Mr. ROUSSEAU to Mr. HUME.

I DID not receive till lately, and at this place, the letter you did me the ho⯑nour to direct to me at London, the 2d of July laſt, on the ſuppoſition that I was then arrived at that capital. I ſhould doubtleſs have made choice of a retreat in your coun⯑try, and as near as poſſible to yourſelf, if I had foreſeen what a reception I was to meet with in my own. No other nation could claim a preference to England. And this [3] prepoſſeſſion, for which I have dearly ſuf⯑fered, was at that time too natural not to be very excuſable; but to my great aſtoniſh⯑ment, as well as that of the public, I have met with nothing but affronts and inſults, where I hoped to have found conſolation at leaſt, if not gratitude. How many reaſons have I not to regret the want of that aſylum and philo⯑ſophical hoſpitality I ſhould have found with you! My misfortunes indeed have con⯑ſtantly ſeemed to lead me in a manner that way. The protection and kindneſs of my Lord Marſhal, your worthy and illuſtrious countryman, hath brought Scotland home to me, if I may ſo expreſs myſelf, in the midſt of Switzerland; he hath made you ſo often bear a part in our converſation, hath brought me ſo well acquainted with your virtues, which I before was only with your talents, that he inſpired me with the moſt tender friendſhip for you, and the moſt ardent deſire of obtaining yours, before I even knew you were diſpoſed to grant it. Judge then of the pleaſure I ſeel, at finding this inclination reciprocal. No, Sir, I ſhould pay your merit but half its due, if it were the ſubject only of my admiration. Your great impartiallty, together with your amazing penetration and genius, would lift you far above the reſt of mankind, if you were leſs attached to them by the goodneſs [4] of your heart. My Lord Marſhal, in ac⯑quainting me that the amiableneſs of your diſpoſition was ſtill greater than the ſubli⯑mity of your genius, rendered a correſpond⯑ence with you every day more deſirable, and cheriſhed in me thoſe wiſhes which he inſpired, of ending my days near you. Oh, Sir, that a better ſtate of health, and more convenient circumſtances, would but enable me to take ſuch a journey in the manner I could like! Could I but hope to ſee you and my Lord Marſhal one day ſettled in your own country; which ſhould for ever after be mine; I ſhould be thankful, in ſuch a ſociety, for the very misfortunes that led me into it, and ſhould account the day of its commencement as the firſt of my life. Would to Heaven I might live to ſee that happy day, though now more to be deſired than expected! With what tranſports ſhould I not exclaim, on ſetting foot in that happy country which gave birth to David Hume and the Lord Marſhal of Scotland!

Mr. ROUSSEAU to Mr. HUME.

YOUR goodneſs affects me as much as it does me honour. The beſt reply I can make to your offers is to accept them, which I do. I ſhall ſet out in five or ſix days to throw myſelf into your arms. Such is the advice of my Lord Marſhal, my pro⯑tector, friend and father; it is the advice alſo of Madam * * *^† whoſe good ſenſe and benevolence ſerve equally for my direction [7] and conſolation; in fine, I may ſay it is the advice of my own heart, which takes a pleaſure in being indebted to the moſt illu⯑ſtrious of my contemporaries, to a man whoſe goodneſs ſurpaſſes his glory. I ſigh after a ſolitary and free retirement, wherein I might finiſh my days in peace. If this be procured me by means of your benevolent ſolicitude, I ſhall then enjoy at once the plea⯑ſure of the only bleſſing my heart deſires, and alſo that of being indebted for it to you. I am, Sir, with all my heart, &c.

Mr. ROUSSEAU to Mr. CLAIRAUT.

THE remembrance of your former kindneſs, induces me to be again im⯑portunate. It is to deſire you will be ſo good, for the ſecond time, to be the cenſor of one of my performances. It is a very paltry rhap⯑ſody, [8] which I compiled many years ago, under the title of A Muſical Dictionary, and am now obliged to republiſh it for ſuſiſtence. Amidſt the torrent of misfortunes that over-whelm me, I am not in a ſituation to review the work; which, I know, is full of over⯑ſights and miſtakes. If any intereſt you may take in the lot of the moſt unfortunate of mankind, ſhould induce you to beſtow a little more attention on his work than on that of another, I ſhould be extremely obli⯑ged to you, if you would take the trouble to correct ſuch errors as you may meet with in the peruſal. To point them out, without correcting them, would be doing nothing, for I am abſolutely incapable of paying the leaſt attention to ſuch a work; ſo that if you would but condeſcend to alter, add, re⯑trench, and in ſhort uſe it as you would do your own, you would do a very great cha⯑rity, for which I ſhould be extremely thank⯑ful. Accept, Sir, my moſt humble excuſes and ſalutations.

Mr. ROUSSEAU to Mr. HUME.

YOU ſee already, my dear patron, by the date of my letter, that I am ar⯑rived at the place of my deſtination; but [14] you cannot ſee all the charms which I find in it; to do this, you ſhould be acquainted with the ſituation, and be able to read my heart. You ought, however, to read at leaſt thoſe of my ſentiments with reſpect to you, and which you have ſo well deſerved. If I live in this agreeable aſylum as happy as I hope to do, one of the greateſt pleaſures of my life will be, to reflect that I owe it to you. To make another happy, is to de⯑ſerve to be happy one's ſelf. May you there⯑fore find in yourſelf the reward of all you have done for me! Had I been alone, I might perhaps have met with hoſpitality, but I ſhould have never reliſhed it ſo highly as I now do, in owing it to your friendſhip. Retain ſtill that friendſhip for me, my dear patron; love me for my ſake, who am ſo much indebted to you; love me for your own, for the good you have done me. I am ſenſible, of the full value of your ſincere friendſhip; it is the object of my ardent wiſhes; I am ready to repay it with all mine, and feel ſomething in my heart which may one day convince you that it is not with⯑out its value. As, for the reaſons agreed on between us, I ſhall receive nothing by the poſt, you will be pleaſed, when you have the goodneſs to write to me, to ſend your letters to Mr. Davenport. The affair of the carriage is not yet adjuſted, becauſe I [15] know I was impoſed on: it is a trifling fault, however, which may be only the effect of an obliging vanity, unleſs it ſhould happen to be repeated. If you were concerned in it, I would adviſe you to give up, once for all, theſe little impoſitions, which cannot proceed from any good motive, when con⯑verted into ſnares for ſimplicity. I embrace you, my dear patron, with the ſame cor⯑diality which I hope to find in you.

Mr. ROUSSEAU to Mr. HUME.

YOU will ſee, my dear patron, by the letter Mr. Davenport will have tranſmitted you, how agreeably I find my⯑ſelf ſituated in this place. I might, per⯑haps, be more at my eaſe if I were leſs no⯑ticed; but the ſolicitude of ſo police an hoſt as mine is too obliging to give offence; and as there is nothing in life without its in⯑convenience, that of being too good, is one of thoſe which is the moſt tolerable. I find a much greater inconvenience in not being able to make the ſervants underſtand me, [16] and particularly in my not underſtanding them. Luckily Mrs. le Vaſſeur ſerves me as interpreter, and her fingers ſpeak better than my tongue. There is one advantage however attending my ignorance, which is a kind of compenſation; it ſerves to tire and keep at a diſtance impertinent viſitors. The miniſter of the pariſh came to ſee me yeſterday, who, finding that I ſpoke to him only in French, would not ſpeak to me in Engliſh, ſo that our interview was almoſt a ſilent one. I have taken a great fancy to this expedient, and ſhall make uſe of it with all my neighbours, if I have any. Nay, ſhould I even learn to ſpeak Engliſh, I would converſe with them only in French, eſpe⯑cially if I were ſo happy as to find they did not underſtand a word of that language. An artifice this, much of the ſame kind with that which the Negroes pretend is practiſed by the monkeys, who, they ſay, are capable of ſpeech, but cannot be prevailed upon to talk, leſt they ſhould be ſet to work.

It is not true in any ſenſe, that I agreed to accept of a model from Mr. Goſſet as a pre⯑ſent. On the contrary, I aſked him the price, which he told me was a guinea and half, adding that he intended to preſent me with it; an offer I did not accept. I deſire you therefore to pay him for it, and Mr. Davenport will be ſo good as repay you the [17] money. And if Mr. Goſſet does not conſent to be paid for it, it muſt be returned to him, and purchaſed by ſome other hand. It is deſigned for Mr. du Peyrou, who deſired long ſince to have my portrait, and cauſed one to be painted in miniature, which is not at all like me. You were more fortunate in this reſpect than he, but I am ſorry that, by your aſſiduity to ſerve me, you deprived me of the pleaſure of diſcharging the ſame friendly obligation with regard to yourſelf. Be ſo good, my dear patron, as to order the model to be ſent to Meſſrs. Guinand and Hankey, Little St. Helen's, Biſhopſgate-ſtreet, in order to be tranſmitted to Mr. du Peyrou by the firſt ſafe conveyance. It hath been a froſt ever ſince I have been here: the ſnow falls daily; and the wind is cutting and ſevere: notwith⯑ſtanding all which, I had rather lodge in the hollow trunk of an old tree, in this country, than in the moſt ſuperb apartment in London. Good day, my dear patron. I embrace you with all my heart.

