could possibly consent to become the agent of so much mischief, as undoubtedly has been done to mankind by his writings; and this difficulty can only be solved by having recourse to that universal passion, which has, I fear, a much more general influence over all our actions than we are willing to confess. Pride, or vanity, joined to a sceptical turn of mind, and to an education which, though learned, rather sipped knowledge than drank it, was probably the ultimate cause of this singular phenomenon; and the desire of being placed at the head of a sect, whose tenets controverted and contradicted all received opinions, was too strong to be resisted by a man, whose genius enabled him to find plausible arguments, sufficient to persuade both himself and many others, that his own opinions were true. A philosophical knight-errant was the dragon he had vowed to vanquish, and he was careless, or thoughtless, of the consequences which ensue from the achievement of the adventure to which he had pledged himself -He once professed himself the admirer of a young, most beautiful, and accomplished lady, at Turin, who only laughed at his passion. One day he addressed her in the usual common-place strain, that he was abimè anéanti."Ohl pour anéanti," replied the lady, "ce n'est en effet qu'une operation très naturelle de votre sys tême." "About this time, 1766, or some what before this, Lord Charlemont once more met his friend, David Hume. His Lordship mentions him in some detached papers, which I shall here collect, and give to the reader." Nothing," says Lord Charlemont," ever shewed a mind more truly beneficent than Hume's whole conduct with regard to Rous seau. That story is too well known to be repeated, and exhibits a striking picture of Hume's heart, whilst it displays the strange and unac countable vanity and madness of the French, or rather Swiss, moralist. When first they arrived together from France, happening to meet with Hume in the Park, I wished him joy of his pleasing connexion, and particularly biated, that I was convinced he must be perfectly happy in his new friend, as their sentiments were, I believed, nearly similar. Why no, man,' said he,' in that you are mistaken; Rousseau is not what you think him; he has a hankering after the Bible, and, indeed, is little better than a Christian, in a way of his own.' Excess of vanity was the madness of Rousseau. When he first arrived in London, he and his Armenian dress were followed by crowds, and as long as this species of admiration lasted, he was contented and happy. But in London, such sights are only the wonder of the day, and in a very short time he was suffered to walk where he pleased, unattended, unobserved. From that instant, his discontent may be dated. dwell no longer on matters of public notoriety, I shall only mention one fact, which I can vouch for truth, and which would, of itself, be amply sufficient to convey an adequate idea of the amazing eccentricity of this singular man. When, after having quarrelled with Hume, and all his English friends, Rousseau was bent on making his escape, as he termed it, into France, he stopped at a village between London and Dover, and from thence wrote to General Conway, then Secretary of State, informing him, that, although he had got so far with safety, he was well apprized, that the remainder of his route was so beset by his inex orable orable enemies, that, unprotected, he could not escape. He therefore solemnly claimed the protection of the King, and desired that a party of cavalry might be immediately ordered to escort him to Dover. This letter General Conway shewed to me, together with his answer, in which he assured him, that the postillions were altogether a very sufficient guard throughout every part of the King's dominions.-To return to Hume. In London, where he often did me the honour to communicate the manuscripts of his additional essays, before their publication, I have sometimes, in the course of our intimacy, asked him whether he thought that, if his opinions were universally to take place, maukind would not be rendered more unhappy than they now were; and whether he did not suppose that the curb of religion was necessary to human nature? The objections,' answered he,' are not without weight; but error never can produce good, and truth ought to take place of all considerations.' He never failed, in the midst of any controversy, to give its due praise to every thing tolerable that was either said or written against him. One day that he visited me in London, he came into my room laughing, and appa rently well pleased. What has put you into this good humour, Hume?' said I. Why, man,' replied he, 'I have just now had the best thing said to me I ever heard. complaining in a company, where I spent the morning, that I was very il treated by the world, and that the censures past upon me were hard and unreasonable. That I had written many volumes, throughout the whole of which there were but a few pages that contained any reprehensible matter, and yet, for those few pages, I was abused and I was torn to pieces.' You put me in mind,' said an honest fellow in the company, whose name I did not know, of an acquaintance of mine, a notary public, who, having been condemned to be