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 extra⯑ordinary character, than the eager, yet, per⯑haps, idle curioſity which the public enter⯑tained 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 notwith⯑ſtanding 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 Rouſ⯑ſeau extracted from him a perſonal, but com⯑plete 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 acri⯑monious 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 withdraw⯑ing of the other.

Mr. Hume, in the Hiſtory of his Life, has not informed us of his having ſtood candi⯑date for the Profeſſorſhip of Moral Philoſophy, in the Univerſity of Edinburgh; of the oppo⯑ſition which the Scots clergy excited to his pre⯑tenſions; [4]nor of the enquiry which was moved for in the venerable aſſembly of the Church of Scotland, reſpecting the principles incul⯑cated in his writings; and of the cenſures pro⯑poſed 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 Edin⯑burgh, 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 vo⯑lume is coming out ſoon. You are wel⯑come 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 fa⯑vourite 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. Jar⯑dine, 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 con⯑troverſy, 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 Doc⯑tor 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 opi⯑nions he had delivered concerning matters of religion, would hurt the ſale of his work; and [6]that ſome apology would be proper. He ac⯑cordingly in his ſecond volume, p. 449, when ſpeaking of the religious parties, ſubjoins the following note, which when his fame was eſta⯑bliſhed beyond the reach of party, he cancelled as unworthy of admiſſion.

To ſay barely, that Mr. Hume in his moral character was unexceptionable, would be doing him injuſtice; he was truly amiable, gentle, hoſpitable, and humane. His temper was caſt in the happieſt mould, if we may not except to his anxious and extreme ſenſibility, in every thing which affected his literary reputation. It is told, that an elderly woman in the ſuburbs of Edinburgh, whoſe exceſs of zeal was pro⯑portionable 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 de⯑ſtruction; 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 wel⯑fare, 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 wo⯑man, ſince you have expreſſed ſo earneſt a deſire that I ſhould be inſpired with inward light, I beg you will ſupply me with out⯑ward light alſo.’ The matron retired, not a little ſatisfied with the commiſſion which he gave her, and her huſband thenceforwards ſup⯑plied 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 bro⯑ther Davie is a good enough ſort of a man, but rather narrow minded.’

[11]As to Mr. Hume's abilities as a Philoſo⯑pher, and an Hiſtorian, his Works are the baſis on which poſterity will rear his everlaſt⯑ing 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 main⯑tained, 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 cer⯑tain day, which he named; and ſeparate⯑ly 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 con⯑teſt 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 in⯑tolerable, he went in a ſedan chair, and his ghaſtly looks bore the moſt ſtriking appear⯑ances of ſpeedy death. His ſituation was the more uncomfortable, that in his weak ema⯑ciated 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, af⯑fected [13]a delicacy which abhorred even the taſte of Port wine; this whimſical nicety had often been the ſubject of Mr. Hume's rail⯑lery, 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 con⯑verſation and enquiry; each individual ex⯑preſſing 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 par⯑ticular charge he gave about his corpſe, it would ſeem he was not altogether devoid of apprehenſions of its being treated with in⯑ſult.

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 grave⯑diggers, digging with pick-axes Mr. Hume's grave, ſhould have attracted the gaping curio⯑ſity of the multitude. That, notwithſtand⯑ing [15]a heavy rain, which fell during the in⯑terment, 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 rab⯑ble 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 bury⯑ing-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 con⯑courſe, 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.

SECTION II. On DEDICATIONS.

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

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 ig⯑norant, that to have inſcribed performances ſo ſcientific, to ſuch patrons, would involve the Philoſopher in a ſimilar error of judg⯑ment. 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, like⯑wiſe, 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 com⯑monly 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 im⯑proper patrons. Men, born to titles and to fortunes which deſcend without effort, or ex⯑ertion of any talent whatever, imagine the cul⯑tivation 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 phi⯑loſophy, 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 excep⯑tions of a Bacon, a Bolingbroke, a Shafteſ⯑bury, 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 tin⯑ſel of titles, the labours of learning, or the reflections of accurate and abſtruſe Philo⯑ſophy? 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, be⯑ſtow upon their flatterers. The flatterers are, in turn, well ſerved; they ſet out upon a wrong principle.—The intercourſe is alto⯑gether ill managed. Dedications, being an⯑other ſource of our national Hypocriſy, de⯑ſerve a more correct inveſtigation. It has been juſt obſerved, that they are fundamen⯑tally falſe.

