H )rnia %1 un:.':;:^.:.:"y of California AT jlOS ANGELES 1 l/v^'-;?. *'\ iHib:_-iT TIE S ILIE T TEB S l^OX.,!. Hi^^ ^r ,1/^ ^ J ^^ ^ ^^ ^1 I ,^. ,fi ^^^^ 4. LONDON, FinBJLtSHHD BIT JOHN SHAHFJE , PlCCADU.Isr. 1820. 33 I '^^ THE LETTERS JAMES BEATTIE, LL.D, CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED SIR W. FORBES'S COLLECTION. WDCCCXX. Printed by T. Davison, Whitefriars. BEATTIE'S LETTERS. r. TO DR. JOHN OGILVIE.* Aberdeen, COth August, 1759. 1 HAD intended to have written a long letter on the occasion of uiy reading " Clarissa ;'' and I actually had begun one in a very methodical manner; but happening to read the postscriptf afterwards, I was* surprised to find the very subject touched upon there, which I had proposed to treat of in my in- tended letter. I, therefore, changed my first reso- lution, judging it unnecesiomething similar in the cha- racters of the three brothers, Harlowes, and, at the same time, something peculiar in each. The same thing may be observed, upon a comparison of others of the characters that are apparently pretty much alike. The character of Lovelace is wrought up with great art. In the first volume, the reader sees !oisons the principles, and misleads the under- >tanding : the fornier is a momentary evil, the other is permanent. And as a harlot, when she assumes the garb, the features, and the language of virtue, is much more dangeious than when she speaks her own words, and wears her proper dress ; so I think the " Nouvelle Eloise" a much more dangerous book than all the ribaldry printed in the reign of Charles the Second * Secretary to the board of trustees for fisheries and ma- iiufactories at Edinburgh. beattie's letters. 13 III. TO ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESQ.* Aberdeen, 29th March, 1762. I HAVE HOW read Flngal; but I am at a loss to know whether I should give you my opinion of it or not. My humble tribute of praise (were I disposed to praise it) would be lost amidst that universal deluge of approbation poured upon it, both from the critics of London and of Scotland ; and were I in- clined to censure it, my suftYage would be as little regarded as the loitering javelin which palsied Priam threw against the heaven-tempered shield of Pyrrhus — telmn imbelle. sine ictu. The particular beauties of this wonderful work are irresistibly i^triking, and 1 flatter myself that I am as sensible of them as another. But to that part of its merit which exalts it, considered as a whole, above the Iliad or iEneid, and its author above Homer or Virgil, I am insem-ible. Yet I understand, that of critics, not a few aver Ossian to have been a gi eater genius than either of these poets. Yet a little while, and, I doubt not, the world will be of a dif- ferent opinion. Homer was as much admired about three months ago — I speak not of the present mo- ment, for Ossian just now is all in all — I say. Ho- mer was lately admired as much as he was three thousand years ago. Will the admiration of our Highland bard be as permanent ? And will it be as universal as learning itself? Knowledge of the human heart is a science of • Tliis letter was written at the period when ♦' Ossian^i Poems" first appeared. 14 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. the highest dignity. It is reconimended, not only by its own importance, but also by this, that none but an exalted genius is capable of it. To delineate the objects of the material world requires a fine imagination, but to penetrate into the mental system, and to describe its different objects, with all their distinguishing (though sometimes almost imperceptible) peculiarities, requires an imagina- tion far more extensive and vigorous. It is this kind of imagination which appears so conspicuous in the works of Sbakspeare and Homer, and whicli, in ray opinion, raises them above all other poets whatsoever ; I mean not only that talent by which they can adapt themselves to tlie heart of their readers, and excite whatever affection they please, in wliich the former plainly stands unrivalled ; I mean, also, that wonderfully penetrating and plas- tic faculty, wliich is capable of representing every species of character, not, as our ordinary poets do, by a high shoulder, a wry mouth, or gigantic sta- ture, but by hitting off, with a delicate hand, the distinguishing feature, and that in such a manner as makes it easily known from all others whatsoever, however similar to a superficial eye. Hotspur and Heury V. are heroes resembling one another, yet very distinct in tlieir characters ; FalstafF, and Pis- tol, and Bardolph, are buffoons, but each in his own way ; Desdemona and Juliet are not the same ; Bottom, and Dogberry, and the grave-diggers, are different characters : and the same may be said of the most similar of Homer's characters; each has some mark that makes him essentially different from the rest. But these great masters are not more eminent in distinguishing, than in completing beattie's letters. 