YOU have renounced Geneva, your native ſoil. You have been driven from Switzerland, a country of which you have made ſuch boaſt in your writings. In France you are outlawed: come then to me. I admire your talents, and amuſe myſelf with your reveries; on which how⯑ever, by the way, you beſtow too much time and attention. It is high time to grow prudent and happy; you have made yourſelf ſufficiently talked of for ſingularities little becoming a truly great man: ſhow your enemies that you have ſometimes com⯑mon ſenſe: this will vex them without hurt⯑ing you. My dominions afford you a peace⯑ful retreat: I am deſirous to do you good, and will do it, if you can but think it ſuch. But if you are determined to refuſe my aſſiſt⯑ance, you may expect that I ſhall ſay not a word about it to any one. If you perſiſt in perplexing your brains to find out new miſ⯑fortunes, chuſe ſuch as you like beſt; I am a king and can make you as miſerable as you can wiſh; at the ſame time, I will engage to do that which your enemies never will, I [21] will ceaſe to perſecute you, when you are no longer vain of perſecution.

Mr. ROUSSEAU to the AUTHOR of the St. James's Chronicle.

YOU have been wanting in that reſpect which every private perſon owes to crowned heads, in publickly aſcribing to the king of Pruſſia, a letter full of baſeneſs and extravagance; by which circumſtance alone you might be very well aſſured he could not be the author. You have even dared to ſub⯑ſcribe his name, as if you had ſeen him write it with his own hand. I inform you, Sir, that this letter was fabricated at Paris, and, what rends and afflicts my heart, that the impoſtor hath his accomplices in England.

In juſtice to the king of Pruſſia, to truth and to myſelf, you ought therefore to print the letter I am now writing, and to which I ſet my name; by way of reparation for a fault, which you would undoubtedly re⯑proach yourſelf for, if you knew of what atrociouſneſs you have been made the inſtru⯑ment. Sir, I make you my ſincere ſaluta⯑tions.

Mr. ROUSSEAU to General CONWAY.

AFFECTED with a moſt lively ſenſe of the favour his Majeſty hath honoured me with, and with that of your goodneſs, which procured it me; it affords me the moſt pleaſing ſenſation to reflect, that the beſt of Kings, and the Miniſter moſt worthy of his confidence, are pleaſed to intereſt themſelves in my fortune. This, Sir, is an advantage of which I am juſtly tenacious, and which I will never deſerve to loſe. But it is neceſſary I ſhould ſpeak to you with that frankneſs you admire. After the many misfortunes that have befallen me, I thought myſelf armed againſt all poſſible events: there have happened to me ſome, however, which I did not foreſee; and which indeed an ingenuous mind ought not to have foreſeen: hence it is that they affect me by ſo much the more ſeverely. The trouble in which they involve me, indeed, deprives me of the eaſe and preſence of mind neceſſary to direct my conduct: all I can reaſonably do, under ſo diſtreſſed a ſituation, is to ſuſ⯑pend my reſolutions about every affair of ſuch importance as is that in agitation. So far [26] from refuſing the beneficence of the King from pride, as is imputed to me, I am proud of acknowleging it, and am only ſorry I cannot do it more publicly. But when I actually receive it, I would be able to give up myſelf entirely to thoſe ſentiments which it would naturally inſpire, and to have an heart replete with gratitude for his Majeſty's goodneſs, and yours. I am not at all afraid this manner of thinking will make any al⯑teration in yours towards me. Deign, there⯑fore, Sir, to preſerve that goodneſs for me, till a more happy opportunity; when you will be ſatisfied that I defer taking the ad⯑vantage of it, only to render myſelf more worthy of it. I beg of you, Sir, to accept of my moſt humble and reſpectful ſaluta⯑tions.

Mr. HUME to Mr. ROUSSEAU.

AS I have not received any anſwer from you, I conclude, that you perſevere in the ſame reſolution of refuſing all marks of his Majeſty's goodneſs, as long as they muſt remain a ſecret. I have therefore ap⯑plied to General Conway to have this con⯑dition removed; and I was ſo fortunate as to obtain his promiſe that he would ſpeak to the King for that purpoſe. It will only be requiſite, ſaid he, that we know previouſly from Mr. Rouſſeau, whe⯑ther he would accept of a penſion publicly granted him, that his Majeſty may not be expoſed to a ſecond refuſal. He gave me authority to write to you on that ſubject; and I beg to hear your reſolution as ſoon as poſ⯑ſible. If you give your conſent, which I earneſtly intreat you to do, I know, that I could depend on the good offices of the Duke of Richmond, to ſecond General Conway's application; ſo that I have no doubt of ſucceſs. I am, my Dear Sir,

Mr. ROUSSEAU to Mr. HUME.

I Imagined, Sir, that my ſilence, truly in⯑terpreted by your own conſcience, had ſaid enough; but ſince you have ſome de⯑ſign in not underſtanding me, I ſhall ſpeak. You have but ill diſguiſed yourſelf. I know you, and you are not ignorant of it. Before we had any perſonal connections, quarrels, or diſputes; while we knew each other only by literary reputation, you affectionately made me the offer of the good offices of yourſelf and friends. Affected by this ge⯑neroſity, I threw myſelf into your arms; you brought me to England, apparently to procure me an aſylum, but in fact to bring me to diſhonour. You applied to this noble work, with a zeal worthy of your heart, and a ſucceſs worthy of your abilities. You needed not have taken ſo much pains: you live and converſe with the world; I with my⯑ſelf in ſolitude. The public love to be de⯑ceived, and you were formed to deceive them. I know one man, however, whom you can not deceive; I mean yourſelf. You know with what horrour my heart rejected the [30] firſt ſuſpicion of your deſigns. You know I embraced you with tears in my eyes, and told you, if you were not the beſt of men, you muſt be the blackeſt of mankind. In reflecting on your private conduct, you muſt ſay to yourſelf ſometimes, you are not the beſt of men: under which conviction, I doubt much if ever you will be the happieſt.

I leave your friends and you to carry on your ſchemes as you pleaſe; giving up to you, without regret, my reputation during life; certain that ſooner or later juſtice will be done to that of both. As to your good offices in matters of intereſt, which you have made uſe of as a maſk, I thank you for them, and ſhall diſpenſe with profiting by them. I ought not to hold a correſpond⯑ence with you any longer, or to accept of it to my advantage in any affair in which you are to be the mediator. Adieu, Sir, I wiſh you the trueſt happineſs; but as we ought not to have any thing to ſay to each other for the future, this is the laſt letter you will receive from me.

Mr. HUME to Mr. ROUSSEAU.

AS I am conſcious of having ever acted towards you the moſt friendly part, of having always given the moſt tender, the moſt active proofs of ſincere affection; you may judge of my extreme ſurprize on per⯑uſing your epiſtle. Such violent accuſations, confined altogether to generals, it is as im⯑poſſible to anſwer, as it is impoſſible to com⯑prehend them. But affairs cannot, muſt not remain on that footing. I ſhall chari⯑tably ſuppoſe, that ſome infamous calumni⯑ator has belied me to you. But in that caſe, it is your duty, and I am perſuaded it will be your inclination, to give me an oppor⯑tunity of detecting him, and of juſtifying myſelf; which can only be done by your mentioning the particulars of which I am accuſed. You ſay, that I myſelf know that I have been falſe to you; but I ſay it loudly, and will ſay it to the whole world, that I know the contrary, that I know my friendſhip towards you has been unbounded and uninterrupted, and that though inſtances of it have been very generally remarked both in France and England, the ſmalleſt part of it only has as yet come to the knowlege [32] of the public. I demand, that you will produce me the man who will aſſert the contrary; and above all, I demand, that he will mention any one particular in which I have been wanting to you. You owe this to me; you owe it to yourſelf; you owe it to truth, and honour, and juſtice, and to every thing that can be deemed ſacred among men. As an innocent man; I will not ſay, as your friend; I will not ſay, as your bene⯑factor; but, I repeat it, as an innocent man, I claim the privilege of proving my innocence, and of refuting any ſcandalous lie which may have been invented againſt me. Mr. Davenport, to whom I have ſent a copy of your letter, and who will read this before he delivers it, I am confident, will ſe⯑cond my demand, and will tell you, that no⯑thing poſſibly can be more equitable. Happily I have preſerved the letter you wrote me after your arrival at Wooton; and you there ex⯑preſs in the ſtrongeſt terms, indeed in terms too ſtrong, your ſatisfaction in my poor en⯑deavours to ſerve you: the little epiſtolary intercourſe which afterwards paſſed between us, has been all employed on my ſide to the moſt friendly purpoſes. Tell me, what has ſince given you offence? Tell me of what I am accuſed. Tell me the man who ac⯑cuſes me. Even after you have fulfilled all theſe conditions, to my ſatisfaction, and to [33] that of Mr. Davenport, you will have great difficulty to juſtify the employing ſuch out⯑rageous terms towards a man, with whom you have been ſo intimately connected, and whom, on many accounts, you ought to have treated with ſome regard and decency.

Mr. Davenport knows the whole tranſac⯑tion about your penſion, becauſe I thought it neceſſary that the perſon who had under⯑taken your ſettlement, ſhould be fully ac⯑quainted with your circumſtances; leſt he ſhould be tempted to perform towards you concealed acts of generoſity, which, if they accidentally came to your knowlege, might give you ſome grounds of offence. I am, Sir,

Mr. ROUSSEAU to Mr. HUME.

I AM indiſpoſed, and little in a ſituation to write; but you require an explana⯑tion, and it muſt be given you: it was your own fault you had it not long ſince; but you did not deſire it, and I was therefore ſilent: at preſent you do, and I have ſent it. I will be a long one, for which I am very ſorry; but I have much to ſay, and would put an end to the ſubject at once.