A dedication admits of two diſtinct defini⯑tions, of which, one belongs to the Patron, and one to the Author. The Patron not only receives every untruth that can be ex⯑preſſed in the pride of Panegyric, as his due, but believes, at the ſame time, that he re⯑ceives it from an unprovided being, who is to exiſt for a certain ſpace of time upon the ſucceſs of his encomium. Something there⯑fore is uſually ſent to keep—(for I would [33]adopt the great man's language—"the poor devil of an Author from ſtarving:" The Au⯑thor'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 colour⯑ings 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 re⯑markable for any thing, let not a writer think, he is more honoured, than he honours; if he emblazons a name, which was before, glim⯑mering in obſcurity, the obligation is, to all intents and purpoſes, on the ſide of the Patron; who, but for ſuch imputed excel⯑lence, would have paſſed unobſerved through life: if he faithfully diſplays a character al⯑ready much celebrated, he is ſtill a benefac⯑tor to that character, if it were only for jog⯑ging 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 ſub⯑ject, to making the faggot blaze to gratify folly, and then to be paid for burning the fingers, as the pittance is diſpenſed by a taſk⯑maſter. Of much more ſervice, indeed, would it be to genius, ſcience, and general learn⯑ing, if their votaries were more inclined to cheriſh a ſpirit of intellectual independency— if, inſtead of cringing to a courtier, or run⯑ning, from the moſt fordid motives, into panegyrical hyperbole, they were to aſſert their dignity, and ſhew the ſuperior luſtre of ta⯑lents 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 proper⯑ty; 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 neg⯑lect that commonly attends it.

Aſk permiſſion! for what? For diſtin⯑guiſhing a man? For circulating the know⯑ledge of his good qualities beyond the nar⯑row circle of very likely, a frivilous ſet of companions! Require leave to do this! —Was there ever heard ſuch an inconſiſt⯑ency?—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 them⯑ſelves, 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 notwithſtand⯑ing ſuch defects, is, without the conſent of the Patron, adorned with a name which it diſgraces, ſuch Patron ought publicly to re⯑nounce [37]his protection, and treat the pre⯑tender, as every pretender of whatever pro⯑feſſion deſerves to be treated; ſtill, however, with this ſalvo, that if the production could have done any ſervice to literature, or pro⯑moted, 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 pre⯑ſent ſcandalous conceſſions remain, the ſneer will inevitably be thrown upon ſuch abomin⯑able proſtration. I have been ſomewhat co⯑pious 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 pam⯑pered 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 ho⯑norary diſtinctions, than any that can be con⯑ferred by royal grant, or by the pride of anceſtry.

On ſuch qualities was ſounded the reputa⯑tion of David Hume, ſo that upon this oc⯑caſion, [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 them⯑ſelves 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 expect⯑ed, for there would ſeldom be patronage, or emoluments in the caſe.

Certainly, in this inſinuating kind of buſi⯑neſs, 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 diſ⯑graced by fulſome dedications. Dryden, Colley Cibber, Mrs. Centlivre, Lee, Otway, and others, witneſs to the truth of this; as do ſome of our modern miſcellanies, novels, plays, adventures, &c.; not forgetting the author of liberal opinions. But it is hoped, that with the increaſe of ſcience, a general reform in this abuſe, will take place. Literary paraſites, in an age of light and knowledge, ſhould neither be ſeen, felt, heard, or underſtood.

