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CURIOUS PARTICULARS AND GENUINE ANECDOTES RESPECTING THE LATE Lord CHESTERFIELD and DAVID HUME, Eſq.

[PRICE TWO SHILLINGS.]

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CURIOUS PARTICULARS AND GENUINE ANECDOTES RESPECTING THE LATE Lord CHESTERFIELD and DAVID HUME, Eſq. WITH A PARALLEL between theſe celebrated PERSONAGES. AND AN Impartial Character of Lord Cheſterfield. TO WHICH IS ADDED, A SHORT VINDICATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CAUSE AND CHARACTER, OCCASIONED BY A RECENT REFLECTION THROWN UPON THEM, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE APOLOGY FOR THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF DAVID HUME.

BY A FRIEND TO RELIGIOUS AND CIVIL LIBERTY.

LONDON.

PRINTED FOR G. KEARSLEY, AT JOHNSON'S HEAD, NO. 46, IN FLEET STREET, 1788.

PREFACE.

[v]

INTERESTING particulars, and genuine anecdotes, relative to juſtly celebrated perſonages, have been generally well received by the public. In political life, as well as in the republic of letters, few have been more admired than the late LORD CHESTERFIELD, and DAVID HUME. We have, accordingly, had their lives, letters, and characters publiſhed; or ſupplements and apologies, &c. concerning them, printed.

Some of the moſt entertaining parts of theſe, the editor of the following [vi]ſelections, has endeavoured to preſent to the public, which he hopes will be both entertaining and inſtructive. They are taken from different publications reſpecting Mr. HUME and LORD CHESTERFIELD; or the moſt amuſing parts of theſe writings thrown together, in a ſhort compaſs.

The life of HUME, already publiſhed, makes not a part of this work: but the particulars now inſerted concerning Mr. HUME'S death and funeral, with his laſt will and teſtament, cannot but prove agreeable to many readers; as muſt the reflections which are added on dedications, and certain authors.

Beſides this, a compariſon at ſome length is made between LORD CHESTERFIELD and Mr. HUME: An impartial [vii]character of the former is added, with occaſional obſervations interſperſed, tending to vindicate the dignity of the chriſtian philoſophy.

The whole is with great deference ſubmitted to the public, for whoſe entertainment it was originally deſigned.

CURIOUS PARTICULARS, &c.

[1]

SECTION I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This ſophiſm, of arguing from the abuſe of any thing againſt the uſe of it, is one of the groſſeſt, and at the ſame time, the moſt common, to which men are ſubject. The hiſtory all ages, and none more than that of the period, which is our ſubject, offers us examples of the abuſe of religion; and we have not been ſparing, in this volume more than in the former, to remark them: But whoever would thence draw an inference to the diſadvantage of religion in general, would argue very raſhly and erroneouſly. The proper office of religion is to reform mens lives, to purify their hearts, to inforce all moral duties, and to ſecure obedience to the laws and civil magiſtrate. While it purſues theſe ſalutary purpoſes, its operations, tho' infinitely valuable, are ſecret and ſilent, and ſeldom come under the cognizance of hiſtory. That adulterate ſpecies of it alone, which inflames faction, animates ſedition, and prompts rebellion, diſtinguiſhes itſelf [7]on the open theatre of the world, and is the great ſource of revolutions and public convulſions. The hiſtorian, therefore, has ſcarce occaſion to mention any other kind of religion; and he may retain the higheſt regard for true piety, even while he expoſes all the abuſes of the falſe. He may even think, that he cannot better ſhow his attachment to the former than by detecting the latter, and laying open its abſurdities and pernicious tendency.

It is no proof of irreligion in an hiſtorian, that he remarks ſome fault or imperfection in each ſect of religion, which he has occaſion to mention. Every inſtitution, however divine, which is adopted by men, muſt partake of the weakneſs and infirmities of our nature; and will be apt, unleſs carefully guarded, to degenerate into one extreme or the other. What ſpecies of devotion ſo pure, noble, and worthy the Supreme Being, as that which is moſt ſpiritual, ſimple, unadorned, and which partakes nothing either of the ſenſes or imagination? Yet it is found by experience, that this mode of worſhip does very naturally, among the vulgar, mount up into extravagance and fanaticiſm. Even many of the firſt [8]reformers are expoſed to this reproach; and their zeal, though in the event it proved extremely uſeful, partook ſtrongly of the enthuſiaſtic genius: Two of the judges in the reign of Charles the Second, ſcrupled not to advance this opinion even from the bench. Some mixture of ceremony, pomp, and ornament may ſeem to correct the abuſe; yet will it be found very difficult to prevent ſuch a form of religion from ſinking ſometimes into ſuperſtition. The church of England itſelf, which is perhaps the beſt medium among theſe extremes, will be allowed, at leaſt during the age of archbiſhop Laud, to have been ſomewhat infected with a ſuperſtition, reſembling the Popiſh; and to have payed a higher regard to ſome poſitive inſtitutions, than the nature of the things, ſtrictly ſpeaking, would permit. It is the buſineſs of an hiſtorian to remark theſe abuſes of all kinds; but it belongs alſo to a prudent reader to confine the repreſentations, which he meets with, to that age alone of which the author treats. What abſurdity, for inſtance, to ſuppoſe, that the Preſbyterians, Independants, Anabaptiſts, and other ſectaries of the preſent age partake of all the extravagancies, which we remark in thoſe, who bore theſe appellations in the [9]laſt century? The inference indeed ſeems juſter; where ſects have been noted for fanaticiſm during one period, to conclude, that they will be very moderate and reaſonable in the ſubſequent. For as the nature of fanaticiſm during one period, is to aboliſh all ſlaviſh ſubmiſſion to prieſtly power, it follows, that as ſoon as the firſt ſerment is abated, men are naturally, in ſuch ſects, left to the free uſe of their reaſon, and ſhake off the fetters of cuſtom and authority.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CERTIFIED COPY OF THE LAST WILL and TESTAMENT OF DAVID HUME, ESQ.
[19] COPY.