15 their characters. I am little acquainted with a Cato, a Sempronius, a Tinsel, a sir Charles Easy, &c. but I am perfectly acquainted with Achilles, Hector, FalstaflT, Lear, Pistol, and Quickly; I know them more thoroughly than any other persons of my acquaintance. If this accurate delineation of character be al- lowed the highest species of poetry, (and this, I think, is generally allowed) may I not ask, whether Ossian is not extremely defective in the highest species of poetry ? It is said, indeed, that this poet lived in an age when mankind, being in a state of almost total barbarism, were incapable of that di- versity of character which is found in countries improved by commerce and learning, and that, therefore, he had no materials for a diversity of character. But it is certain, that diversities of character are found among the rudest savages ; and it is the poet's business, not to portray the characters as they really exist, (which is left to the historian) but to represent ihem such as they might have existed. But, to have done, Ossian seems really to have very little knowledge of the human heart ; his chief talent lies in describing inanimate objects, and therefore he belongs, (according to my principles) not to the highest, but to an inferior order of poets. 16 beattie's letters. IV. TO ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESQ.* Aberdeen, 28th December, 17 6-2. ***** Pray what is like to be the fate of the ** Grotesquiad?" It is natural for a father to be concerned about his ofFs^pring, though it be spu- rious. I shall leave it to you to do with that poem as you think proper. I think you said that Pitt had translated the '* Pigmies" of Addison. You will perhaps remember, that in March last I wrote a letter to you, containing some strictures on the " Poems of Ossian," then newly published. The remark which I made on that occasion was, that the poetry of that old bard, however exquisite in its kind, was not the highest in dignity, and that, therefore, its author could have no title to be ranked above IMilton, or Homer, or Shakspeare, who have all made a distinguished figure in the highest species of poetry. This was a subject on which I often had occasion to expatiate in con- versation, while the rage of extolling tl;e Highland bard continued. It was then that I formed a de- sign of throwing together some thoughts, by way of essay, on the comparative dignity of the several kinds of poetry; a subject which, so far as I know, has never been treated in a philosophical manner by any critic, ancient or modern. As I applied my thoughts more seriously to this inquiry, I found the plan enlarge itself to a very considerable extent. I have, however, reduced it to something of form, • This letter contains Dr. Beattie's first hint of his *' Essay on Poetry." beattie's letters. 17 and find that it will naturally consist of three parts. The first part contains a philosophical inquiry into the nature of poetry in general, considered as an imitation of nature, by means of language. In the second part, I propose to consider the principles which determine the degrees of our approbation in the imitative arts, particularly poetry. In the third part, I intend to consider the several kinds of poetry, with a view to these principles, and to de- termine their comparative excellence according to the degrees of approbation which they naturally command. The first part, which is finished, made a discourse of an hour and a half, which I read to a philosophical society, composed of some of our literati, who were very well pleased with it, and seemed to think that I had made several new ob- servations, and set some points of criticism in a new light. The discussion of the second and third parts I intend to attempt during the summer vacation. V. TO ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESQ. Aberdeen, 12th December, 1763. Since you left us, I have been reading Tasso's "Jerusalem," in the translation lately published by Hoole. I was not a little anxious to peruse a poem which is so famous over all Europe, and has so often been mentioned as a rival to the " Iliad," '*iEneid," and *' Paradise Lost." It is certainly a noble work ; and though it seems to me to be inferior to the three poems just mentioned, yet I cannot help think- ing it in the rank next to these. As for the other modern attempts at the *' Epopee," the " Henriada " of Voltaire, the " Epigoniad" of Wilkie, the " Le- 18 beattie's letters. oiiidas" of Glover, not to mention the " Arthur" of Blackmore, they are not to be compared with it. Tasso possesses an exuberant and sublime imagina- tion, tliougli in exuberance it seems, in my opinion, inferior to our Spenser, and in sublimity interior to Milton. Were I to compare Milton's genius with Tasso's, I would say, that the sublime of the latter is flashy and fluctuating, while that of the former diffuses an uniform, steady, and vigorous blaze : Milton is more majestic, Tasso more dazzling. Bidden, it seems, was of opinion, that the "Jeru- salem Delivered" was the only poem of modern times that deserved the name of epic : but it is certain that criticism was not this writer's talent ; and I think it is evident, from some passages of his works, that he either did not, or would not, under- stand the *' Paradise Lost." Tasso borrows his plot and principal characters from Homer, but his man- ner resembles Virgil's. He is certainly much obliged to Virgil, and scruples not to imitate nor to trans- late him on many occasions. In ihii pat/ietic he \s far inferior both to Homer, to Virgil, and to Milton. His characters, though different, are not always distinct, and want those masterly and distinguishing strokes which the genius of Homer and Shakspeare, and of them only, knows how to delineate. Tasso excels in describing pleasurable scenes, and seems peculiarly fond of such as have a reference to the passion of love : yet, in characterizing this passion, he is far inferior, not only to Mihon, but also to VirgW, whose fourth book he has been at great pains to imitate. The translation is smooth and flowing, but in dignity and variety of numbers is often de- fective; and often labours under a feebleness and beattie's letters. 