As I live retired from the world, I am ignorant of what paſſes in it. I have no party, no aſſociates, no intrigues; I am told nothing, and I know only what I feel. But as care hath been taken to make me ſeverely feel; that I well know. The firſt concern of thoſe who engage in bad deſigns is to ſe⯑cure themſelves from legal proofs of detec⯑tion: it would not be very adviſeable to ſeek a remedy againſt them at law. The innate conviction of the heart admits of another kind of proof, which influences the ſenti⯑ments of honeſt men. You well know the baſis of mine.

You aſk me, with great confidence, to name your accuſer. That accuſer, Sir, is [35] the only man in the world whoſe teſtimony I ſhould admit againſt you; it is yourſelf. I ſhall give myſelf up without fear or reſerve to the natural frankneſs of my diſpoſition; being an enemy to every kind of artifice, I ſhall ſpeak with the ſame freedom as if you were an indifferent perſon, on whom I placed all that confidence which I no longer have in you. I will give you an hiſtory of the emotions of my heart, and of what produced them; while, ſpeaking of Mr. Hume in the third perſon, I ſhall make yourſelf the judge of what I ought to think of him. Notwith⯑ſtanding the length of my letter, I ſhall pur⯑ſue no other order than that of my ideas, beginning with the premiſes, and ending with the demonſtration.

I quitted Switzerland, wearied out by the barbarous treatment I had undergone; but which affected only my perſonal ſecurity, while my honour was ſafe. I was going, as my heart directed me, to join my Lord Mar⯑ſhal; when I received at Straſburg a moſt af⯑fectionate invitation from Mr. Hume, to go over with him to England; where he pro⯑miſed me the moſt agreeable reception, and more tranquillity than I have met with. I he⯑ſitated ſome time between my old friend and my new one; in this I was wrong. I pre⯑ferred the latter, and in this was ſtill more ſo. But the deſire of viſiting in perſon a ce⯑lebrated [36] nation, of which I had heard both ſo much good and ſo much ill, prevailed. Aſſured I could not loſe George Keith, I was flattered with the acquiſition of David Hume. His great merit, extraordinary abi⯑lities, and eſtabliſhed probity of character, made me deſirous of annexing his friendſhip to that with which I was honoured by his illuſtrious countryman. Beſides, I gloried not a little in ſetting an example to men of letters, in a ſincere union between two men ſo different in their principles.

Before I had received an invitation from the King of Pruſſia, and my Lord Marſhal, undetermined about the place of my retreat, I had deſired, and obtained by the intereſt of my friends, a paſſport from the Court of France. I made uſe of this, and went to Paris to join Mr. Hume. He ſaw, and per⯑haps ſaw too much of, the favourable reception I met with from a great Prince, and I will venture to ſay, of the public. I yielded, as it was my duty, though with reluctance, to that eclat; concluding how far it muſt excite the envy of my enemies. At the ſame time, I ſaw with pleaſure the regard which the public entertained for Mr. Hume, ſenſibly increaſing throughout Paris, on account of the good work he had undertaken with reſpect to me. Doubtleſs he was af⯑fected [37] too; but I know not if it was in the ſame manner as I was.

We ſet out with one of my friends, who came to England almoſt entirely on my ac⯑count. When we were landed at Dover, tranſported with the thoughts of having ſet foot in this land of liberty, under the conduct of ſo celebrated a perſon, I threw my arms round his neck, and preſſed him to my heart, without ſpeaking a ſyllable; bathing his checks, as I kiſſed them, with tears ſufficiently expreſ⯑ſive. This was not the only, not the moſt re⯑markable inſtance I have given him of the ef⯑fuſions of an heart full of ſenſibility. I know not what he does with the recollection of them, when that happens; but I have a notion they muſt be ſometimes troubleſome to him.

At our arrival in London, we were migh⯑tily careſſed and entertained: all ranks of people eagerly preſſing to give me marks of their benevolence and eſteem. Mr. Hume preſented me politely to every body; and it was natural for me to aſcribe to him, as I did, the beſt part of my good reception. My heart was full of him. I ſpoke in his praiſe to every one, I wrote to the ſame purpoſe to all my friends; my attachment to him ga⯑thering every day new ſtrength, while his appeared the moſt affectionate to me; of which he frequently gave me inſtances that touched me extremely. That of cauſing my [38] portrait to be painted, however, was not of the number. This ſeemed to me to carry with it too much the affectation of popula⯑rity, and had an air of oſtentation which by no means pleaſed me. All this, however, might have been eaſily excuſable, had Mr. Hume been a man apt to throw away his money, or had a gallery of pictures with the portraits of his friends. After all, I freely confeſs, that, on this head, I may be in the wrong^*.

But what appears to me an act of friend⯑ſhip and generoſity the moſt undoubted and eſtimable, in a word, the moſt worthy of Mr. Hume, was the care he took to ſolicit for me, of his own accord, a penſion from the King; to which moſt aſſuredly I had no right to aſpire. As I was a witneſs to the zeal he exerted in that affair, I was greatly affected with it. Nothing could flatter me more than a piece of ſervice of that nature; not merely for the ſake of intereſt; for, too much at⯑tached, [39] perhaps, to what I actually poſſeſs, I am not capable of deſiring what I have not, and as I am able to ſubſiſt on my labour and the aſſiſtance of my friends, I covet nothing more. But the honour of receiving teſtimo⯑nies of the goodneſs, I will not ſay of ſo great a monarch, but of ſo good a father, ſo good a huſband, ſo good a maſter, ſo good a friend, and above all, ſo worthy a man, was ſenſibly affecting: and when I conſider⯑ed farther, that the miniſter who had ob⯑tained for me this favour, was a living inſtance of that probity which of all others is the moſt important to mankind, and at the ſame time hardly ever met with in the only character wherein it can be uſeful, I could not check the emotions of my pride, at having for my benefactors three men, who of all the world I could moſt deſire to have my friends. Thus, ſo far from refuſing the penſion offered me, I only made one condition neceſſary for my acceptance; this was the conſent of a perſon, whom I could not, without neglecting my duty, fail to conſult.

Being honoured with the civilities of all the world, I endeavoured to make a proper return. In the mean time, my bad ſtate of health, and being accuſtomed to live in the country, made my reſidence in town very diſagreeable. Immediately country houſes preſented themſelves in plenty; I had my [40] choice of all the counties of England. Mr. Hume took the trouble to receive theſe pro⯑poſals, and to repreſent them to me; accom⯑panying me to two or three in the neighbour⯑ing counties. I heſitated a good while in my choice, and he increaſed the difficulty of de⯑termination. At length, I fixed on this place, and immediately Mr. Hume ſettled the affair; all difficulties vaniſhed, and I de⯑parted; arriving preſently at this ſolitary, con⯑venient, and agreeable habitation; where the owner of the houſe provides every thing, and nothing is wanting. I became tranquil, in⯑dependant; and this ſeemed to be the wiſhed for moment, when all my misfortunes ſhould have an end. On the contrary, it was now they began; misfortunes more cruel than any I had yet experienced.

Hitherto I have ſpoken in the fulneſs of my heart, and to do juſtice, with the greateſt pleaſure, to the good offices of Mr. Hume. Would to Heaven that what remains for me to ſay were of the ſame nature! It would never give me pain to ſpeak what would re⯑dound to his honour; nor is it proper to ſet a value on benefits till one is accuſed of in⯑gratitude; which is the caſe at preſent. I will venture to make one obſervation, there⯑fore, which renders it neceſſary. In eſti⯑mating the ſervices of Mr. Hume, by the time and the pains they took him up, they [41] were of an infinite value, and that ſtill more from the good-will diſplayed in their per⯑formance; but for the actual ſervice they were of to me, it was much more in ap⯑pearance than reality. I did not come over to beg my bread in England; I brought the means of ſubſiſtence with me. I came merely to ſeek an aſylum in a country which is open to every ſtranger without diſtinction. I was, beſides, not ſo totally unknown as that, if I had arrived alone, I ſhould have wanted either aſſiſtance or ſervice. If ſome perſons have ſought my acquaintance for the ſake of Mr. Hume, others have ſought it for my own. Thus when Mr. Davenport, for example, was ſo kind as to offer my preſent retreat, it was not for the ſake of Mr. Hume, whom he did not know, and whom he ſaw only in order to deſire him to make me his obliging propoſal. So that when Mr. Hume endeavours to alienate from me this worthy man, he takes that from me which he did not give me^*. All the good that hath been done me, would have been done me nearly the ſame without him, and perhaps better; but the evil would not have been done me at all: for [42] why ſhould I have enemies in England? Why are thoſe enemies all the friends of Mr. Hume? Who could have excited their en⯑mity againſt me? It certainly was not I; who knew nothing of them, nor ever ſaw them in my life: I ſhould not have had a ſingle enemy had I come to England alone^*.

I have hitherto dwelt upon public and no⯑torious facts; which from their own nature, and my acknowledgment, have made the greateſt eclat. Thoſe which are to follow are particular and ſecret, at leaſt in their cauſe, and all poſſible meaſures have been tak⯑en to keep the knowledge of them from the public; but as they are well known to the perſon intereſted, they will not have the leſs influence toward his own conviction.