hanged for forgery, lamented the hardship of his case; that, after having written many thousand inoffensive sheets, he should be hanged for one line.' "But an unfortunate disposition to doubt of every thing seemed interwoven with the nature of Hume; and never was there, I am convinced, a more thorough and sincere sceptic. He seemed not to be certain even of his own present existence, and could not therefore be expected to entertain any settled opinion respecting his future state. Once I asked him what he thought of the immortality of the soul Why troth, man,' said he, it is so pretty and so comfortable a theory, that I wish I could be convinced of its truth, but I canna help doubting.' "Hume's fashion at Paris, when he was there as Secretary to Lord Hertford, was truly ridiculous; and nothing ever marked, in a more striking manner, the whimsical genius of the French. No man, from his manners, was surely less formed for their society, or less likely to meet with their approbation; but that flimsy philosophy, which pervades and deadens even their most licentious novels, was then the folly of the day. Freethinking and Eng lish frocks were the fashion, and the Anglomanie was the ton du pais. Lord Holland, though far betier cal. culated than Hume to please in France, was also an instance of this singular predilection. Being about this time on a visit to Paris, the French concluded, that an Englishman of his reputation must be a phi losopher, and must be admired. myself to you; we deists ought to know each other.- Madam,' replied he, I am no deist. I do not style myself so, neither do I desire to be known by that appellation.' was customary with him to doze after dinner, and one day, at a great entertainment, he happened to fall asleep: La voilà!' says a Marquis, pulling his neighbour by the sleeve; Le voilà, qui pense!' But the mad- "Nothing ever gave Hume more ness for Hume was far more singu- real vexation, than the strictures lar and extravagant. From what made upon his history in the House has been already said of him, it is of Lords by the great Lord Chatapparent that his conversation to ham. Soon after that speech I met strangers, and particularly to French- Hume, and ironically wished him men, could be little delightful, and joy of the high honour that bad still more particularly, one would been done him. Zounds, man,' suppose, to French women. And said he, with more peevishness than yet no lady's toilette was complete 1 had ever seen him express, he's without Hume's attendance. At a Goth! he's a Vandal!' Indeed, his the opera, his broad, unmeaning history is as dangerous in politics, face was usually seen entre deux as his essays are in religion, and it tolis minois. The ladies in France is somewhat extraordinary, that the give the ton, and the ton was deism; same man who labours to free the a species of philosophy ill suited to mind from what he supposes relithe softer sex, in whose delicate gious prejudices, should as zealously frame weakness is interesting, and endeavour to shackle it with the timidity a charm. But the women servile ideas of despotism. But be in France were deists, as with us loved the Stuart family, and his they were charioteers. The tenets history is, of course, their apology. of the new philosophy were à porte All his prepossessions, however, de tout le monde, and the perusal could never induce him absolutely of a wanton novel, such, for exam- to falsify history; and though he ple, as Therese Philosophe, was endeavours to soften the failings amply sufficient to render any fine of his favourites, even in their acgentleman, or any fine lady, an actions, yet it is on the characters complished, nay, a learned deist. How my friend Hume was able to endure the encounter of these French female Titans I know not. In England, either his philosophic pride, or his conviction that infidelity was ill suited to women, made him perfectly averse from the initiation of ladies into the mysteries of his doctrine. I never saw him so much displeased, or so much disconcerted, as by the petulance of Mrs. Mallett, the conceited wife of Bolingbroke's editor. This lady, who was not acquainted with Hume, meeting him one night at an assembly, boldly accosted him in these words: Mr. Hume, give me leave to introduce which he gives to them, that he principally depends for their vindication; and from hence frequently proceeds, in the course of his history, this singular incongruity, that it is morally impossible that a man, possessed of the character which the historian delineates, should, in certain circumstances, have acted the part which the same historian narrates and assigns to him. But now to return to his philosophical principles, which certainly constitute the discriminative feature of his character. The practice of com bating received opinions had one unhappy, though not unusual, effect on his mind. He grew fond of of paradoxes, which his abilities enabled him successfully to support; and bis understanding was so far warped and bent by this unfortunate predilection, that he had well nigh lost that best faculty of the mind, the almost intuitive percep tion of truth. His sceptical turn made him doubt, and consequently dispute, every thing; yet was he a fair and pleasant