19 prolixity of phrase, evidently proceeding either from want of skill, or from want of leisure in the ver- sifier. / VI. TO MR. GRAY.* Marischal College of Aberdeen, 30th August, 17(55. If I thought it necessary to offer an apology for venturing to address you in this abrupt manner, I should be very much at a loss how to begin. I might plead my admiration of your genius, and my attachment to your character; but who is he, that could not, with truth, urge the same excuse for intruding upon your retirement ? I might plead my earnest desire to be personally acquainted with a man whom I have so long and so passionately ad- mired in his writings ; but thousands, of greater consequence than I, are ambitious of the same honour. I, indeed, must either flatter myself that no apology is necessary, or otherwise I must despair of obtaining what has long been the object of my most ardent wishes ; I must for ever forfeit all hopes of seeing you and conversing with you. It was yesterday I received the agreeable news of your being in Scotland, and of your intending to visit some parts of it. Will you permit us to hope, that we shall have an opportunity, at Aberdeen, of thanking you in person for the honour ycu have done to Britain, and to the poetic art, by your • In the autumn of 1765, Mr. Gray, the poet, went to Scotland, on a visit to the late earl of Stratlimore, at Glammis castle ; and Dr. Beattie, who was an enthusiastic admirer of Gray, addressed to him the following letter. 20 beattie's letters. inestimable compositions, and of offering you all that we have that deserves your acceptance, name- ly, hearts full of esteem, respect, and affection ? If you cannot come so far northward, let me at least be acquainted with the place of your residence, and permitted to wait on yon. Forgive, sir, this re- quest; forgive me if I urge it with earnestness, for indeed it concerns me nearly ; and do me the justice to believe, that I am, with the most sincere attach- ment, and most respectful esteem, &c. &c. &c. P.S. Dr.Carlysle of .Musselburgh, and Dr. Wight of Glasgow, acquainted me of your being in Scot- land. It was from them I learned that ray name was not wholly unknown to you. VII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES.* Aberdeen, 7th December, J 765. The receipt of your very obliging letter ought to have been sooner acknowledged. I should abhor myself, had ray delay been owing to indolence : possessed as I am with a most grateful sense of your favours, with the highest regard for your friendship, and the most zealous attachment to your character : ray delay was indeed owing to an- other cause. I have been employed for some time past in ■writing a kind of poetical epistle to IMr. Blacklock, in return for a present which he was so kind as to make me of his works, accompanied with a very handsome copy of verses j and I had intended to • The author of the Life of Dr. Beattie, beattie's letters. 21 send under the same cover my letter to you, and my verses to Mr. Blacklock. The verses are indeed finished ; but as there are some passages in them which seem to need correction, I must, for some time, let them lie by me; for I have found by ex- perience, that I am a much more impartial judge of such of my works as I have almost quite forgot- ten, than of such as are fresh in my memory. The epistle, when ready, will be sent to. Dr. Gregory's care, and he will show it to you and to Mr. Arbuth- not as soon as it comes to hand. I hope you will pardon me, if I cannot return such an answer to your letter as it deserves. I want words to express how much I value your friendship. Allow me to assure you, that I am not one of the ungrateful, nor (if good intentions can confer any merit on a character) one of the undeserving. The friendship of the good is the object of my highest ambition : if I cannot lay claim to it, I shall at least approve myself not entirely unworthy of it. Let me be tried by my conduct ; and if 1 shall ever give a good man reason to be ashamed of owning me for his friend, then let my name be despised to the latest posterity. I intend, if possible, to publish this winter a new edition of all my original pieces of poetry. I wrote to Mr.Arbuthnot some time ago, to treat with a bookseller, but have received no answer, which dis- appoints me a good deal, as the season is fast ad- vancing, and as it will soon be too late to apply to another, in case the person to whom he promised to apply should decline my offer. Pray, will you advise me to insert the verses on Churchill in the collection ? I do not think them the worst part of 22 beattie's letters. my worlis, and therefore should be sorry to lose them altogether. My scheme, at present, is tu strike out the name of Churchill, and insert a fic- titious