A very ſhort time after our arrival in Lon⯑don, I obſerved an abſurd change in the minds of the people regarding me, which ſoon became very apparent. Before I arrived [43] in England, there was not a nation in Eu⯑rope in which I had a greater reputation, I will venture to ſay, was held in greater eſti⯑mation. The public papers were full of en⯑comiums on me, and a general outcry pre⯑vailed on my perſecutors^*. This was the caſe at my arrival, which was publiſhed in the news papers with triumph; England prided itſelf in affording me refuge, and juſtly gloried on that occaſion in its laws and government: when, all of a ſudden, without the leaſt aſſignable cauſe, the tone was changed; and that ſo ſpeedily and totally, that of all the caprices of the public, never [44] was known any thing more ſurprizing. The ſignal was given in a certain Magazine, equally full of follies and falſhoods, in which the author, being well informed, or pretend⯑ing to be ſo, gives me out for the ſon of a muſician. From this time^*, I was con⯑ſtantly ſpoken of in print in a very equivocal or ſlighting manner. Every thing that had been publiſhed concerning my misfortunes was miſrepreſented, altered, or placed in a wrong light, and always as much as poſſible to my diſadvantage. So far was any body from ſpeaking of the reception I met with at Paris, and which had made but too much noiſe, it was not generally ſuppoſed that I durſt have appeared in that city; even one of Mr. Hume's friends being very much ſur⯑prized when I told him I came through it.

Accuſtomed as I had been too much to the inconſtancy of the public, to be affected by this inſtance of it, I could not help being aſtoniſhed, however, at a change, ſo very [45] ſudden and general, that not one of thoſe who had ſo much praiſed me in my abſence, appeared, now I was preſent, to think even of my exiſtence. I thought it ſomething very odd that, immediately after the return of Mr. Hume, who had ſo much credit in Lon⯑don, with ſo much influence over the book⯑ſellers and men of letters, and ſuch great connections with them, his preſence ſhould produce an effect ſo contrary to what might have been expected; that among ſo many writers of every kind, not one of his friends ſhould ſhew himſelf to be mine; while it was eaſy to be ſeen, that thoſe who ſpoke of him were not his enemies, ſince, in no⯑ticing his public character, they reported that I had come through France under his protection, and by favour of a paſſport which he had obtained of the court; nay, they almoſt went ſo far as to inſinuate, that I came over in his retinue, and at his ex⯑pence. All this was of little ſignifica⯑tion, and was only ſingular; but what was much more ſo, was, that his friends changed their tone with me as much as the public. I ſhall always take a pleaſure in ſaying that they were ſtill equally ſolicitous to ſerve me, and that they exerted themſelves greatly in my favour; but ſo far were they from ſhewing me the ſame reſpect, particularly the gentleman at whoſe houſe we alighted [46] on our arrival, that he accompanied all his actions with diſcourſe ſo rude, and ſometimes ſo inſulting, that one would have thought he had taken an occaſion to oblige me, merely to have a right to expreſs his con⯑tempt^*. His brother, who was at firſt very polite and obliging, altered his beha⯑viour with ſo little reſerve, that he would hardly deign to ſpeak a ſingle word to me even in their own houſe, in return to a civil ſalutation, or to pay any of thoſe civilities which are uſually paid in like circumſtances to ſtrangers. Nothing new had happened, however, except the arrival of J. J. Rouſ⯑ſeau and David Hume: and certainly the cauſe of theſe alterations did not come from me, unleſs indeed too great a portion of ſim⯑plicity, diſcretion, and modeſty, be the cauſe of offence in England. As to Mr. Hume, he was ſo far from aſſuming ſuch a diſguſting tone, that he gave into the other extreme. I have always looked upon flat⯑terers [47] with an eye of ſuſpicion: and he was ſo full of all kinds^† of flattery, that he even obliged me, when I could bear it no longer^‡, to tell him my ſentiments on that head. His behaviour was ſuch as to render few words neceſſary, yet I could have wiſh⯑ed he had ſubſtituted, in the room of ſuch groſs encomiums, ſometimes the language of a friend; but I never found any thing in his, which favoured of true friendſhip, not even in his manner of ſpeaking of me to others in my preſence. One would have thought that, in endeavouring to procure me patrons, he ſtrove to deprive me of their good-will; that he ſought rather to have me aſſiſted than loved; and I have been ſometimes ſurprized at the rude turn he [48] hath given to my behaviour before people who might not unreaſonably have taken of⯑fence at it. I ſhall give an example of what I mean. Mr. Pennick of the Muſeum, a friend of my Lord Marſhal's, and miniſter of a pariſh where I was ſolicited to refide, came to ſee me. Mr. Hume made my ex⯑cuſes, while I myſelf was preſent, for not having paid him a viſit. Doctor Matty, ſaid he, invited us on Thurſday to the Mu⯑ſeum, where Mr. Rouſſeau ſhould have ſeen you; but he choſe rather to go with Mrs. Garrick to the play: we could not do both the ſame day^*. You will confeſs, Sir, this was a ſtrange method of recommending me to Mr. Pennick.

I know not what Mr. Hume might ſay in private of me to his acquaintance, but nothing was more extraordinary than their behaviour to me, even by his own confeſ⯑ſion, and even often through his own means. Although my purſe was not empty, and I needed not that of any other perſon; which he very well knew; yet any one would have thought I was come over to ſubſiſt on the [49] charity of the public, and that nothing more was to be done than to give me alms in ſuch a manner as to ſave me a little con⯑fuſion^†. I muſt own, this conſtant and inſolent piece of affectation was one of thoſe things which made me averſe to reſide in London. This certainly was not the foot⯑ing on which any man ſhould have been in⯑troduced in England, had there been a de⯑ſign of procuring him ever ſo little reſpect. This diſplay of charity, however, may ad⯑mit of a more favourable interpretation, and I conſent it ſhould. To proceed.

At Paris was publiſhed a fictitious letter from the King of Pruſſia, addreſſed to me, and replete with the moſt cruel malignity. I learned with ſurprize that it was one Mr. Walpole, a friend of Mr. Hume's, who was the editor; I aſked him if it were true; in anſwer to which queſtion, he only aſked me, of whom I had the information. A mo⯑ment before he had given me a card for this ſame Mr. Walpole, written to engage him [50] to bring over ſuch papers as related to me from Paris, and which I wanted to have by a ſafe hand.

I was informed that the ſon of that quack^* Tronchin, my moſt mortal enemy, was not only the friend of Mr. Hume, and under his protection, but that they both lodged in the ſame houſe together; and when Mr. Hume found that I knew it, he impart⯑ed it in confidence; aſſuring me at the ſame time, that the ſon was by no means like the father. I lodged a few nights myſelf, toge⯑ther with my governante, in the ſame houſe; and by the air and manner with which we were received by the landladies, who are his friends, I judged in what man⯑ner either Mr. Hume, or that man, who, as he ſaid, who by no means like his father, muſt have ſpoken to them both of her and me^†.

[51] All theſe facts put together, added to a certain appearance of things on the whole, inſenſibly gave me an uneaſineſs, which I re⯑jected with horror. In the mean time, I found the letters I wrote did not come to hand; thoſe I received had often been open⯑ed; and all went through the hands of Mr. Hume^†. If at any time any one eſcaped [52] him, he could not conceal his eagerneſs to ſee it. One evening in particular I remem⯑ber a very remarkable circumſtance of this kind, that greatly ſtruck me^‡. As we were ſitting one evening, after ſupper, ſilent by the fire-ſide, I caught his eyes intently fixed on mine, as indeed happened very [53] often; and that in a manner of which it is very difficult to give an idea; at that time he gave me a ſtedfaſt, piercing look, mixed with a ſneer, which greatly diſturbed me. To get rid of the embarraſsment I lay under, I endeavoured to look full at him in my turn; but, in fixing my eyes againſt his, I felt the moſt inexpreſſible terror, and was obliged ſoon to turn them away. The ſpeech and phyſiognomy of the good David is that of an honeſt man; but where, great God! did this good man borrow thoſe eyes he fixes ſo ſternly and unaccountably on thoſe of his friends!

The impreſſion of this look remained with me, and gave me much uneaſineſs. My trouble increaſed even to a degree of fainting; and if I had not been relieved by an effuſion of tears, I had been ſuffocated. Preſently after this I was ſeized with the moſt violent remorſe; I even deſpiſed my⯑ſelf; till at length, in a tranſport, which I ſtill remember with delight, I ſprang on his neck, embraced him eagerly; while almoſt choked with ſobbing, and bathed in tears, I cried out, in broken accents, No, no, David Hume cannot be treacherous; if he be not the beſt of men, he must be the baſeſt of mankind. David Hume politely returned my embraces, and gently tapping me on the back, repeat⯑ed ſeveral times, in a good-natured and eaſy [54] tone, Why, what my dear Sir! Nay, my dear Sir ! Oh! my dear Sir! He ſaid no⯑thing more. I felt my heart yearn within me. We went to bed; and I ſet out the next day for the country.