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

LET me now, ſays the author of the Apo⯑logy, &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 premedita⯑tion 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 mem⯑bers [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 brillian⯑cy 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 de⯑gree, we allow him to have poſſeſſed, except one: it certainly is not now neceſſary to ob⯑ſerve that it is the word morality which muſt be ſcratched out of this liſt. For many years, however, Lord Cheſterfield's morals were un⯑ſuſpected; at length, too ſuperficial to be con⯑ſiſtent, or perhaps, weary of deceiving the world into notions of his plain dealing, he condeſcended, in the eve of life, to ſhew man⯑kind 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 pli⯑able features, led, in victorious chains, a thou⯑ſand fools to the altars either of ridicule, or de⯑bauchery, 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 Cheſ⯑terfield, 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 com⯑pany "was not unacceptible to the young and careleſs, as well as to the ſtudious, and lite⯑rary;" nor had he "any reaſon to complain of the reception he met from modeſt women, in whoſe company he was particularly de⯑lighted." He did not, nevertheleſs, profeſs a fondneſs for the ſociety of modeſt women, becauſe it was ſafer to have an affair of gal⯑lantry with ſuch, than with a proſtitute pro⯑feſſed; 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 ad⯑vantage of the chearful hour, in order to make himſelf maſter of the ſecrets of the heart, im⯑parted 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 phi⯑loſophy of Hume; none of them are of this nature; ſince his moſt abſtract reſearches were in favour of a behaviour perfectly irreproach⯑able.

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, ca⯑pable 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, not⯑withſtanding [47]my frequent diſappointments. My company was not unacceptable to the young and careleſs, as well as to the ſtudious and li⯑terary; and as I took a particular pleaſure in the company of modeſt women, I had no rea⯑ſon 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 propa⯑gate 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 ora⯑tion of myſelf, but I hope it is not a miſ⯑placed 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 ſen⯑tence 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 weak⯑neſſes, 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 impercepti⯑ble ſlight of hand, hath the art of appearing what he is not; and of cheating you, with ſin⯑gular 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 ingre⯑dient 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 Au⯑thor of a ſyſtem which ſeems to have been pillaged from the Dancing-maſter, the Per⯑fumer, 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 ſin⯑gular reprobation; and above all other hypo⯑crites, one that, in a kind of moral maſquerade dreſs, perpetrates every baſeneſs, and paſſes upon the world as a mighty good Chriſtian creature.

SECTION IV.

THE public will judge of the propriety and impartiality of the foregoing compari⯑ſon. Lord Cheſterfield never pretended to be a moral philoſopher; how far, then, compar⯑ing 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 con⯑demned his principles, as unfavourable to the true intereſts of religion, honour, and vir⯑tue: 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 impeach⯑ment, and his memory might have been tranſmitted to poſterity, with that applauſe and admiration, which we ſee paid to the Mon⯑tagues, the Boyles, the Sackvilles, the Shef⯑fields, 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 de⯑ſerved 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 re⯑lations, 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, lit⯑tle 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 per⯑fection he had ſketched out to himſelf, muſt have been much mortified, on finding himſelf fruſtrated in his unwearied endeavours to po⯑liſh and refine his manners.—The fertility of his genius in expedients to inſpire Mr. Stan⯑hope with the deſire of pleaſing, is not any where more conſpicuous than in this part of his letters. ^* Finding the diſorder ob⯑ſtinate, he had recourſe to more deſperate remedies; as empirics too frequently admi⯑niſter poiſon in their vain attempts to ſub⯑due unconquerable maladies, or to cure diſ⯑eaſes leſs dangerous, than thoſe which their inconſiderate practice entails upon their pa⯑tients.

[54]Far be it from me to endeavour to con⯑ceal, 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 ſuffi⯑cient to ſay, that the manners of great cities, eſpecially Paris, have in ſome de⯑gree authorized polite gallantry. In vain alſo would it be urged, that Lord Cheſter⯑field, knowing, perhaps, by his own expe⯑rience, 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 engage⯑ments, or that the latter depending, ſome⯑times, 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 mu⯑tual 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 pre⯑vails.

But we reſt not the defence of Lord Cheſ⯑terfield 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 hu⯑man nature, which hitherto never admitted of perfection.

SECTION V. A Portrait of Lord Cheſterfield.

HIS character is generally well under⯑ſtood—It is agreed on all hands, that he was a diſcreet Clodius;—a ſober Duke of Whar⯑ton, —born with inferiour abilities to thoſe which diſtinguiſh that unfortunate nobleman, but with the ſame paſſion for univerſal admira⯑tion, 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 aſſi⯑duouſly 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 acquir⯑ing 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 ambi⯑tion.

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 mar⯑riage with the Ducheſs of Kendal's neice, ſo far from advancing his intereſt at court, oc⯑caſioned a litigation between him and his ſo⯑vereign.

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 at⯑tachments, [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 ho⯑nourable exile, than a mark of favour: He would, in all probability have been trouble⯑ſome at home—Walpole did not envy him the honour of ſhining among the Dutch, and eclipſing a French envoy by ſuperior adroit⯑neſs.