one. But in this I would wish to be directed by my friends. I am sorry you did not see Mr. Gray on his re- turn ; you would have been much pleased with him. Setting aside his merit as a poet, which, however, in my opinion, is greater than any of his contem- poraries can boast, in this or in any other nation, I found him possessed of the most exact taste, the soundest judgment, and the most extensive learn- ing. He is happy in a singular facility of expression. His conversation abounds in original observations, delivered with no appearance of sententious for- mality, and seemina: to arise spontaneously without study or premeditation. I passed two very agree- able days with him at Glammis, and found him as easy in his manners, and as communicative and frank, as I could have wished. VIII. TO DR. BLACKLOCK.* Aberdeen, l5th January, i76d. I CANNOT express how agreeably I was flattered by the present you were pleased to make me of your works, and by the elegant verses which accom- panied it. The acquaintance of good men has always appeared to me almost the only temporal object worthy of my ambition ; and I can, with great sincerity, declare, that the consciousness of • The well-known Scots poet. BEATriE's LETTERS. 23 having attained your friendship yields me much higher pleasure than any compliments that can he paid to my poor merit. Your genius and character I have long known and admired ; and although re- moteness of place and diversity of employment had almost extinguished my hopes of becoming per- sonally acquainted with you, I still fiattered myself, that, in some way or other, I should find an oppor- tunity of letting you know how highly I esteem and love you. This opportunity I have found at last, and it is with the utmost pleasure that I avail my- self of it. On receiving your valuable present, I resolved to attempt an answer in verse ; but, by reason of many unavoidable interruptions from business, from bad health, and from studies of a most unpoetical na- ture, it advanced more slowly than I could have wished. 1 found means, however, to bring it to a conclusion two months ago, and sent it in a cover addressed to Dr. Gregory. I heard, some days ago, that it had come safely to hand, and that you was pleased to give it a favourable reception. You will easily perceive, by its miscellaneousness, that the composition of it must have been interrupted with frequent and long intervals ; yet I have attempted to give it a kind of unity, and I hope, upon the whole, it is not more incoherent than a poetical epistle may be allowed to be. There is, perhaps, more asperity in it than you can approve ; there is, indeed, more than I will undertake to excuse ; but when one dips into certain subjects, it is perhaps diflScult to preserve that meekness of expression, and tame acquiescence of sentiment, which, in the ordinary intercourse of mankind, is, for the most 24 beattie's letters. part, so agreeable. But, whatever you may think of particular expressions, you will not blame the general design ; the thoughts, I trust, are such as become an honest man, who is more ambitious of approving himself to his own conscience than to the world. Let the sincerity of the writer be also pleaded in favour of the essay ; f(>r, though written in rhyme, it is a faithful transcript of the real sen- timents of his heart. Indeed, I have always thought it a piece of contemptible affectation in an author to assume, in his writings, a character which is none of his own. If a man's sentiments be bad, he ought to conceal them altogether; but, if good, I see no reason why he should be ashamed of them. However, as a very general prejudice prevails against the sincerity of poetical protestations, I could not rest till I had assured you, in plain prose, that I set a very high value upon your friendship, and will ever account it my honour to act such a part as may merit the continuance of it. That you may long live an honour to your coun- try, a blessing to your family, and the delight of your acquaintance, is my earnest prayer. IX. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 30th January, 1766. Your zeal in promoting my interest demands my warmest acknowledgments ; yet, for want of ade- quate expressions, 1 scarce know in what manner to pay them. I must therefore leave you to guess at my gratitude, by the emotions which would arise in your own heart, on receiving a very important favour from a person of whom you had merited beattie's letters. 25 nothing, and to whom you could make no just return. I suppose you have seen my letter to Dr. Black- lock. I hope, in due time, to be acquainted with your sentiments concerning it. I know not whether I have gained ray point or not ; but, in composing that letter, I was more studious of simplicity of diction than in any other of my pieces. 