Arrived at this agreeable aſylum, to which I have travelled ſo far in ſearch of repoſe, I ought to find it in a retired, convenient, and pleaſant habitation; the maſter of which, a man of underſtanding and worth, ſpares for nothing to render it agreeable to me. But what repoſe can be taſted in life, when the heart is agitated? Afflicted with the moſt cruel uncertainty, and ignorant what to think of a man whom I ought to love and eſteem, I endeavoured to get rid of that fatal doubt, in placing confidence in my be⯑nefactor. For, wherefore, from what un⯑accountable caprice ſhould be diſplay ſo much apparent zeal for my happineſs, and at the ſame time entertain ſecret deſigns againſt my honour. Among the ſeveral ob⯑ſervations that diſturbed me, each fact was in itſelf of no great moment; it was their concurrence that was ſurprizing; yet I thought, perhaps, that Mr. Hume, inform⯑ed of other facts, of which I was ignorant, could have given me a ſatisfactory ſolution of them, had we come to an explana⯑tion. The only thing that was inexpli⯑cable, was, that he refuſed to come to ſuch [55] an explanation; which both his honour and his friendſhip rendered equally neceſſary. I ſaw very well there was ſomething in the affair which I did not comprehend, and which I earneſtly wiſhed to know. Before I came to an abſolute determination, there⯑fore, with regard to him, I was deſirous of making another effort, and to try to recover him, if he had permitted himſelf to be ſeduced by my enemies, or in ſhort to prevail on him to explain himſelf one way or other. Accordingly I wrote him a letter, which he ought to have found very na⯑tural^*, if he were guilty; but very extra⯑ordinary, if he were innocent. For what could be more extraordinary than a letter full of gratitude for his ſervices, and at the ſame time, of diſtruſt of his ſentiments; and in which, placing in a manner his actions on one ſide, and his ſentiments on the other, inſtead of ſpeaking of the proofs of friendſhip he had given me, I deſired him to love me, for the good he had done me^†? I did not take the precaution to pre⯑ſerve [56] a copy of this letter; but as he hath done it, let him produce it: and whoever ſhall read it, and ſee therein a man labour⯑ing under a ſecret trouble, which he is de⯑ſirous of expreſſing, and is afraid to do it, will, I am perſuaded, be curious to know what kind of eclairciſſement it produced, eſpecially after the preceeding ſcene. None. Abſolutely none at all. Mr. Hume con⯑tented himſelf, in his anſwer, with only ſpeaking of the obliging offices Mr. Daven⯑port propoſed to do for me. As for the reſt, he ſaid not a word of the principal ſubject of my letter, nor of the ſituation of my heart, of whoſe diſtreſs he could not be ignorant. I was more ſtruck with this ſilence, than I had been with his phlegm during our laſt con⯑verſation. In this I was wrong; this ſilence was very natural after the other, and was no more than I ought to have expected. For when one hath ventured to declare to man's face, I am tempted to believe you a traitor, and he hath not the curioſity to aſk you for what ^*, it may be depended on he will never have any ſuch curioſity as long as he lives; and it is eaſy to judge of him from theſe ſlight indications.

After the receipt of his letter, which was long delayed, I determined at length to write [57] to him no more. Soon after, every thing ſerved to confirm me in the reſolution to break off all farther correſpondence with him. Curious to the laſt degree concerning the minuteſt circumſtance of my affairs, he was not content to learn them of me, in our fre⯑quent converſations; but, as I learned, ne⯑ver let ſlip an opportunity of being alone with my governante^†, to interrogate her even importunately concerning my occupa⯑tions, my reſources, my friends, acquaint⯑ances, their names, ſituations, place of abode, and all this after ſetting out with telling her he was well acquainted with the whole of my connections; nay, with the moſt jeſu⯑itical addreſs, he would aſk the ſame queſ⯑tions of us ſeparately. One ought undoubt⯑edly to intereſt one's ſelf in the affairs of a friend; but one ought to be ſatisfied with what he thinks proper to let us know of them, particularly when people are ſo frank and in⯑genuous as I am. Indeed all this petty inqui⯑ſitiveneſs is very little becoming a philoſopher.

About the ſame time I received two other letters which had been opened. The one from Mr. Boſwell, the ſeal of which was ſo [58] looſe and disfigured, that Mr. Davenport, when he received it, remarked the ſame to Mr. Hume's ſervant. The other was from Mr. d'Ivernois, in Mr. Hume's packet, and which had been ſealed up again by means of a hot iron, which, aukwardly applied, had burnt the paper round the impreſſion. On this, I wrote to Mr. Davenport to deſire him to take charge of all the letters which might be ſent for me, and to truſt none of them in any body's hands, under any pretext whatever. I know not whether Mr. Daven⯑port, who certainly was far from thinking that precaution was to be obſerved with re⯑gard to Mr. Hume, ſhowed him my letter or not; but this I know, that the latter had all the reaſon in the world to think he had forfeited my confidence, and that he pro⯑ceeded nevertheleſs in his uſual manner, without troubling himſelf about the recovery of it.

But what was to become of me, when I ſaw, in the public papers, the pretended letter of the King of Pruſſia, which I had never before ſeen, that fictitious letter, printed in French and Engliſh, given for genuine, even with the ſignature of the King, and in which I knew the pen of Mr. d'Alembert as cer⯑tainly as if I had ſeen him write it^*?

[59] In a moment a ray of light diſcovered to me the ſecret cauſe of that touching and ſud⯑den change, which I had obſerved in the public reſpecting me; and I ſaw the plot which was put in execution at London, had been laid in Paris.

Mr. d'Alembert, another intimate friend of Mr. Hume's, had been long ſince my ſecret enemy, and lay in watch for opportu⯑nities to injure me without expoſing himſelf. He was the only perſon, among the men of letters, of my old acquaintance, who did not come to ſee me^†, or ſend their civilities during my laſt paſſage through Paris. I knew his ſecret diſpoſition, but I gave my⯑ſelf very little trouble about it, content⯑ing myſelf with adviſing my friends of it occaſionally. I remember that being aſked about him one day by Mr. Hume, who afterwards aſked my governante the ſame queſtion, I told him that Mr. d'Alembert was a cunning, artful man. He contradicted me with a warmth that ſurprized me; not then knowing they ſtood ſo well with each other, and that it was his own cauſe he de⯑fended.

[60] The peruſal of the letter above mentioned alarmed me a good deal, when, perceiving that I had been brought over to England in conſequence of a project which began to be put in execution, but of the end of which I was ignorant, I felt the danger without knowing what to guard againſt, or on whom to rely. I then recollected four terrify⯑ing words Mr. Hume had made uſe of, and of which I ſhall ſpeak hereafter. What could be thought of a paper in which my misfor⯑tunes were imputed to me as a crime, which tended, in the midſt of my diſtreſs, to de⯑prive me of all compaſſion, and, to render its effects ſtill more cruel, pretended to have been written by a Prince who had afforded me protection? What could I divine would be the conſequence of ſuch a beginning? The people in England read the public pa⯑pers, and are in no wiſe prepoſſeſſed in favour of foreigners. Even a coat, cut in a dif⯑ferent faſhion from their own, is ſufficient to excite a prejudice againſt them. What then had not a poor ſtranger to expect in his rural walks, the only pleaſures of his life, when the good people in the neighbourhood were once thoroughly perſuaded he was fond of being perſecuted and pelted? Doubtleſs they would be ready enough to contribute to his favourite amuſement. But my concern, my profound and cruel concern, the bittereſt in⯑deed [61] I ever felt, did not ariſe from the dan⯑ger to which I was perſonally expoſed. I had braved too many others to be much moved with that. The treachery of a falſe friend^* to which I had fallen a prey, was the circumſtance that filled my too ſuſ⯑ceptible heart with deadly ſorrow. In the impetuoſity of its firſt emotions, of which I never yet was maſter, and of which my ene⯑mies have artfully taken the advantage, I wrote ſeveral letters full of diſorder, in which I did not diſguiſe either my anxiety or indig⯑nation.

I have, Sir, ſo many things to mention, that I forget half of them by the way. For inſtance, a certain narrative in form of a let⯑ter, concerning my manner of living at Montmorency, was given by the bookſellers to Mr. Hume, who ſhewed it me. I agreed to its being printed, and Mr. Hume under⯑took the care of its edition; but it never ap⯑peared. Again, I had brought over with me a copy of the letters of Mr. du Peyrou, con⯑taining a relation of the treatment I had met [62] with at Neuſchatel. I gave them into the hands of the ſame bookſeller to have them tranſlated and reprinted. Mr. Hume charged himſelf with the care of them; but they ne⯑ver appeared^†. The ſuppoſititious letter of the King of Pruſſia, and its tranſlation, had no ſooner made their appearance, than I im⯑mediately comprehended why the other pieces had been ſuppreſſed^‡, and I wrote as much to the bookſellers^‖. I wrote ſeveral [63] other letters alſo, which probably were handed about London; till at length I em⯑ployed the credit of a man of quality and merit, to inſert a declaration of the impoſture in the public papers. In this declaration. I concealed no part of my extreme concern; nor did I in the leaſt diſguiſe the cauſe.

Hitherto Mr. Hume ſeems to have walked in darkneſs. You will ſoon ſee him appear [64] in open day, and act without diſguiſe. No⯑thing more is neceſſary, in our behaviour toward cunning people, than to act ingenu⯑ouſly; ſooner or later they will infallibly be⯑tray themſelves.

When this pretended letter from the King of Pruſſia was firſt publiſhed in London, Mr. Hume, who certainly knew that it was fictitious, as I had told him ſo, yet ſaid no⯑thing of the matter, did not write to me, but was totally ſilent; and did not even think of making any declaration, of the truth, in favour of his abſent friend^*. It anſwered his purpoſe better to let the report take its courſe, as he did.

Mr. Hume having been my conductor into England, he was of courſe in a manner my patron and protector. If it were but na⯑tural in him to undertake my defence, it was to leſs ſo that, when I had a public proteſtation to make, I ſhould have addreſſed myſelf to him. Having already ceaſed writ⯑ing to him^†, however, I had no mind to renew our correſpondence. I addreſſed my⯑ſelf therefore to another perſon. The firſt [65] ſlap on the face I gave my patron. He felt nothing of it.