disputant. He heard with patience, and answered without acrimony. Neither was his conversation at any time offensive, even to his more scrupulous companions; his good sense, and good nature, prevented his saying any thing that was likely to shock; and it was not till he was provoked to argument, that, in mixed companies, he entered into his favorite topics. Where indeed, as was the case with me, his regard for any individual rendered him desirous of making a proselyte, his efforts were great, and anxiously incessant. present age. Yet, even this solitary virtue, if infidelity be its basis, is founded on a false principle. Christian charity, which includes the idea of universal philanthropy, and which, when really Christian, is the true foundation on which this virtue should be erected, and not the opinion that all religions should be tolerated, because all are alike erroneous. But even allowing this boasted benefit its full weight, to the same cause we are, I doubt, on the other hand, indebted for that' profligacy of manners, or, to call it' by the most gentle name, that frivolity which every where prevails. To this cause we owe that total disregard, that fastidious dislike to all serious thought; for every man can be a deist without thinking; he is made so at his toilette, and, whilst his hair is dressing, reads himself into an adept; that shameful and degrading apathy to all that is great and noble; in a word, that perfect indifference to right or wrong, which enervates and characterises this unmeaning and frivolous age. Neither have we reason to hope a favourable change. The present manners are the fashion of the day, and will not last. But infidelity will never subside into true piety. It will produce its contrary. The present is an age of irreligion; the next will, probably, be an age of bigotry." some time, and finding ourselves not very far from Bourdeaux, we determined not to miss the opportunity of going there, not so much prompted thereto by the beauty of the town, and the adjacent country, as by our ardent desire of seeing, and of knowing, the President Montesquieu. Arrived at Bourdeaux, our first inquiry was concerning the principal object of our journey; but how great was our disappointmen, when we found that he had left the city, and was gone to reside at a country seat, four or five miles distant. To leave our longing unsatisfied was truly mortifying to us; and yet what could be done? At length, after a long deliberation, we determined to strike a bold stroke; and, getting the better of all timidity, perhaps propriety, we sat down and wrote a joint letter, in which we candidly told the president our reasons for visiting Bourdeaux, our sad disappointment, our eager wishes for the honour of his acquaintance, which, as English subjects, we most particularly desired; concluding by begging pardon for our presumption, and leave to wait on him at his villa. Neither did we languish long for an answer; it quickly arrived, in every respect as we would have wished, and consisted of a modest acknowledgment for the honor we did him, assertions of the high esteem in which he held our country, and the most hearty and pressing invitation to come to him as soon as our occasions would permit, The first appointment with a favorite mistress could not have rendered our night more restless; and the next morning we set out so early, that we arrived at his villa before he was risen The servant shewed us into his library, where the first object of curiosity that presented itself was a table, at which he had apparently been reading the night before, a book lying upon it open, turned down, and a lamp extinguished. Eager to know the nocturnal studies of this great philosopher, we immediately few to the book; it was a volume of Ovid's works, containing his elegies, and open at one of the most gallant poems of that master of love. Before we could overcome our surprise, it was greatly increased by the entrance of the president, whose appearance and manner was totally opposite to the idea which we had formed to ourselves of him: instead of a grave, austere philosopher, whose presence might strike with awe such boys as we were, the person who now addressed us was a gay, polite, sprightly Frenchman; who, after a thousand genteel compliments, and a thousand thanks for the honor we had done him, desired to know whether we would not breakfast, and, upon our declining the offer, having already eaten at an inn not far from the house, Come then,' says he, let us walk; the day is fine, and I long to shew you my villa, as I have endeavoured to form it according to the English taste, and to cultivate and dress it in the English manner. Following him into the farm, we soon arrived at the skirts of a beautiful wood, cut into walks, and paled round, the entrance to which was barricadoed with a moreable bar, about three feet high, fastened with a padlock. Come,' said he, searching in his pocket, it is not worth our while to wait for the key; you, I am sure, can leap as well as I can, and this bar shall not stop me.' So saying, he ran at the bar, and fairly jumped over it, while we followed him with amazement, though not without delight, to see the philosopher likely to be come our playfellow. This beha |