1 am not, indeed, in this respect, so very scrupulous as some critics of these times. I see no harm in using an expressive epithet, when, without the use of such an epithet, one cannot do justice to his idea. Even a compounded epithet, provided it be suitable to the genius of our language, and authenticated by some good writer, may often, in my opinion, pro- duce a good effect. My notion of simplicity discards every thing from style which is affected, super- fluous, indefinite, or obscure ; but admits every grace, which, without encumbering a sentiment, does really embellish and enforce it. I am no friend to those prettinesses of modern style, which one may call the pompous ear-rings and flounces of the Muses, which, with some writers, are so highly in vogue at present : they may, by their glare and fluttering, take off the eye from imperfections, but I am convinced they disguise and disfigure the charms of genuine beauty. I have of late been much engaged in metaphysics ; at least I have been labouring with all my might to overturn that visionary science. I am a member of a club in this town, who style themselves the Phi- losophical Society. We have meetings every fort- night, and deliver discourses in our turn. I hope you will not think the worse of this society, when VOL. I. c 26 beattie's letters. I tell you, that to it the world is iodebted fur " A comparative View of the Faculties of Mau," aud *' An Inquiry into Human Nature, on the principles of Common Sense." Criticism is the field in which I have hitherto (chiefly at least) chosen to expa- tiate; but an accidental question lately furnished me with a hint, which I made the subject of a two Lours' discourse at our last meeting. I have for some time wished for an opportunity of publishing something relating to the business of my own pro- fession, and I think I have now found an oppor- tunity; for the doctrine of my last discourse seems to be of importance, and I have already finished two-thirds of my plan. INIy doctrine is this : that as we knosv nothing of the eternal relations of things, that to us is and must be tri/t/i, which we feel that we must believe; aud t/iat to us is false- hood, which we feel that we must disbelieve. I liave shown that all genuine reasoning does ulti- mately terminate in certain principles, which it is impossible to disbelieve, and as impossible to prove : that therefore the ultimate standard of truth to us is common sense, or that instinctive conviction into which all true reasoning does resolve itself: that therefore what contradicts common sense is in itself absurd, however subtle the arguments which support it : for such is the ambiguity and insuf- ficiency of language, that it is easy to argue on either side of any question with acuteness sufiicient TO confound one who is not expert in the art of reasoTiing. My principles, in the main, are not essentially different from Dr.Reid's ; but they seem to offer a more compendious method of destroying scepticism. I intend to show, (and have already in beattie's letters. 27 part shown,) that all sophistical reasoning is mark- ed with certain characters which distinguish it from true investigation : and thus I flatter myself I shall be able to discover a method of detecting sophistry, even when one is not able to give a lo- gical confutation of its arguments. I intend far- ther to inquire into the nature of that modification of intellect which qualifies a man for being a scep- tic ; and I think I am able to prove that it is not genius, but the want of it. However, it will be summer before I can finish my project. I own it is not without indignation, that I see sceptics and their writings (which are the bane not only of sci- ence, but also of virtue) so much in vogue in the present age. X. TO SIR M'lLLlAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 18th September, 1766. You flatter me very agreeably, by wishing me to engage in a translation of Tasso's " Jerusalem." If I had all the other accomplishments necessary to fit me for such an undertaking, (which is by no means the case,) I have not as yet acquired a suf- ficient knowledge of the Italian language, although I understand it tolerably well. INIy i)roficiency would have been much more considerable, if my health had allowed me to study ; but I have been obliged to estrange myself from books for some mouths past. I intend to persist in my resolution of acquiring that language, for I am wonderfully delighted with the Italian poetry. It does not seem to abound much in those strokes of fancy that raise 28 beattie's letters. admiration and astonishment, in which I think the English very much superior; but it possesses all the milder graces in an eminent degree ; in simpli- city, harmony, delicacy, and tenderness, it is alto- gether without a rival. I cannot well account for that neglect of the Italian literature, which, for about a century past, has been fashionable among us. I believe Mr. Addison may have been instru- mental in introducing, or, at least, in vindicating it ; though I am inclined to think, that he took, upon trust, from Boileau, that censure which he past upon the Italian poets, and which has been current among the critics ever since the days of the *' Spectator." A good translation of Tasso would be a very va- luable accession to English literature ; but it would be a most difficult undertaking, on account of the genius of our language, which, though in the high- est degree copious, expressive, and sonorous, is not to be compared with the Italian in delicacy, sweetness, and simplicity^ of composition ; and these are qualities so characteristical of Tasso, that a translator would do the highest injustice to his author, who should fail in transfusing them into his version. Besides, a work of such a nature must not only be laborious, but expensive ; so that a prudent person would not choose to engage in it without some hope, not only of being indemnified, but even rewarded ; and such a hope it would be madness in me to entertain. Yet, to show that I am not averse from the work, (for, luckily for poor bards, poetry is sometimes its own reward, and is at any time amply rewarded, when it gratifies the beattie's letters. 