In ſaying the letter was fabricated at Paris, it was of very little conſequence to me whe⯑ther it was underſtood particularly of Mr. d'Alembert, or of Mr. Walpole, whoſe name he borrowed on the occaſion. But in adding that, what afflicted and tore my heart was, the impoſtor had got his accom⯑plices in England; I expreſſed myſelf very clearly to their friend, who was in London, and was deſirous of paſſing for mine. For certainly he was the only perſon in England, whoſe hatred could afflict and rend my heart. This was the ſecond ſlap of the face I gave my patron. He did not feel, however, yet.

On the contrary, he maliciouſly pretended that my affliction aroſe ſolely from the pub⯑lication of the above letter, in order to make me paſs for a man who was exceſſively affected by ſatire. Whether I am vain or not, certain it is I was mortally afflicted; he knew it, and yet wrote me not a word. This affectionate friend, who had ſo much at heart the filling of my purſe, gave him⯑ſelf no trouble to think my heart was bleed⯑ing with ſorrow.

Another piece appeared ſoon after, in the ſame papers, by the author of the former, and ſtill if poſſible more cruel; in which the writer could not diſguiſe his rage at the recep⯑tion [66] I met with at Paris^*. This however did not affect me; it told me nothing new. Mere libels may take their courſe without giving me any emotion; and the inconſtant public may amuſe themſelves as long as they pleaſe with the ſubject. It is not an affair of con⯑ſpirators, who, bent on the deſtruction of my honeſt fame, are determined by ſome means or other to effect it. It was neceſſary to change the battery.

The affair of the penſion was not deter⯑mined. It was not difficult, however, for Mr. Hume to obtain, from the humanity of the miniſter, and the generoſity of the King, the favour of its determination. He was required to inform me of it, which he did. This, I muſt confeſs, was one of the critical moments of my life. How much did it coſt me to do my duty! My preceding engage⯑ments, the neceſſity of ſhewing a due reſpect for the goodneſs of the King, and for that of his miniſter, together with the deſire of diſplaying how far I was ſenſible of both; add to theſe the advantage of being made a little more eaſy in circumſtances in the de⯑cline of life, ſurrounded as I was by enemies and evils; in fine, the embarraſſment I was under to find a decent excuſe for not accept⯑ing [67] a benefit already half accepted; all theſe together made the neceſſity of that refuſal very difficult and cruel: for neceſſary it was, or I ſhould have been one of the meaneſt and baſeſt of mankind to have voluntarily laid my⯑ſelf under an obligation to a man who had betrayed me.

I did my duty, though not without reluc⯑tance. I wrote immediately to General Con⯑way, and in the moſt civil and reſpectful manner poſſible, without giving an abſolute refuſal, excuſing myſelf from accepting the penſion for the preſent.

Now, Mr. Hume had been the only ne⯑gotiator of this affair, nay the only perſon who had ſpoke of it. Yet I not only did not give him any anſwer, though it was he who wrote to me on the ſubject, but did not even ſo much as mention him in my letter to Ge⯑neral Conway. This was the third ſlap of the face I gave my patron; which if he does not feel, it is certainly his own fault, he can feel nothing.

My letter was not clear, nor could it be ſo to General Conway, who did not know the motives of my refuſal; but it was very plain to Mr. Hume, who knew them but too well. He pretended nevertheleſs to be deceived as well with regard to the cauſe of my diſcon⯑tent, as to that of my declining the penſion; and, in a letter he wrote me on the occaſion, [68] gave me to underſtand that the king's good⯑neſs might be continued towards me, if I ſhould reconſider the affair of the penſion. In a word he ſeemed determined, at all events, to remain ſtill my patron, in ſpite of my teeth. You will imagine, Sir, he did not expect my anſwer; and he had none. Much about this time, for I do not know exactly the date, nor is ſuch preciſion neceſ⯑ſary, appeared a letter, from Mr. de Voltaire to me, with an Engliſh tranſlation, which ſtill improved on the original. The noble object of this ingenious performance, was to draw on me the hatred and contempt of the people, among whom I was come to reſide. I made not the leaſt doubt that my dear patron was one of the inſtruments of its publication; particularly when I ſaw that the writer, in endeavouring to alienate from me thoſe who might render my life agreeable, had omitted the name of him who brought me over. He doubtleſs knew that it was ſuperfluous, and that with regard to him, nothing more was neceſſary to be ſaid. The omiſſion of his name, ſo impoliticly forgot in this letter, recalled to my mind what Tacitus ſays of the picture of Brutus, omitted in a funeral ſolemnity, viz. that every body took notice of it, particularly becauſe it was not there.

Mr. Hume was not mentioned; but he lives and converſes with people that are men⯑tioned. [69] It is well known his friends are all my enemies; there are abroad ſuch people as Tronchin, d'Alembert, and Voltaire^*; but it is much worſe in London; for here I have no enemies but what are his friends. For why, indeed, ſhould I have any other! Why ſhould I have even them^†? What have I done to Lord Littleton^‡, whom I [70] don't even know? What have I done to Mr. Walpole, whom I know full as little? What do they know of me, except that I am unhappy, and a friend to their friend Hume? What can he have ſaid to them, for it is only through him they know any thing of me? I can very well imagine that, conſi⯑dering the part he has to play, he does not unmaſk himſelf to every body; for then he would be diſguiſed to no body. I can very well imagine, that he does not ſpeak of me to General Conway and the Duke of Rich⯑mond, as he does in his private converſations with Mr. Walpole, and his ſecret corre⯑ſpondence with Mr. d'Alembert; but let any one diſcover the clue that hath been un⯑ravelled ſince my arrival in London, and it will eaſily be ſeen whether Mr. Hume does not hold the principal thread. At length the moment arrived in which it was thought proper to ſtrike the great blow; the effect of which was prepared for, by a freſh, ſatirical piece, put in the papers^*. [71] Had there remained in me the leaſt doubt, it would have been impoſſible to have har⯑boured it after peruſing this piece; as it con⯑tained facts unknown to any body but Mr. Hume; exaggerated, it is true, in order to render them odious to the public.

It is ſaid, in this paper, that my door was opened to the rich, and ſhut to the poor. Pray who knows when my door was open or ſhut, except Mr. Hume, with whom I lived, and by whom every body was intro⯑duced that I ſaw? I will except one great perſonage, whom I gladly received without knowing him, and whom I ſhould ſtill have more gladly received if I had known him. It was Mr. Hume who told me his name, when he was gone; on which information, I was really chagrined that, as he deigned to mount up two pair of ſtairs, he was not received in the firſt floor. As to the poor, I have nothing to ſay about the matter. I was conſtantly deſirous of ſeeing leſs company; but as I was unwilling to diſpleaſe any one, I ſuffered myſelf to be directed in this af⯑fair altogether by Mr. Hume, and endea⯑voured to receive every body he introduced [72] as well as I could, without diſtinction, whe⯑ther rich or poor. It is ſaid in the ſame piece, that I received my relations very coldly, not to ſay any thing worſe. This general charge relates to my having once re⯑ceived with ſome indifference the only rela⯑tion I have, out of Geneva, and that in the preſence of Mr. Hume^*. It muſt neceſſa⯑rily be either Mr. Hume or this relation who furniſhed that piece of intelligence. Now, my couſin, whom I have always known for a friendly relation, and a worthy man, is incapable of furniſhing materials for public ſatires againſt me. Add to this, that his ſituation in life confining him to the con⯑verſation of perſons in trade, he has no connection with men of letters, or para⯑graph-writers, and ſtill leſs with ſatiriſts and libellers. So that the article could not come from him. At the worſt, can I help imagining that Mr. Hume muſt have en⯑deavoured to take advantage of what he ſaid, and conſtrued it in favour of his own pur⯑poſe? It is not improper to add, that after my rupture with Mr. Hume, I wrote an account of it to my couſin.

[73] In fine, it is ſaid in the ſame paper, that I am apt to change my friends. No great ſubtlety is neceſſary to comprehend what this reflection is preparative to.

But let us diſtinguiſh facts. I have pre⯑ſerved ſome very valuable and ſolid friends for twenty-five to thirty years. I have others whoſe friendſhip is of a later date, but no leſs valuable, and which if I live, I may preſerve ſtill longer. I have not found, indeed, the ſame ſecurity in general among thoſe friendſhips I have made with men of letters. I have for this reaſon ſometimes changed them, and ſhall always change them, when they appear ſuſpicious; for I am determined never to have friends by way of ceremony; I have them only with a view to ſhew them my affection.

If ever I was fully and clearly convinced of any thing, I am ſo convinced that Mr. Hume furniſhed the materials for the above paper.

But what is ſtill more, I have not only that abſolute conviction, but it is very clear to me that Mr. Hume intended I ſhould: For how can it be ſuppoſed that a man of his ſubtlety ſhould be ſo imprudent as to ex⯑poſe himſelf thus, if he had not intended it? What was his deſign in it? Nothing is more clear than this. It was to raiſe my reſentment to the higheſt pitch, that he [74] might ſtrike the blow he was preparing to give me with greater eclat. He knew he had nothing more to do than to put me in a paſſion, and I ſhould be guilty of a number of abſurdities. We are now arrived at the critical moment which is to ſhew whether he reaſoned well or ill.