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I DAVID HUME, ſecond lawful ſon of Joſeph Home of Ninewells, Advocate, for the love and affection I bear to John Home, of Ninewells, my brother, and for other cauſes, Do, by theſe preſents, under the reſervations and burthens after mentioned, Give and Diſpone to the ſaid John Home, or, if he die before me, to David Home, his ſecond ſon, his heirs and aſſigns whatſomever, all lands, heritages, debts and ſums of money, as well heritable as moveable, which ſhall belong to me at the time of my deceaſe, as alſo my whole effects in general, real and perſonal, with and under the burthen of the following legacies, viz. To my ſiſter, Katherine Home, the ſum of Twelve hundred [20]pounds ſterling, payable the firſt term of Whitſunday, or Martinmas, after my deceaſe, together with all my Engliſh books, and the live rent of my houſe in St. James's Court, or in caſe that houſe be ſold at the time of my deceaſe, Twenty pounds a year during the whole courſe of her life: To my friend Adam Ferguſon, Profeſſor of Moral Philoſophy in the College of Edinburgh, Two hundred pounds ſterling: To my friend, M. Delembert, Member of the French Academy, and of the Academy of Sciences in Paris, Two hundred pounds: To my friend, Dr. Adam Smith, late Profeſſor of Moral Philoſophy in Glaſgow, I leave all my manuſcripts without exception, deſiring him to publiſh my Dialogues on Natural Religion, which are comprehended in this preſent bequeſt; but to publiſh no other papers which he ſuſpects not to have been written within theſe five years, but to deſtroy them all at his leiſure: And I even leave him full power over all my papers, except the Dialogues above mentioned: And though I can truſt to that intimate and ſincere friendſhip, which has ever ſubſiſted between us, for his faithful execution of this part of my Will, yet, as a ſmall recompence of his pains in correcting [21]and publiſhing this work, I leave him Two hundred pounds, to be paid immediately after the publication of it: I alſo leave to Mrs. Anne and Mrs. Janet Hepburn, daughter of Mr. James Hepburn, of Keith, One hundred pounds a piece: To my couſin, David Campbell, ſon of Mr. Campbell, Miniſter of Lillyſleaf, One hundred pounds: To the Infirmary of Edinburgh, Fifty pounds: To all the ſervants who ſhall be in my family at the time of my deceaſe, one year's wages; and to my houſe-keeper, Margaret Irvine, three year's wages: And I alſo ordain, that my brother, or nephew, or executor, whoever he be, ſhall not pay up to the ſaid Margaret Irvine, without her own conſent, any ſum of money which I ſhall owe her at the time of my deceaſe, whether by bill, bond, or for wages, but ſhall retain it in his hand, and pay her the legal intereſt upon it, till ſhe demand the principal: And in caſe my brother above mentioned ſhall ſurvive me, I leave to his ſon David, the ſum of a Thouſand pounds to aſſiſt him in his education: But in caſe that by my brother's death before me, the ſucceſſion of my eſtate and effects ſhall devolve to the aforeſaid David, I hereby burthen [22]then him, over and above the payment of the aforeſaid legacies, with the payment of the ſums following: To his brothers, Joſeph and John, a Thouſand pounds a piece: To his ſiſters, Catherine and Agnes, Five hundred pounds a piece: All which ſums, as well as every ſum contained in the preſent diſpoſition (except that to Dr. Smith) to be payable the firſt term of Whitſunday, and Martinmas, after my deccaſe; and all of them without exception, in ſterling money. And I do hereby nominate and appoint the ſaid John Home, my brother, and failing of him by deceaſe, the ſaid David Home, to be my ſole executor and univerſal legatee, with and under the burthens above-mentioned; reſerving always full power and liberty to me at any time in my life, even in death-bed, to alter and innovate theſe preſents, in whole or in part, and to burthen the ſame with ſuch other legacies as I ſhall think fit. And I do hereby declare theſe preſents to be a good, valid, and ſufficient evident, albeit found in my cuſtody, or in the cuſtody of any other perſon, at the time of my death: CONSENTING to the regiſtration hereof in the books of council and ſeſſion, or other judges books competent therein to remain for preſervation, and there [23]to I conſtitute Mr. David Rae, Advocate, my procurator.

In witneſs whereof theſe preſents, conſiſting of this and the preceding page, are written and ſubſcribed by me on this Fourth of January, One thouſand ſeven hundred and ſeventy-ſix, at Edinburgh, before theſe witneſſes, the Right Honourable the Earl of Home, and Mr. John M'Gowan, clerk to the ſignet.

(Signed) DAVID HUME.
HOME, witneſs; Jo. M'GOUAN, witneſs.

I alſo Ordain, That if I ſhall die any where in Scotland, I ſhall be buried in a private manner in the Calton church yard, the ſouth ſide of it, and a monument be built over my body, at an expence not exceding a hundred pounds, with an inſcription containing only my name, with the year [24]of my birth and death, leaving it to poſterity to add the reſt.

(Signed) DAVID HUME.

I alſo leave, for rebuilding the bridge of Chirnſide, the ſum of a hundred pounds; but on condition that the managers of the bridge ſhall take none of the ſtones for building the bridge from the quarry of Ninewells, except from that part of the quarry which has been already opened. I leave to my nephew, Joſeph, the ſum of Fifty pounds to enable him to make a good ſufficient drain and ſewer round the houſe of Ninewells, but on condition that if that drain and ſewer be not made, from whatever cauſe, within a year after my death, the ſaid Fifty pounds ſhall be paid to the poor of the pariſh of Chirnſide: To my ſifter, inſtead of all my Engliſh books, I leave her a hundred volumes at her choice: To David Waite, ſervant to my brother, I leave the [25]ſum of Ten pounds, payable the firſt term after my death.

(Signed) DAVID HUME.

In this place of the original Will there are ſeveral lines deleted, after which follow theſe words: "This laſt clauſe was eraſed, and obliterated by myſelf.