29 desire of a friend,) I design, as soon as I have lei- sure, and sufficient skill in the language, to try my hand at a short specimen. In the mean time, I flatter myself, you will not think the worse of me for not making a thousand protestations of my in- sufficiency, and as many acknowledgments of my gratitude for the honour you do me in supposing me capable of such a work. The truth is, I have so much to say on this subject, that if I were only to begin, I should never have done. Your friend- ship, and your good opinion, which I shall ever ac- count it my honour to cultivate, I do indeed value more than I can express. Your neglect of the modern philosophical scep- tics, who have too much engaged the attention of these times, does equal honour to your understand- ing and to your heart. To suppose that every thing may be made matter of dispute, is an exceeding false principle, subversive of all true science, and prejudicial to the happiness of mankind. To con- fute without convincing is a common case, and in- deed a very easy matter : in all conviction (at least in all moral and religious conviction) the heart is engaged, as well as the understanding; and the understanding may bt satisfied, or at least con- founded, with a doctrine, from which the heart re- coils with the strongest aversion. I'his is not the language of a logician ; but this, I hope, is the language of an honest man, who considers all sci- ence as frivolous, which does not make men wiser and better; and to puzzle with words, without producing conviction, (which is all that our meta- physical sceptics have been able to do,) can never 30 beattie's letters. promote either the wisdom or the nrtue of man- kind. It is strange that men should so often for- get, that " happiness is our being's end and aim." Happiness is desirable for its own sake : truth is desirable only as a mean of producing happiness ; for who would not prefer an agreeable delusion to a melancholy truth ? \yhat, then, is the use of that philosophy, which aims to inculcate truth at the expense of happiness, by introducing doubt and disbelief in the place of confidence and hope ? Surely the promoters of all such philosophy are ei- ther the enemies of mankind, or the dupes of their own most egregious folly. I mean not to make any concessions in favour of metaphysical truth : ge- nuine truth and genuine happiness were never in- consistent : but metaphysical truth (such as we find in our sceptical systems) is not genuine, for it is pei'petually changing; and no wonder, since it de- pends not on the common sense of mankind, (which is always the same,) but varies, according as the talents and inclinations of different authors are dif- ferent. The doctrines of metaphysical scepticism are either true or false ; if false, we have little to do with them ; if true, they prove the fallacy of the liuman faculties, and therefore prove too much ; for it follows, as an undeniable consequence, that all human doctrines whatsoever (themselves not excepted) are fallacious, and consequently, perni- cious, insignificant, and vain. beattie's letters. 31 XI. TO DR. BLACKLOCK.* Aberdeen, C2d September, 1766. I AM not a little flattered by your friendly and spi- rited vindication of the poem on Bufo.f Among the invidious and malicious I have got a few ene- mies on account of that performance ; among the candid and generous, not one. This, joined to the approbation of my own conscience, is entirely suf- ficient to make me easy on that head. I have not yet heart), whether my little work has been ap- proved or condemned in England. I have not even heard whether it has been published or not. How- ever, the days of romantic hope are now happily over with me, as well as the desire of public ap- plause ; a desire of which I never had any title to expect the gratification, and which, though I had been able to gratify it, would not have contributed a single mite to my happiness. Yet I am thankful to Providence for having endued me with an incli- nation to poetry; for, though I have never been supremely blest in my own Muse, I have certainly been gratified, in the most exquisite degree, by the productions of others. Those pieces of mine, from which I have re- ceived the highest entertainment, are such as are altogether improper for publication ; being written in a sort of burlesque humour, for the amusement * In the following letter Dr. Beattie gives a hint of his design of writing the "Minstrel." t Verses on the report of a monument to be erected in Westminster Abbey, to the memory of a late author. 