It is neceſſary to have all the preſence of mind, all the phlegm and reſolution of Mr. Hume, to be able to take the part he hath taken, after all that has paſſed between us. In the embarraſſment I was under, in writing to General Conway, I could make uſe only of obſcure expreſſions; to which Mr. Hume, in quality of my friend, gave what inter⯑pretation he pleaſed. Suppoſing therefore, for he knew very well to the contrary, that it was the circumſtance of ſecrecy which gave me uneaſineſs, he obtained the promiſe of the General to endeavour to remove it: but before any thing was done, it was pre⯑viouſly neceſſary to know whether I would accept of the penſion without that condi⯑tion, in order not to expoſe his Majeſty to a ſecond refuſal.

This was the deciſive moment, the end and object of all his labours. An anſwer was required; he would have it. To pre⯑vent effectually indeed my neglect of it, he ſent to Mr. Davenport a duplicate of his letter to me; and, not content with this [75] precaution, wrote me word, in another billet, that he could not poſſibly ſtay any longer in London to ſerve me. I was giddy with amazement, on reading this note. Ne⯑ver in my life did I meet with any thing ſo unaccountable.

At length he obtained from me the ſo much deſired anſwer, and began preſently to triumph. In writing to Mr. Davenport, he treated me as a monſter of brutality and in⯑gratitude. But he wanted to do ſtill more. He thinks his meaſures well taken; no proof can be made to appear againſt him. He demands an explanation; he ſhall have it, and here it is.

That laſt ſtroke was a maſter-piece. He himſelf proves every thing, and that beyond reply.

I will ſuppoſe, though by way of impoſ⯑ſibility, that my complaints againſt Mr. Hume never reached his ears; that he knew nothing of them; but was as perfectly ig⯑norant as if he had held no cabal with thoſe who are acquainted with them, but had re⯑ſided all the while in China^*. Yet the be⯑haviour paſſing directly between us; the [76] laſt ſtriking words, which I ſaid to him in London; the letter which followed replete with fears and anxiety; my perſevering ſilence ſtill more expreſſive than words; my public and bitter complaints with regard to the let⯑ter of Mr. d'Alembert; my letter to the Se⯑cretary of State, who did not write to me, in anſwer to that which Mr. Hume wrote to me himſelf, and in which I did not mention him; and in fine my refuſal, without deign⯑ing to addreſs myſelf to him, to acquieſce in an affair which he had managed in my fa⯑vour, with my own privity, and without any oppoſition on my part: all this muſt have ſpoken in a very forcible manner, I will not ſay to any perſon of the leaſt ſenſibility, but to every man of common ſenſe.

Strange that, after I had ceaſed to correſ⯑pond with him for three months, when I had made no anſwer to any one of his letters, however important the ſubject of it, ſur⯑rounded with both public and private marks of that affliction which his infidelity gave me; a man of ſo enlightened an underſtanding, of ſo penetrating a genius by nature, and ſo dull by deſign, ſhould ſee nothing, hear no⯑thing, feel nothing, be moved at nothing; but, without one word of complaint, juſti⯑fication, or explanation, continue to give me the moſt preſſing marks of his good will to ſerve me, in ſpite of myſelf! He wrote to [77] me affectionately, that he could not ſtay any longer in London to do me ſervice, as if we had agreed that he ſhould ſtay there for that purpoſe! This blindneſs, this inſen⯑ſibility, this perſeverance, are not in nature; they muſt be accounted for, therefore, from other motives. Let us ſet this behaviour in a ſtill clearer light; for this is the deciſive point.

Mr. Hume muſt neceſſarily have acted in this affair, either as one of the firſt or laſt of mankind. There is no medium. It remains to determine which of the two it hath been.

Could Mr. Hume, after ſo many inſtances of diſdain on my part, have ſtill the aſtoniſh⯑ing generoſity as to perſevere ſincerely to ſerve me? He knew it was impoſſible for me to accept his good offices, ſo long as I enter⯑tained for him ſuch ſentiments as I had con⯑ceived. He had himſelf avoided an expla⯑nation. So that to ſerve me without juſtifying himſelf, would have been to render his ſer⯑vices uſeleſs; this therefore was no genero⯑ſity. If he ſuppoſed that in ſuch circumſtances I ſhould have accepted his ſervices, he muſt have ſuppoſed me to have been an infamous ſcoundrel. It was then in behalf of a man whom he ſuppoſed to be a ſcoundrel, that he ſo warmly ſolicited a penſion from his Ma⯑jeſty. Can any thing be ſuppoſed more ex⯑travagant?

[78] But let it be ſuppoſed that Mr. Hume, conſtantly purſuing his plan, ſhould only have ſaid to himſelf, This is the moment for its execution; for, by preſſing Rouſſeau to accept the penſion, he will be reduced either to accept or refuſe it. If he accepts it, with the proofs I have in hand againſt him, I ſhall be able compleatly to diſgrace him: if he refuſes, after having accepted it, he will have no pretext, but muſt give a reaſon for ſuch refuſal. This is what I expect; if he ac⯑cuſes me he is ruined.

If, I ſay, Mr. Hume reaſoned with him⯑ſelf in this manner, he did what was con⯑ſiſtent with his plan, and in that caſe very natural; indeed this is the only way in which his conduct in this affair can be explained, for upon any other ſuppoſition it is inexpli⯑cable: if this be not demonſtrable, nothing ever was ſo. The critical ſituation to which he had now reduced me, recalled ſtrongly to my mind the four words I mentioned above; and which I heard him ſay and repeat, at a time when I did not comprehend their full force. It was the firſt night after our de⯑parture from Paris. We ſlept in the ſame chamber, when, during the night, I heard him ſeveral times cry out with great vehe⯑mence, in the French language, Je tiens J. J. Rouſſeau. [I have you, Rouſſeau.] [79] I know not whether he was awake or aſleep^*.

The expreſſion was remarkable, coming from a man who is too well acquainted with the French language, to be miſtaken with regard to the force or choice of words. I took thoſe words however, and I could not then take them otherwiſe than in a favourable ſenſe: notwithſtanding the tone of voice in which they were ſpoken, was ſtill leſs favour⯑able than the expreſſion. It is indeed im⯑poſſible for me to give any idea of it; but it correſponds exactly with thoſe terrible looks I have before mentioned. At every repeti⯑tion of them I was ſeized with a ſhuddering, a kind of horror I could not reſiſt; though a moment's recollection reſtored me, and made me ſmile at my terror. The next day all this was ſo perfectly obliterated, that I did not even once think of it during my ſtay in London, and its neighbourhood. It was not till my arrival in this place, that ſo many things have contributed to recall theſe words to mind; and indeed recall them every mo⯑ment.

[80] Theſe words, the tone of which dwells on my heart, as if I had but juſt heard them; thoſe long and fatal looks ſo frequently caſt on me; the patting me on the back, with the repetition of O, my dear Sir, in an⯑ſwer to my ſuſpicions of his being a trai⯑tor: all this affects me to ſuch a degree, after what preceded, that this recollection, had I no other, would be ſufficient to pre⯑vent any reconciliation or return of confi⯑dence between us; not a night indeed paſſes over my head, but I think I hear, Rouſſeau, I have you, ring in my ears as if he had juſt pronounced them.

Yes, Mr. Hume, I know you have me; but that only by mere externals: you have me in the public opinion and judgment of mankind. You have my reputation, and perhaps my ſecurity, to do with as you will. The general prepoſſeſſion is in your favour; it will be very eaſy for you to make me paſs for the monſter you have begun to repreſent me; and I already ſee the barbarous exulta⯑tion of my implacable enemies. The public will no longer ſpare me. Without any far⯑ther examination, every body is on the ſide of thoſe who have conferred favours; becauſe each is deſirous to attract the ſame good offices, by diſplaying a ſenſibility of the obli⯑gation. I foreſee readily the conſequences of all this, particularly in the country to [81] which you have conducted me; and where, being without friends and an utter ſtranger to every body, I lie almoſt entirely at your mercy. The ſenſible part of mankind, how⯑ever, will comprehend that I muſt be ſo far from ſeeking this affair, that nothing more diſagreeable or terrible could poſſibly have happened to me in my preſent ſituation. They will perceive that nothing but my in⯑vincible averſion to all kind of falſhood, and the poſſibility of my profeſſing a regard for a perſon who had forfeited it, could have pre⯑vented my diſſimulation, at a time when it was on ſo many accounts my intereſt. But the ſenſible part of mankind are few, nor do they make the greateſt noiſe in the world.

Yes, Mr. Hume, you have me by all the ties of this life; but you have no power over my probity or my fortitude, which, being independent either of you or of mankind, I will preſerve in ſpite of you. Think not to frighten me with the fortune that awaits me. I know the opinions of mankind; I am ac⯑cuſtomed to their injuſtice, and have learned to care little about it. If you have taken your reſolution, as I have reaſon to believe you have, be aſſured mine is taken alſo. I am feeble indeed in body, but never poſſeſſed greater ſtrength of mind.

Mankind may ſay and do what they will, it is of little conſequence to me. What is of [82] conſequence, however, is, that I ſhould end as I have begun; that I ſhould continue to preſerve my ingenuouſneſs and integrity to the end, whatever may happen; and that I ſhould have no cauſe to reproach myſelf either with meanneſs in adverſity, or inſo⯑lence in proſperity. Whatever diſgrace at⯑tends, or misfortune threatens me, I am ready to meet them. Though I am to be pitied, I am much leſs ſo than you, and all the revenge I ſhall take on you, is, to leave you the tormenting conſciouſneſs of being obliged, in ſpite of yourſelf, to have a reſpect for the unfortunate perſon you have op⯑preſſed.