(Signed) DAVID HUME.
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ON DEDICATIONS.

SECTION II. On DEDICATIONS.

[29]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A PARALLEL BETWIXT DAVID HUME and LORD CHESTERFIELD.

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

[43]

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

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

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

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

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

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

SECTION IV.

[51]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SECTION V. A Portrait of Lord Cheſterfield.

[57]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though wondering ſenates hung on all he ſpoke;
The club muſt hall him maſter of the joke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SECTION VI. The CONCLUSION.

[66]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[]

THE Editor of this Collection, in order to preſent Readers with the greater Variety of elegant Entertainment, has added the late LORD CHESTERFIELD's celebrated Speech againſt LICENSING the STAGE.

Likewiſe, his ironical Petition for a Penſion, which is ſtrongly marked by genuine Wit and true Humour.

THE Earl of CHESTERFIELD's SPEECH AGAINST LICENSING the STAGE.

[77]
MY LORDS,

THE Bill now before you I apprehend to be of a very extraordinary, a very dangerous nature. It ſeems deſigned not only as a reſtraint on the licentiouſneſs of the Stage, but it will prove a moſt arbitrary reſtraint on the liberty of the Stage; and, I fear, it looks yet farther; I fear, it tends towards a reſtraint on the liberty of the Preſs, which will be a long ſtride towards the deſtruction of liberty itſelf. It is not only a Bill, my L [...]rds, of a very extraordinary nature, but it has been brought in at a very extraordinary ſeaſon, and puſhed [78]with moſt extraordinary diſpatch. When I conſider how near it was to the end of the ſeſſion, and how long this ſeſſion had been protracted beyond the uſual time of the year; when I conſidered that this Bill paſſed through the other Houſe with ſo much precipitancy, as even to get the ſtart of a Bill which deſerved all the reſpect, and all the diſpatch, the forms of either Houſe of Parliament could admit of, it ſet me upon enquiring, what could be the reaſon for introducing this Bill at ſo unſeaſonable a time, and preſſing it forward in a manner ſo very ſingular and uncommon. I have made all poſſible inquiry, and as yet, I muſt confeſs, I am at a loſs to find out the great occaſion. I have, it is true, learned from common report without doors, that a moſt ſeditious, a moſt heinous farce had been offered to one of the theatres, a farce for which the authors ought to be puniſhed in the moſt exemplary manner: But what was the conſequence? the maſter of that theatre behaved as he was in duty bound, and as common prudence directed: He not only refuſed to bring it upon the Stage, but carried it to a certain Honourable Gentleman in the Adminiſtration, as the ſureſt method of having it abſolutely ſuppreſſed. Could this be the occaſion of introducing ſuch an extraordinary [79]Bill, at ſuch an extraordinary ſeaſon, and puſhing it in ſo extraordinary a manner? Surely no;—the dutiful behaviour of the player, the prudent caution they ſhewed upon that occaſion, can never be a reaſon for ſubjecting them to ſuch an arbitrary reſtraint: It is an argument in their favour, and a material one, in my opinion, againſt the Bill. Nay farther, if we conſider all circumſtances, it is to me a full proof that the laws now in being are ſufficient for puniſhing thoſe players who ſhall venture to bring any ſeditious libel upon the Stage, and conſequently ſufficient for deterring all players from acting any thing that may have the leaſt tendency towards giving a reaſonable offence.

I do not, my Lords, pretend to be a lawyer, I do not pretend to know perfectly the power and extent of our laws, but I have converſed with thoſe that do, and by them I have been told, that our laws are ſufficient for puniſhing any perſon that ſhall dare to repreſent upon the Stage what may appear, either by the words or the repreſentation, to be blaſphemous, ſeditious, or immoral. I muſt own, indeed, I have obſerved of late a remarkable licentiouſneſs in the Stage. There have but very lately been two plays acted, which, one [80]would have thought, ſhould have given the greateſt offence, and yet both were ſuffered to be often repreſented without diſturbance, without cenſure. In one, the author thought fit to repreſent the three great profeſſions, Religion, Phyſic, and the Law, as inconſiſtent with common ſenſe: In the other, a moſt tragical ſtory was brought upon the ſtage, a cataſtrophe too recent, too melancholy, and of too ſolemn a nature, to be heard of any where but from the pulpit. How theſe pieces came to paſs unpuniſhed, I do not know: If I am rightly informed, it was not for want of law, but for want of proſecution, without which no law can be made effectual: But if there was any neglect in this caſe, I am convinced it was not with a deſign to prepare the minds of the people, and to make them think a new law neceſſary.

Our Stage ought certainly, my Lords, to be kept within bounds; but for this, our laws as they ſtand at preſent are ſufficient: If our ſtage-players at any time exceed thoſe bounds, they ought to be proſecuted, they may be puniſhed: We have precedents, we have examples of perſons having been puniſhed for things leſs criminal than either of the two pieces I have mentioned. A new law muſt [81]therefore be unneceſſary, and in the preſent caſe it cannot be unneceſſary without being dangerous: Every unneceſſary reſtraint on licentiouſneſs is a fetter upon the legs, is a ſhackle upon the hands of liberty. One of the greateſt bleſſings we enjoy, one of the greateſt bleſſings a people, my Lords, can enjoy, is liberty;—but every good in this life has its alloy of evil:—Licentiouſneſs is the alloy of liberty; it is an ebullition, an excreſcence;— it is a ſpeck upon the eye of the political body, which I can never touch but with a gentle,— with a trembling hand, leſt I deſtroy the body, leſt I injure the eye upon which it is apt to appear. If the Stage becomes at any time licentious; if a play appears to be a libel upon the government, or upon any particular man, the king's courts are open, the laws are ſufficient for puniſhing the offender; and in this caſe the perſon injured has a ſingular advantage; he can be under no difficulty to prove who is the publiſher; the players themſelves are the publiſhers, and there can be no want of evidence to convict them.

