minded of mortals;—covetous profligate, impious! under a pretence of greater freedom of thought than others, they have been known to take liberties inconsistent with decency and good manners, or have openly attempted, by the coarsest buffoonery, to throw the most venerable things into con­tempt. It were unnecessary to add, that calmness and true fortitude of spirit, are not likely to be the death bed attendants on such men.

[Page 72]These particulars will, it is hoped, shew the futility, as well as falsehood of the assertion we have been controverting, viz. "That, perhaps, it is one of the very worst circum­stances against the cause of christianity, that very few of its professors were ever, either so moral, so humane, or could so philosophically govern their passions, as the sceptical David Hume."—A proposition, which if true, would not a little derogate from the dignity and im­portance of the christian cause and character.

But, surely, we need not rest our moral defence entirely on the lives of eminent divines, phi­losophers, &c. as before named:—Have we not seen in common life, numerous instances of true greatness and heroism;—a contempt of the world, and discipline of the passions in­spired by christianity. Hath not this divine philosophy, made the naturally wrathful and proud,—meek and humble;—the avaricious, ge­nerous; the intemperate, sober; the profane and profligate, pure and pious!

I cannot resist concluding these remarks, in the words of a justly admired writer. "To see a person (says he) of no more than com­mon understanding, a stranger to all science [Page 73]in religious matters, but what is derived from the holy scriptures, by virtue of this discipline only, acting his part in life so as with happy success to serve the great purposes of it;— to see him maintaining an amiable purity of manners and decency of behaviour, abound­ing in the just and natural expressions of de­votion towards God, in the fruits of righteous­ness and charity towards mankind; to see him studiously endeavouring to adorn every station in life by the practice of those virtues, which are suited to it; making it his first care to approve himself to God, and his own consci­ence, resolved and firm in resisting tempta­tions to evil, and in maintaining his integrity at any expence; labouring daily to correct what is amiss in his temper; despising all sensual pleasures and temporal possessions, when compared with virtue and religion, with the favour of his Maker, and the hope of an hap­py immortality."

To see a person so formed, going through life most reputably, and usefully; appearing uni­form and like himself in all the changes of it;—to see him at last meet death, with undis­turbed tranquillity of spirit,—possibly with de­sire and joy, must, one would think, in an [Page 74]attentive observer, beget very favourable sen­timents concerning a religion, by means of which all these virtues are carried to so emi­nent a degree:—One would indeed wonder if any good man should be an adversary to it.

☜ After this pamphlet had been written, the Editor—(to his surprize) found, that the author of the Apology for the life and writings of David Hume, who hath thrown out such unmerited, false accusations against the advocates for christianity is no other than Courtney Melmoth, Esq author also of a book lately pub­lished, entitled "The Sublime and Beautiful of Scripture;"—in which he says, "I shall account myself singularly fortunate, if such endeavours have in any degree, done a service to compositions which are so able to support the trial."

The inconsistency and contradictions which so strongly mark the writings of this declamatory publisher, in the two productions above-mentioned, would seem deeply to affect his sincerity, or lay him open to be taxed with that bypocrisy, of which, he would in­sinuate, the friends of revealed religion, stand chargeable.

This remark cannot be deemed uncandid, as it immediately re­spects a writer, who has opened a masked battery against his own works!