In cloſing this letter, I am ſurprized at my having been able to write it. If it were poſſible to die with grief, every line was ſuf⯑ficient to kill me with ſorrow. Every cir⯑cumſtance of the affair is equally incompre⯑henſible. Such conduct as yours hath been, is not in nature: it is contradictory to itſelf, and yet it is demonſtrable to me that it has been ſuch as I conceive. On each ſide of me there is a bottomleſs abyſs! and I am loſt in one or the other.

If you are guilty, I am the moſt unfor⯑tunate of mankind; if you are innocent, I am the moſt culpable^*. You even make [83] me deſire to be that contemptible object. Yes, the ſituation to which you ſee me re⯑duced, proſtrate at your feet, crying out for mercy, and doing every thing to obtain it; publiſhing aloud my own unworthineſs, and paying the moſt explicit homage to your vir⯑tues, would be a ſtate of joy and cordial ef⯑fuſion, after the grievous ſtate of reſtraint and mortification into which you have plung⯑ed me. I have but a word more to ſay. If you are guilty, write to me no more; it would be ſuperfluous, for certainly you could not deceive me. If you are innocent, juſtify yourſelf. I know my duty, I love, and ſhall always love it, however difficult and ſevere. There is no ſtate of abjection that a heart, not formed for it, may not recover from. Once again, I ſay, if you are innocent, deign to juſtify yourſelf; if you are not, adieu for ever.

Mr. HUME to Mr. ROUSSEAU.

I SHALL only anſwer one article of your long letter: it is that which regards the converſation between us the evening be⯑fore your departure. Mr. Davenport had imagined a good natured artifice, to make you believe that a retour chaiſe had offered for Wooton; and I believe he made an adver⯑tiſement be put in the papers, in order the better to deceive you. His purpoſe only was to ſave you ſome expences in the journey, which I thought a laudable project; though I had no hand either in contriving or con⯑ducting it. You entertained, however, ſuſ⯑picions of his deſign, while we were ſitting alone by my fire-side; and you reproached me with concurring in it. I endeavoured to pacify you, and to divert the diſcourſe; but to no purpoſe. You ſat ſullen, and was either ſilent, or made me very peeviſh an⯑ſwers. At laſt you roſe up, and took a turn or two about the room; when all of a ſud⯑den, and to my great ſurpriſe, you clapped yourſelf on my knee, threw your arms about my neck, kiſſed me with ſeeming ardour, [85] and bedewed my face with tears. You ex⯑claimed, ‘"My dear friend, can you ever pardon this folly! After all the pains you have taken to ſerve me, after the num⯑berleſs inſtances of friendſhip you have given me, here I reward you with this ill humour and ſullenneſs. But your for⯑giveneſs of me will be a new inſtance of your friendſhip; and I hope you will find at bottom, that my heart is not unwor⯑thy of it."’

I was very much affected, I own; and, I believe, there paſſed a very tender ſcene between us. You added, by way of com⯑pliment, that though I had many better titles to recommend me to poſterity, yet perhaps my uncommon attachment and friendſhip to a poor unhappy perſecuted man, would not altogether be overlooked.

This incident, Sir, was ſomewhat remark⯑able; and it is impoſſible that either you or I could ſo ſoon have forgot it. But you have had the aſſurance to tell me the ſtory twice in a manner ſo different, or rather ſo oppo⯑ſite, that when I perſiſt, as I do, in this ac⯑count, it neceſſarily follows, that either you or I are a liar. You imagine, perhaps, that becauſe the incident paſſed privately without a witneſs, the queſtion will lie between the credibility of your aſſertion and of mine. But you ſhall not have this advantage or diſad⯑vantage, [86] which ever you are pleaſed to term it. I ſhall produce againſt you other proofs, which will put the matter beyond controverſy.

Firſt, You are not aware, that I have a letter under your hand, which is totally irre⯑concilable with your account, and confirms mine^*.

Secondly, I told the ſtory the next day, or the day after, to Mr. Davenport, with a friendly view of preventing any ſuch good natured artifices for the future. He ſurely remembers it.

Thirdly, As I thought the ſtory much to your honour, I told it to ſeveral of my friends here. I even wrote it to Mde. de Boufflers at Paris. I believe no one will imagine, that I was preparing before-hand an apology, in caſe of a rupture with you; which, of all human events, I ſhould then have thought the moſt incredible, eſpecially as we were ſeparated almoſt for ever, and I ſtill conti⯑nued to render you the moſt eſſential ſervices.

Fourthly, The ſtory, as I tell it, is con⯑ſiſtent and rational: there is not common ſenſe in your account. What! becauſe [87] ſometimes, when abſent in thought, I have a fixed look or ſtare, you ſuſpect me to be a traitor, and you have the aſſurance to tell me of ſuch black and ridiculous ſuſpicions! Are not moſt ſtudious men (and many of them more than I) ſubject to ſuch reveries or fits of abſence, without being expoſed to ſuch ſuſpicions? You do not even pretend that, before you left London, you had any other ſolid grounds of ſuſpicion againſt me.

I ſhall enter into no detail with regard to your letter: the other articles of it are as much without foundation as you yourſelf know this to be. I ſhall only add, in general, that I enjoyed about a month ago an uncommon pleaſure, when I reflected, that through many difficulties, and by moſt aſſiduous care and pains, I had, beyond my moſt ſanguine expectations, provided for your repoſe, ho⯑nour and fortune. But I ſoon felt a very ſenſible uneaſineſs when I found that you had wantonly and voluntarily thrown away all theſe advantages, and was become the de⯑clared enemy of your own repoſe, fortune, and honour: I cannot be ſurprized after this that you are my enemy. Adieu, and for ever. I am, Sir, yours.

Mr. WALPOLE to Mr. HUME.

I CANNOT be preciſe as to the time of my writing the King of Pruſſia's letter, but I do aſſure you, with the utmoſt truth, that it was ſeveral days before you left Paris, and before Rouſſeau's arrival there, of which I can give you a ſtrong proof; for I not only ſuppreſſed the letter while you ſtaid there, out of delicacy to you, but it was the reaſon why, out of delicacy to myſelf, I did not go to ſee him, as you often propoſed to me; thinking it wrong to go and make a cordial viſit to a man, with a letter in my pocket to laugh at him. You are at full liberty, dear Sir, to make uſe of what I ſay in your juſti⯑fication, either to Rouſſeau or any body elſe. I ſhould be very ſorry to have you blamed on my account: I have a hearty contempted of Rouſſeau, and am perfectly indifferent what any body thinks of the matter. If there is any fault, which I am far from thinking, let it lie on me. No parts can hinder my laughing at their poſſeſſor, if he [89] is a mountebank. If he has a bad and moſt ungrateful heart, as Rouſſeau has ſhown in your caſe, into the bargain, he will have my ſcorn likewiſe, as he will of all good and ſen⯑ſible men. You may truſt your ſentence to ſuch, who are as reſpectable judges as any that have pored over ten thouſand more volumes.

DECLARATION of Mr. D'ALEMBERT, relating to Mr. Walpole's Letter.

Addreſſed to the French Editors.

IT is with the greateſt ſurprize I learn, from Mr. Hume, that Mr. Rouſſeau ac⯑cuſes me of being the author of the ironical letter addreſſed to him, in the public papers, under the name of the King of Pruſſia. Every body knows, both at Paris and Lon⯑don, that ſuch letter was written by Mr. Walpole; nor does he diſown it. He ac⯑knowleges only that he was a little aſſiſted in regard to the ſtile, by a perſon he does not name, and whom perhaps he ought to name. As to my part, on whom the pub⯑lic ſuſpicions have fallen in this affair, I am not at all acquainted with Mr. Walpole: I don't even believe I ever ſpoke to him; having only happened to meet once occa⯑ſionally on a viſit.—I have not only had not the leaſt to do, either directly or indirectly, with the letter in queſtion, but could mention above an hundred perſons, among the friends as well as enemies of Mr. Rouſſeau, who have heard me greatly diſapprove of it; be⯑cauſe, as I ſaid, we ought not to ridicule the unfortunate, eſpecially when they do us no [95] harm. Beſides, my reſpect for the King of Pruſſia, and the acknowledgments I owe him, might, I ſhould have thought, have perſuaded Mr. Rouſſeau, that I ſhould not have taken ſuch a liberty with the name of that prince, even tho' in pleaſantry.

To this I ſhall add, that I never was an enemy to Mr. Rouſſeau, either open or ſe⯑cret, as he pretends; and I defy him to produce the leaſt proof of my having en⯑deavoured to injure him in any ſhape what⯑ever. I can prove to the contrary, by the moſt reſpectable witneſſes, that I have al⯑ways endeavoured to oblige him, whenever it lay in my power.

As to my pretended ſecret correſpondence with Mr. Hume, it is very certain, that we did not begin to write to each other till about five or ſix months after his departure, on occaſion of the quarrel ariſen between him and Mr. Rouſſeau, and into which the lat⯑ter thought proper unneceſſarily to intro⯑duce me.

I thought this declaration neceſſary, for my own ſake, as well as for the ſake of truth, and in regard to the ſituation of Mr. Rouſſeau: I ſincerely lament his having ſo little confidence in the probity of mankind, and particularly in that of Mr. Hume.