But, my Lords, ſuppoſe it true, that the laws now in being are not ſufficient for putting a check to or preventing the licentiouſneſs of the Stage: ſuppoſe it abſolutely neceſſary ſome [82]new law ſhould be made for that purpoſe; yet it muſt be granted that ſuch a law ought to be maturely conſidered, and every clauſe, every ſentence, nay every word of it well weighed and examined, leſt under ſome of thoſe methods, preſumed or pretended to be neceſſary for reſtraining licentiouſneſs, a power ſhould lie concealed, which might be afterwards made uſe of for giving a dangerous would to liberty. Such a law ought not to be introduced at the cloſe of a ſeſſion, nor ought we, in the paſſing of ſuch a law, to depart from any of the forms preſcribed by our anceſtors for preventing deceit and ſurprize. There is ſuch a connection between licentiouſneſs and liberty, that it is not eaſy to correct the one, without dangerouſly wounding the other: It is extremely hard to diſtinguiſh the true limit between them: like a changeable ſilk, we can eaſily ſee there are two different colours, but we cannot eaſily diſcover where the one ends, or where the other begins.—There can be no great and immediate danger from the licentiouſneſs of the ſtage: I hope it will not be pretended that our government may, before next winter, be overturned by ſuch licentiouſneſs, even though our Stage were at preſent under no ſort of legal controul. Why then may we not delay till next ſeſſion paſſing any law [83]againſt the licentiouſneſs of the Stage? Neither our government can be altered, nor our conſtitution overturned by ſuch a delay; but by paſſing a law raſhly and unadviſedly, our conſtitution may at once be deſtroyed, and our government rendered arbitrary. Can we then put a ſmall, a ſhort-lived inconvenience in the balance with perpetual ſlavery? Can it be ſuppoſed that a parliament of Great Britain will ſo much as riſque the latter, for the ſake of avoiding the former?

Surely, my Lords, this is not to be expected, were the licentiouſneſs of the ſtage much greater than it is, were the inſufficiency of our laws more obvious than can be pretended; but when we complain of the licentiouſneſs of the Stage, and of the inſufficiency of our laws, I fear we have more reaſon to complain of bad meaſures in our polity, and a general decay of virtue and morality among the people. In public as well as private life, the only way to prevent being ridiculed or cenſured, is to avoid all ridiculous or wicked meaſures, and to purſue ſuch only as are virtuous and worthy. The people never endeavour to ridicule thoſe they love and eſteem, nor will they ſuffer them to be ridiculed: If any one attempts it, the ridicule [84]returns upon the author: he makes himſelf only the object of public hatred and contempt. The actions or behaviour of a private man may paſs unobſerved, and conſequently unapplauded, uncenſured; but the actions of thoſe in high ſtations, can neither paſs without notice, nor without cenſure or applauſe; and therefore an adminiſtration without eſteem, without authority among the people, let their power be ever ſo great, let their power be ever ſo arbitrary, they will be ridiculed: The ſevereſt edicts, the moſt terrible puniſhments, cannot entirely prevent it. If any man therefore thinks he has been cenſured; if any man thinks he has been ridiculed upon any of our public theatres, let him examine his actions he will find the cauſe, let him alter his conduct he will find a remedy. As no man is perfect, as no man is infallible, the greateſt may err, the moſt circumſpect may be guilty of ſome piece of ridiculous behaviour. It is not licentiouſneſs, it is an uſeful liberty always indulged the Stage in a free country, that ſome great men may there meet with a juſt reproof, which none of their friends will be free enough or rather faithful enough to give them. Of this we have a famous inſtance in the Roman hiſtory. The great Pompey, [85]after the many victories he had obtained, and the great conqueſts he had made, had certainly a good title to the eſteem of the people of Rome; yet that great man, by ſome error in his conduct, became an object of general diſlike; and therefore, in the repreſentation of an old play, when Diphilus, the actor, came to repeat theſe words, Noſtra Miſeria tu es Magnus, the audience immediately applied them to Pompey, who at that time was as well known by the name Magnus, as by the name Pompey, and were ſo highly pleaſed with the ſatire, that, as Cicero ſays, they made the actor repeat the words an hundred times over: An account of this was immediately ſent to Pompey, who, inſtead of reſenting it as an injury, was ſo wiſe as to take it for a juſt reproof: He examined his conduct, he altered his meaſures, he regained by degrees the eſteem of the people, and then he neither feared the wit, nor felt the ſatire of the Stage. This is an example which ought to be followed by great men in all countries. Such accidents will often happen in every free country, and many ſuch would probably have afterwards happened at Rome, if they had continued to enjoy their liberty; but this ſort of liberty in the Stage, came ſoon after, I ſuppoſe, to be called licentiouſneſs; [86]for we are told that Auguſtus, after having eſtabliſhed his Empire, reſtored order to Rome by reſtraining licentiouſneſs. God forbid! we ſhould in this country have order reſtored, or licentiouſneſs reſtrained, at ſo dear a rate as the people of Rome paid for it to Auguſtus.

In the caſe I have mentioned, my Lords, it was not the poet that wrote, for it was an old play, nor the players that acted, for they only repeated the words of the play; it was the people who pointed the ſatire; and the caſe will always be the ſame: When a man has the misfortune to incur the hatred or contempt of the people, when public meaſures are deſpiſed, the audience will apply what never was, what could not be deſigned as a ſatire on the preſent times. Nay, even though the people ſhould not apply, thoſe who are conſcious of guilt, thoſe who are conſcious of the wickedneſs or weakneſs of their own conduct, will take to themſelves what the author never deſigned. A public thief is as apt to take the fatire as he is apt to take the money, which was never deſigned for him. We have an inſtance of this in the caſe of a famous comedian of the laſt age; a comedian who was not only a good poet, but an honeſt man, and a quiet [87]and good ſubject: The famous Moliere when he wrote his Tartuffe, which is certainly an excellent and a good moral comedy, did not deſign to ſatirize any great man of that age; yet a great man in France at that time took it to himſelf, and fancied the author had taken him as a model for one of the principal and one of the worſt characters in that comedy: By good luck he was not the licenſer, otherwiſe the kingdom of France had never had the pleaſure, the happineſs, I may ſay, of ſeeing that play acted; but when the players firſt propoſed to act it at Paris, he had intereſt enough to get it forbid. Moliere, who knew himſelf innocent of what was laid to his charge, complained to his patron the Prince of Conti, that as his play was deſigned only to expoſe hypocriſy, and a falſe pretence to religion, it was very hard it ſhould be forbid being acted, when at the ſame time they were ſuffered to expoſe religion itſelf every night publicly upon the Italian ſtage. To which the Prince wittily anſwered, 'Tis true, Moliere, Harlequin ridicules Heaven, and expoſes Religion; but you have done much worſe—you have ridiculed the firſt Miniſter of Religion.