32 beattie's letters, of some particular friend, or for some select com- pany. Of these I have a pretty large collection ; and, though 1 should be ashamed to be publicly known as the author of many of them, I cannot help entertaining a certain partiality towards them, arising, perhaps, from this circumstance in their favour — that the pleasure they have yielded me has been altogether sincere, unmixed with that chagrin which never fails to attend an unfortunate publi- cation. Not long ago I began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give full scope to ray inclination, and be either droll or pa- thetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or satiri- cal, as the humour strikes me ; for, if I mistake not, the manner which I have adopted admits equally of all these kinds of composition. I have written one hundred and lifty lines, and am sur- prised to tind the structure of that complicated stanza so little troublesome. I was always fond of it, for I think it the most harmonious that ever was contrived. It admits of more variety of pauses than either the couplet or the alternate rhyme ; and it concludes with a pomp and majesty of sound, which, to my car, is wonderfully delightful. It seems also very well adapted to the genius of our language, which, from its irregularity of inflexion and number of monosyllables, abounds in diversi- fied terminations, and consequently renders our poetry susceptible of an endless variety of legiti- mate rhymes. But I am so far from intending this performance for the press, that I am morally cer- tain it never will be finished. I shall add a stanza now and then, when I am at leisure, and when I beattie's letters. 33 have no humour for any other amusement; but I am resolved to write no more poetry with a view to publication, till I see some dawnings of a poetical taste among the generality of readers, of which, however, there is not at present any thing like an appearance. My employment, and indeed my inclination, leads me rather to prose composition ; and in this way I have much to do. The doctrines commonly comprehended under the name of moral philosophy are at present overrun with metaphysics ; a luxu- riant and tenacious weed, which seldom fails to choke and extirpate the wholesome plants, which it was perhaps intended to support and shelter. To this literary weed I have an insuperable aversion ; which becomes stronger and stronger, in propor- tion as I grow more and more acquainted with its nature, and qualities, and fruits. It is very agree- able to the paradoxical and licentious spirit of the age ; but I am thoroughly convinced, that it is fatal to true science, an enemy to the fine arts, destruc- tive of genuine sentiment, and prejudicial to the virtue and happiness of mankind. There is a little Ode of yours on the refinements of metaphysical philosophy, which I often read with peculiar satis- faction, and with high approbation of your spirit and sentiments : You, who would be truly wise. To Nature's light unveil your eyes. Her gentle call obey : She leads by no false wandering glare. No voice ambiguous strikes your ear. To bid you vainly stray. 34 beattie's letters. Not in the gloomy cell recluse. For noble deeds, or generous views. She bids us watch the night : Fair virtue shines to all display'd, Nor asks the tardy schoolman's aid. To teach us what is right. Pleasure and pain she sets in view. And which to shun, and which pursue. Instructs her pupil's heart. Then, letter'd Pride ! say, what thy gain, To mask, with so much fruitless pain. Thy ignorance with art ? Xll. TO THE HON. CHARLES BOVD.* Aberdeen, l6th November, 1766. Of all the chagrins with which my present infirm state of health is attended, none afflicts me more than my inability to ])erforni the daties of friend- ship. 'Hie offer which you were generously pleased to make me of your correspondence, flatters me extremely ; but, alas ! I have not as yet been able to avail myself of it. While the good weather con- tinued, I strolled about the country, and made many strenuous attempts to run away from this odious giddiness; but the more I struggled, the more closely it seemed to stick by me. About a fortnight ago the hurry of my winter business be- gan ; and, at the same time, my malady recurred with more violence than ever, rendering me at once incapableof reading, writing, and thinking. Luckily, I am now a little better, so as to be able to read a • Second son of the earl of Kilmarnock, who was be- headed on Tower-hill in August 1746, and brother of the earl of Erroll. beattie's letters. 35 page, and write a sentence or two, without stop- ping; which, I assure you, is a very great matter. My hopes and my spirits begin to revive once more. I flatter myself I shall soon get rid of this infirmity; nay, that I shall ere long be in the way of beco- ming a great man. For have I not headachs, like Pope ? vertigo, like Swift ? gray hairs, like Ho- mer ? Do I not wear large shoes, (for fear of corns,) like Virgil ? and sometimes complain of sore eyes, (though not of Uppitude,) like Horace ? Am I not at this present writing invested with a garment not less ragged than that of Socrates ? ^ Like Joseph the patriarch, I am a mighty dreamer of dreams; like Nimrod the hunter, I am an emi- nent builder of castles (in the air.) I procrasti- nate, like Julius Caesar ; and very lately, in imita- tion of Don Quixote, I rode a horse, lean, old, and lazy, like Rozinante. Sometimes, like Cicero, I write bad verses ; and sometimes bad prose, like Virgil. This last instance I have on the authority of Seneca. I am of small stature, like Alexander the Great ; I am somewhat inclinable to fatness, like Dr. Arbuthnot and