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 ſub⯑lime 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 govern⯑ment.

[60]The moſt applauded, as well as unexcep⯑tionable 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 ſin⯑gular good fortune for his being called to the office of ſecretary of ſtate, at the expiration of his firſt year's government of that king⯑dom.

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

When he had reached one goal, he planned for another—He aimed at univerſality of cha⯑racter: 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 ge⯑nius of the age, who addreſſed an admi⯑rable 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 de⯑ſpiſed 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 prin⯑ciples 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 cha⯑racter, —Poor Pope was immoderately and oſ⯑tentatiouſly [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 poſ⯑ſibly 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 cri⯑tical conjuncture) his Lordſhip's wiſdom, mode⯑ration, and diſintereſtedneſs, when in the pleni⯑tude of power.—That he was poſſeſſed of great athilities, and eminent merit, in many re⯑ſpects, [63]cannot be controverted—This juſt re⯑mark, is a free will offering paid to departed worth, or an aſſemblage of amiable, agreeable qualities, joined to the moſt ſhining accom⯑pliſhments.

SECTION VI. The CONCLUSION.

THE above ſelections, and occaſional ob⯑ſervations, will, it is hoped, be favourably re⯑ceived. The editor has endeavoured to pre⯑ſent to the public, a pleaſing and profitable entertainment, in a ſmall compaſs, conſider⯑ing the variety, or number of important par⯑ticulars 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 advo⯑cates, 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 chriſti⯑anity, that very few of its profeſſors were ever either ſo moral, ſo humane, or could ſo phi⯑loſophically govern their paſſions, as the ſcep⯑tical 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 re⯑proach 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, un⯑adulterated chriſtianity will ever ſtand unri⯑valled.

[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, Which⯑cot, Tillotſon, Cudworth, Burnet, Clarke, Hoad⯑ley, 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 go⯑vernment, 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, Hut⯑cheſon, —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 in⯑deed ſhewed much ſerenity of mind) a great ſuperiority appears. The entertainment de⯑rived 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 cha⯑racters, 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 ſup⯑port 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 glo⯑rious 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 li⯑berty, conſequently not to be ſet in competi⯑tion with tried, triumphant integrity.

The calm retreats of philoſophic eaſe, call not forth the heroic virtues. In ſuch retire⯑ments (ſometimes devoted to ſceptical diſqui⯑ſitions) 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 for⯑titude under perſecuting trials, or of having met the King of Terrors, in his moſt awful ap⯑pearances with that generous contempt, or ſur⯑priſing 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 vir⯑tue [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 hu⯑manity 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 conſe⯑quences, 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 diſcharg⯑ing in a becoming manner, all the duties of civil and ſocial life. Nay, I know not, whe⯑ther it would be a breach of charity to ſay, "that doubters or unbelievers, have ſeldombeen eminent for purity of manners, diſintereſted bene⯑ficence, 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, ſub⯑ſtantial piety, and generous virtue, ſtand emi⯑nently 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 con⯑tempt. 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 circum⯑ſtances 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 im⯑portance of the chriſtian cauſe and character.

But, ſurely, we need not reſt our moral defence entirely on the lives of eminent divines, phi⯑loſophers, &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 in⯑ſpired by chriſtianity. Hath not this divine philoſophy, made the naturally wrathful and proud,—meek and humble;—the avaricious, ge⯑nerous; 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 com⯑mon 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, abound⯑ing in the juſt and natural expreſſions of de⯑votion towards God, in the fruits of righteouſ⯑neſs 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 conſci⯑ence, reſolved and firm in reſiſting tempta⯑tions 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 hap⯑py immortality."

To ſee a perſon ſo formed, going through life moſt reputably, and uſefully; appearing uni⯑form and like himſelf in all the changes of it;—to ſee him at laſt meet death, with undiſ⯑turbed tranquillity of ſpirit,—poſſibly with de⯑ſire and joy, muſt, one would think, in an [74]attentive obſerver, beget very favourable ſen⯑timents concerning a religion, by means of which all theſe virtues are carried to ſo emi⯑nent 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 pub⯑liſhed, 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 in⯑ſinuate, the friends of revealed religion, ſtand chargeable.

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