[88]I am as much for reſtraining the licentiouſneſs of the Stage, and every other ſort of licentiouſneſs, as any of your Lordſhips can be; but, my Lords, I am, I ſhall always be extremely cautious and fearful of making the leaſt encroachment upon liberty; and therefore, when a new law is propoſed againſt licentiouſneſs, I ſhall always be for conſidering it deliberately and maturely, before I venture to give my conſent to its being paſſed. This is a ſufficient reaſon for my being againſt paſſing this Bill at ſo unſeaſonable a time, and in ſo extraordinary a manner; but I have my reaſons for being againſt the Bill itſelf, ſome of which I ſhall beg leave to explain to your Lordſhips. The Bill, my Lords, at firſt view, may ſeem to be deſigned only againſt the Stage, but to me it plainly appears to point ſomewhere elſe. It is an arrow that does but glance upon the Stage, the mortal wound ſeems deſigned againſt the liberty of the preſs. By this Bill you prevent a play being acted, but you do not prevent its being printed; therefore, if a licence ſhould be refuſed for its being acted, we may depend on it the play will be printed. It will be printed and publiſhed, my Lords, with the refuſal in capital letters on the title page. People are always fond of what is forbidden. Libri prohibiti [89]are in all countries diligently and generally ſought after. It will be much eaſier to procure a refuſal, than it ever was to procure a good houſe, or a good ſale: Therefore we may expect, that plays will be wrote on purpoſe to have a refuſal: This will certainly procure a good ſale: Thus will ſatires be ſpread and diſperſed through the whole nation, and thus every man in the kingdom may and probably will, read for ſixpence, what a few only could have ſeen acted and that not under the expence of half a crown. We ſhall then be told, What! Will you allow an infamous libel to be printed and diſperſed, which you would not allow to be acted? You have agreed to a law for preventing its being acted, can you refuſe your aſſent to a law for preventing its being printed and publiſhed? I ſhould really my Lords, be glad to hear what excuſe, what reaſon one could give for being againſt the latter, after having agreed to the former; for, I proteſt I cannot ſuggeſt to myſelf the leaſt ſhadow of an excuſe. If we agree to the Bill now before us, we muſt perhaps next ſeſſion, agree to a Bill for preventing any play being printed without a licence. Then ſatires will be wrote by way of novels, ſecret hiſtories, dialogues, or under ſome ſuch title; and thereupon we ſhall [90]be told, What! Will you allow an infamous libel to be printed and diſperſed, only becauſe it does not bear the title of a play? Thus, my Lords, from the precedent now before us, we ſhall be induced, nay we can find no reaſon for refuſing to lay the preſs under a general licence, and then we may bid adieu to the liberties of Great Britain.

But ſuppoſe, my Lords, it were neceſſary to make a new law for the reſtraining the licentiouſneſs of the Stage, which I am very far from granting, yet I ſhall never be for eſtabliſhing ſuch a power as is propoſed by this Bill. If poets and players are to be reſtrained, let them be reſtrained as other ſubjects are, by the known laws of their country; if they offend, let them be tried as every Engliſhman ought to be, by God and their country. Do not let us ſubject them to the arbitrary will and pleaſure of any one man. A power lodged in the hands of one ſingle man, to judge and determine, without any limitation, without any controul or appeal, is a ſort of power unknown to our laws, inconſiſtent with our conſtitution. It is a higher, a more abſolute power than we truſt even to the King himſelf; and therefore I muſt think, we ought not to veſt any ſuch power in his Majeſty's [91]Lord Chamberlain. When I ſay this, I am ſure I do not mean to give the leaſt, the moſt diſtant offence to the noble Duke who now fills the poſt of Lord Chamberlain: His natural candour and love of juſtice, would not, I know, permit him to exerciſe any power but with the ſtricteſt regard to the rules of juſtice and humanity. Were we ſure his ſucceſſors in that high office would always be perſons of ſuch diſtinguiſhed merit, even the power to be eſtabliſhed by this Bill could give me no farther alarm, than leſt it ſhould be made a precedent for introducing other new powers of the ſame nature. This, indeed, is an alarm which cannot be avoided, which cannot be prevented by any hope, by any conſideration; it is an alarm which, I think, every man muſt take, who has a due regard to the conſtitution and liberties of his country.

I ſhall admit, my Lords, that the Stage ought not upon any occaſion to meddle with politics, and for this very reaſon, among the reſt, I am againſt the Bill now before us: This Bill will be ſo far from preventing the Stage's meddling with politics, that I fear it will be the occaſion of its meddling with nothing elſe; but then it will be a political Stage ex parte. It will be made ſubſervient to the [92]politics and ſchemes of the court only. The licentiouſneſs of the Stage will be encouraged inſtead of being reſtrained; but, like courtjournaliſts, it will be licentious only againſt the patrons of liberty, and the protectors of the people. Whatever man, whatever party oppoſes the court in any of their moſt deſtructive ſchemes, will, upon the Stage, be repreſented in the moſt ridiculous light the hirelings of a court can contrive. True patriotiſm and love of public good will be repreſented as madneſs, or as a cloak for envy, diſappointment and malice; while the moſt flagitious crimes, the moſt extravagant vices and follies, if they are faſhionable at court, will be diſguiſed and dreſt up in the habit of the moſt amiable virtues. This has formerly been the caſe:—In King Charles IId's days the play-houſe was under a licence. What was the conſequence?—The playhouſe retailed nothing but the politics, the vices, and the follies of the court: Not to expoſe them; no—but to recommend them; though it muſt be granted their politics were often as bad as their vices, and much more pernicious than their other follies. It is true, the court had, at that time, a great deal of wit; it was then indeed full of men of true wit and great humour; but [93]it was the more dangerous; for the courtiers did then, as thorough-paced courtiers always will do, they ſacrificed their honour, by making their wit and their humour ſubſervient to the court only; and what made it ſtill appear more dangerous, no man could appear upon the ſtage againſt them. We know that Dryden, the Poet Laureat of that reign, always repreſents the cavaliers as honeſt, brave, merry fellows, and fine gentlemen: Indeed, his fine gentleman, as he generally draws him, is an atheiſtical, lewd, abandoned fellow, which was at that time, it ſeems, the faſhionable character at court. On the other hand, he always repreſents the diſſenters as hypocritical, diſſembling rogues, or ſtupid ſenſeleſs boobies. —When the court had a mind to fall out with the Dutch, he wrote his Amboyna, in which he repreſents the Dutch as a pack of avaritious, cruel, ungrateful raſcals.—And when the Excluſion Bill was moved in parliament, he wrote his Duke of Guiſe, in which thoſe who were for preſerving and ſecuring the religion of their country, were expoſed under the character of the Duke of Guiſe and his party, who leagued together, for excluding Henry IV. of France from the throne, on account of his religion. —The city of London too, was made to feel the partial and mercenary licentiouſneſs [94]of the Stage at that time; for the citizens having at that time, as well as now, a great deal of property, they had a mind to preſerve that property, and therefore they oppoſed ſome of the arbitrary meaſures which were then begun, but purſued more openly in the following reign; for which reaſon they were then always repreſented upon the Stage, as a parcel of deſigning knaves, diſſembling hypocrites, griping uſurers, and—cuckolds into the bargain.

My Lords, the proper buſineſs of the Stage, and that for which only it is uſeful, is to expoſe thoſe vices and follies, which the laws cannot lay hold of, and to recommend thoſe beauties and virtues, which miniſters and courtiers ſeldom either imitate or reward; but by laying it under a licence, and under an arbitrary court-licence too, you will, in my opinion, intirely pervert its uſe; for though I have the greateſt eſteem for that noble Duke, in whoſe hands this power is at preſent deſigned to fall, though I have an intire confidence in his judgment and impartiality; yet I may ſuppoſe that a leaning towards the faſhions of a court is ſometimes hard to be avoided.—It may be very difficult to make one who is every day at court believe that to be a vice or folly, [95]which he ſees daily practiſed by thoſe he loves and eſteems.—By cuſtom even deformity itſelf becomes familiar, and at laſt agreeable.— To ſuch a perſon, let his natural impartiality be ever ſo great, that may appear a libel againſt the court, which is only a moſt juſt and a moſt neceſſary ſatire upon the faſhionable vices and follies of the court. Courtiers, my Lords, are too polite to reprove one another; the only place where they can meet with any juſt reproof, is a free, though not a licentious Stage; and as every ſort of vice and folly, generally in all countries, begins at court, and from thence ſpreads through the country, by laying the Stage under an arbitrary court-licence, inſtead of leaving it what it is, and always ought to be, a gentle ſcourge for the vices of great men and courtiers, you will make it a canal for propagating and conveying their vices and follies through the whole kingdom.

From hence, my Lords, I think it muſt appear, that the Bill now before us cannot ſo properly be called a Bill for reſtraining the licentiouſneſs, as it may be called a Bill for reſtraining the liberty of the Stage, and for reſtraining it too in that branch which in all countries has been the moſt uſeful; therefore I muſt look upon the Bill as a moſt dangerous [96]encroachment upon liberty in general. Nay farther, my Lords, it is not only an encroachment upon liberty, but it is likewiſe an encroachment on property. Wit, my Lords, is a ſort of property: It is the property of thoſe that have it, and too often the only property they have to depend on. It is, indeed, but a precarious dependance. Thank God! we, my Lords, have a dependance of another kind, we have a much leſs precarious ſupport, and therefore, cannot feel the inconveniencies of the Bill now before us; but it is our duty to encourage and protect wit, whoſoever's property it may be. Thoſe gentlemen who have any ſuch property, are all, I hope, our friends: Do not let us ſubject them to any unneceſſary or arbitrary reſtraint. I muſt own, I cannot eaſily agree to the laying of any tax upon wit; but by this Bill it is to be heavily taxed,—it is to be exciſed;—for if this Bill paſſes, it cannot be retailed in a proper way without a permit; and the Lord Chamberlain is to have the honour of being chief gauger, ſuperviſor, commiſſioner, judge and jury: But what is ſtill more hard, though the poor author, the proprietor I ſhould ſay, cannot perhaps dine till he has found out and agreed with a purchaſer; yet before he can propoſe to ſeek for a purchaſer, he muſt [97]patiently ſubmit to have his goods rummaged at their new exciſe-office, where they may be detained for fourteen days, and even then he may find them returned as prohibited goods, by which his chief and beſt market will be for ever ſhut againſt him; and that without any cauſe, without the leaſt ſhadow of reaſon, either from the laws of his country, or the laws of the Stage.

Theſe hardſhips, this hazard, which every gentleman will be expoſed to who writes any thing for the Stage, muſt certainly prevent every man of a generous and free ſpirit from attempting any thing in that way; and as the Stage has always been the proper channel for wit and humour, therefore, my Lords, when I ſpeak againſt this Bill, I muſt think I plead the cauſe of wit, I plead the cauſe of humour, I plead the cauſe of the Britiſh Stage, and of every gentleman of taſte in the kingdom: But it is not, my Lords, for the ſake of wit only; even for the ſake of his Majeſty's Lord Chamberlain, I muſt be againſt this Bill. The noble Duke who has now the honour to execute that office, has, I am ſure, as little inclination to diſoblige as any man; but if this Bill paſſes, he muſt diſoblige, he may diſoblige ſome of his moſt intimate [98]friends. It is impoſſible to write a play, but ſome of the characters, or ſome of the ſatire, may be interpreted ſo as to point at ſome perſon or other, perhaps at ſome perſon in an eminent ſtation: When it comes to be acted, the people will make the application, and the perſon againſt whom the application is made, will think himſelf injured, and will, at leaſt privately, reſent it: At preſent this reſentment can be directed only againſt the author; but when an author's play appears with my Lord Chamberlain's paſſport, every ſuch reſentment will be turned from the author, and pointed directly againſt the Lord Chamberlain, who by his ſtamp made the piece current. What an unthankful office are we therefore by this Bill to put upon his Majeſty's Lord Chamberlain! an office which can no way contribute to his honour or profit, and yet ſuch a one as muſt neceſſarily gain him a great deal of ill will, and create him a number of enemies.

The laſt reaſon I ſhall trouble your Lordſhips with for my being againſt the Bill, is, that in my opinion, it will no way anſwer the end propoſed: I mean the end openly propoſed, and, I am ſure, the only end which your Lordſhips propoſe. To prevent the acting [99]of a play which has any tendency to blaſphemy, immorality, ſedition, or private ſcandal, can ſignify nothing, unleſs you can likewiſe prevent its being printed and publiſhed. On the contrary, if you prevent its being acted, and admit of its being printed and publiſhed, you will propagate the miſchief: Your prohibition will prove a bellows which will blow up the fire you intend to extinguiſh. This Bill can therefore be of no uſe for preventing either the public or the private injury intended by ſuch a play; and conſequently can be of no manner of uſe, unleſs it be deſigned as a precedent, as a leading ſtep towards another, for ſubjecting the Preſs likewiſe to a licenſer. For ſuch a wicked purpoſe it may, indeed, be of great uſe; and in that light, it may moſt properly be called a ſtep towards arbitrary power.

Let us conſider, my Lords, that arbitrary power has ſeldom or ever been introduced into any country at once. It muſt be introduced by ſlow degrees, and as it were ſtep by ſtep, leſt the people ſhould perceive its approach. The barriers and ſences of the people's liberty muſt be plucked up one by one, and ſome plauſible pretences muſt be [100]found for removing or hood-winking, one after another, thoſe ſentries who are poſted by the conſtitution of every free country, for warning the people of their danger. When theſe preparatory ſteps are once made, the people may then, indeed, with regret ſee ſlavery and arbitrary power making long ſtrides over their land, but it will then be too late to think of preventing or avoiding the impending ruin. The Stage, my Lords, and the Preſs, are two of our out-ſentries; if we remove them,—if we hood-wink them,—if we throw them in fetters,— the enemy may ſurprize us. Therefore I muſt look upon the Bill now before us as a ſtep, and a moſt neceſſary ſtep too, for introducing arbitrary power into this kingdom: It is a ſtep ſo neceſſary, that, if ever any future ambitious king, or guilty miniſter, ſhould form to himſelf ſo wicked a deſign, he will have reaſon to thank us for having done ſo much of the work to his hand; but ſuch thanks, or thanks from ſuch a man, I am convinced every one of your Lordſhips would bluſh to receive,—and ſcorn to deſerve *

[101]

TO THE KING's moſt Excellent MAJESTY.
The humble PETITION of PHILIP Earl of CHESTERFIELD, Knight of the moſt noble Order of the Garter.

[103]
SHEWETH,

THAT your Petitioner, being rendered, by deafneſs, as uſeleſs and inſignificant as moſt of his equals and cotemporaries are by nature, hopes in common with them, to ſhare your Majeſty's Royal favour and bounty; whereby he may be enabled either to ſave or ſpend, as he ſhall think proper, more than he can do at preſent.

That your Petitioner, having had the honour of ſerving your Majeſty in ſeveral very lucrative employments, ſeems thereby entitled to a lucrative retreat from buſineſs, and to enjoy otium [104]cum dignitate; that is, leiſure and a large penſion.

Your Petitioner humbly preſumes, that he has, at leaſt, a common claim to ſuch a penſion: he has a vote in the moſt auguſt aſſembly in the world; he has an eſtate that puts him above wanting it; but he has, at the ſame time (though he ſays it) an elevation of ſentiment, that makes him not only deſire, but (pardon, dread Sir, an expreſſion you are uſed to) inſiſt upon it.

That your Petitioner is little apt, and always unwilling, to ſpeak advantageouſly of himſelf; but as, after all, ſome juſtice is due to one'sſelf, as well as to others, he begs leave to repreſent, That his loyalty to your Majeſty has always been unſhaken, even in the worſt of times; That, particularly, in the late unnatural rebellion, when the Pretender advanced as far as Derby, at the head of, at leaſt, three thouſand undiſciplined men, the flower of the Scottiſh Nobility and Gentry, your Petitioner did not join him, as unqueſtionably he might have done, had he been ſo inclined; but, on the contrary, raiſed ſixteen companies, of one hundred men each, at the public expence, in ſupport of your Majeſty's undoubted right to the Imperial [105]Crown of theſe Realms; which diſtinguiſhed proof of his loyalty is, to this hour, unrewarded.

Your Majeſty's Petitioner is well aware, that your Civil Liſt muſt neceſſarily be in a low and languid ſtate, after the various, frequent, and profuſe evacuations which it has of late years undergone; but, at the ſame time, he preſumes to hope, that this argument, which ſeems not to have been made uſe of againſt any other perſon whatſoever, ſhall not, in this ſingle caſe, be urged againſt him: and the leſs ſo, as he has good reaſons to believe, that the deficiencies of the Penſion-fund are by no means the laſt that will be made good by Parliament.

Your Petitioner begs leave to obſerve, That a ſmall Penſion is diſgraceful and opprobious, as it intimates a ſhameful neceſſity on one part, and a degrading ſort of charity on the other; but that a great one implies dignity and affluence on one ſide; on the other regard and eſteem; which, doubtleſs, your Majeſty muſt entertain in the higheſt degree, for thoſe great perſonages whoſe reſpectable names ſtand upon your Eleemoſynary liſt. Your Petitioner, therefore [106]humbly perſuades himſelf, upon this principle, that leſs than three thouſand pounds a year will not be propoſed to him: if made up gold the more agreeable; if for life the more marketable.

Your Petitioner perſuades himſelf, that your Majeſty will not ſuſpect this his humble application to proceed from any mean, intereſted motive, of which he has always had the utmoſt abhorrence. No, Sir, he confeſſes his own weakneſs; Honour alone is his object; Honour is his paſſion; Honour is dearer to him than life. To Honour he has always ſacrificed all other conſiderations; and upon this generous principle, ſingly, he now ſolicits that honour, which, in the moſt ſhining times, diſtinguiſhed the greateſt men of Greece; who were fed at the expence of the public.

Upon this Honour, ſo ſacred to him as a Peer, ſo tender to him as a Man, he moſt ſolemnly aſſures your Majeſty, that, in caſe you ſhall be pleaſed to grant him this his humble requeſt, he will gratefully and honourably ſupport, and promote with zeal and vigour, the worſt meaſure that the worſt Miniſter can ever ſuggeſt to your Majeſty: but, on the other [107]hand, ſhould he be ſingled out, marked, and branded by a refuſal, he thinks himſelf obliged in honour to declare, that he will, to the utmoſt of his power, oppoſe the beſt and wiſeſt meaſures that your Majeſty yourſelf can ever dictate.

And your Majeſty's Petitioner ſhall ever pray.

FINIS.
Notes
*

Perhaps the mercenary Maſon is more deſerving of this cenſure than Mr. Gray. In order to ſwell his volume, and to fill his pockets, the former has publiſhed a looſe and deſultory Correſpondence, which the latter never dreamt would ſee the light, and would have reprobated could he ever have conceived the idea of his worſt papers being put to this ungenerous and ungrateful uſe.— Nevertheleſs, in return to a benefactor, who conferred eſſential favours upon him, Mr. Maſon has, as far as he was able, ſacrificed his patron's reputation at the ſordid altar of Plutus. The poſthumous Poetical Pieces of Mr. Gray, though infinitely valuable, are few in number, and were not likely to anſwer the intereſted purpoſes of the hungry Editor by much emolument. This gentleman, therefore, reſolving to eſtabliſh a literary property or eſtate, by the name and writings of another, which he honeſtly acquaint's us he was unable to perform by his own, has given to the world, with little labour, a large but meagre Quarto, containing ſome puerile letters, ſuperior, however, to the Editor's notes, with which they are garniſhed. And by entitling theſe "The Poems of Mr. Gray," led the public to buy up a large impreſſion before the deception was diſcovered. Thus has the ingenious Maſon bartered the high poetical and literary reputation of of a worthy man who confided in him for money.

Quid non mortalia pectora coges.
Aun ſacra fames?
*
This note deſerves a place, as it will ſhow that even Mr. Hume himſelf could occaſionally be guilty of, the illiberal arrogance, petulance and ſcurrility which diſtinguiſh the Warburtonian School. ‘But there is a perſon, that has writ an ‘Enquiry, hiſtorical and critical, into the evidence againſt Mary Queen of Scots;’ and has attempted to refute the foregoing narrative. He quotes a ſingle paſſage of the nanative in which Mary is ſaid ſimply to refuſe anſwering; and then a ſingle paſſage from Goodall, in which ſhe boaſts ſimply that ſhe will anſwer; and he very civilly and almoſt directly calls the author a liar, on account of this pretended contradiction. That whole Enquiry, from beginning to end, is compoſed of ſuch ſcandalous artifices. And from this inſtance, the reader may judge of the candour, fair dealing, veracity, and good manners of the Enquirer, there are, indeed, three events in our hiſtory, which may be regarded as touchſtones of party-men. An Engliſh Whig, who aſſerts the reality of the popiſh Plot, an Iriſh Catholic, who denies the maſſacre in 1641, and a Scotch Jacobite, who maintains the innocence of Queen Mary, muſt be conſidered as men beyond the reach of argument or reaſon, and muſt be left to their prejudices.’
*
His diſeaſe was a diarrheea; the phyſicians were divided about the ſ [...]t of the malady. There is reaſon however to conjecture, that his diſorder originated from a courſe of eating rather fully, without drinking in proportion.
*
Mr. Hume, after his circumſtances became affluent, lived very hoſpitably and genteely. Yet he left to his relations upwards of 10,000l. of his own acquiring. He had a penſion from government of 500l. per annum.
*
When the mob were aſſembled round Mr. Hume's door to ſee the corpſe taken out to interment, the following ſhort dialogue paſſed between two of the refuſe of the rabble: ‘Ah, (ſays one) he was an Atheiſt.’ ‘No matter, (ſays another) he was an honeſt man.
*
We allude to thoſe written when the young gentleman was arrived at the age of nineteen; a time of life when the utmoſt exertions of good breeding would be expected.
*
By this Bill, which paſſed both houſes, all copies of plays, farces, or any thing wrote in the dramatic way, are to lie before his Grace the Lord Chamberlain of his Majeſty's houſhold for the time being, for his Grace's peruſal and approbation, before they ſhall be exhibited on the Stage.
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Citation Suggestion for this Object
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4371 Curious particulars and genuine anecdotes respecting the late Lord Chesterfield and David Hume Esq With a parallel between these celebrated personages To which is added a short vindication of. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-57A5-8