Aristotle; and I drink brandy and water, like Mr. Boyd. I might compare myself, in relation to many other infirmities, to many other great men; but if fortune is not in- fluenced in my favour by the particulars already enumerated, I shall despair of ever recommending myself to her good graces. I once had some thought of soliciting her patronage on the score of my re- sembling great men in their good qualities ; but I had so little to say on that subject, that I could not for my life furnish matter for one well-rounded pe- riod; and, you know, a short ill-turned speech is 36 beattie's letters. very improper to be used in an address to a female deity. Do not you think there is a sort of antipathy be- tween philosophical and poetical genius ? I ques- tion whether any one person was ever eminent for both. Lucretius lays aside the poet when he as- sumes the philosopher, and the philosopher when he assumes the poet. In the one character he is truly excellent, in the other he is absolutely non- .sensical. Hobbes was a tolerable metaphysician, but his poetry is the worst that ever was. Pope's ** Essay on Man" is the finest philosophical poem in the world ; but it seems to me to do more ho- nour to the imagination than to the understanding of its author : I mean, its sentiments are noble and affecting, its images and allusions apposite, beauti- ful, and new; its wit transcendently excellent ; but the scientific part of it is very exceptionable. What- ever Pope borrows from Leibnitz, like most other metaphysical theories, is frivolous and unsatisfy- ing ; what Pope gives us of his own, is energetic, irresistible, and divine. The incompatibility of phi- losophical and poetical genius is, I think, no un- accountable thing. Poetry exhibits the general qua- lities of a species; philosophy the particular quali- ties of individuals. This forms its conclusions from a painful and minute examination of single in- stances ; that decides instantaneously, either from its own instinctive sagacity, or from a singular and unaccountable penetration, which at one glance sees all the instances which the philosopher must leisurely and progressively scrutinize, one by one. This persuades you gradually, and by detail ; the other overpowers you in an instant by a single ef- beattie's letters. 37 fort. Observe the effect of argumentation in poetry ; we have too many instances of it in Milton : it transforms the noblest thoughts into drawling in- ferences, and the most beautiful language into prose : it checks the tide of passion, by giving the mind a different employment in the comparison of ideas. A little philosophical acquaintance with the most beautiful parts of nature, both in the material and immaterial system, is of use to a poet, and gives grace and solidity to poetry ; as may be seen in the ** Georgics," the *' Seasons," and the " Pleasures of Imagination :" but this acquaint- ance, if it is any thing more than superficial, will do a poet rather harm than good ; and will give his mind that turn for minute observation, which enfeebles the fancy by restraining it, and counter- acts the native energy of judgment, by rendering it fearful and suspicious. XIII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 8th January, 17 67. I THANK you for your excellent description of Mrs. Montague;* I have heard much of that lady, and I admire her as an honour to her sex and to human nature. I am very hai)py to hear, that, from the favourable representations of my friends, she has done me the honour to think of me with approba- tion. I cannot flatter myself with the hope of ever • This alludes to a letter which sir William Forbes had written to him, giving an account of a visit which Mrs. Mon- tague, in the autumn of 1766, had paid to the late Dr. Gre- gory in Edinburgh. 38 beattie's letters. having it in my power to let her know how much I esteem her ; but I shall rejoice in the remembrance of having been, in some little degree, esteemed by her. The favourable reception you gave to my little poem* demands my acknowledgments. I aimed at simplicity in the expression, and something like uncommonness in the thought ; and I own I am not ill pleased with it upon the whole, though I am sensible it does not answer the purpose for which I made it. I wrote it at the desire of a young lady of this country, who has a taste both for poetry and music, and wanted me to make words for a Scots tune called '* Pentland Hills," of which she is very fond. The verses correspond well enough with the measure and subject of the luue, but are extremely unsuitable for the purpose of a song. My broken health, and a hurry of other business, has for a long time iutei-rupted my Italian studies, to my very great regret. However, within the last fortnight, I have read live or six of Metastasio's operas with much pleasure, ^ye are apt to despise the Italian opera, and, perhaps, not altogether without reason ; but I find the operas of JNletastasio very far superior to what I expected. Tiiere is a sameness in the fables and character of this author ; and yet he seems to me to have more of character in his drama tlian any other poet of this or the last age. A reader is generally interested in his pieces from beginning to end ; for they are full of inci- dent, and the incidents are often surprising and uu- • " Ihe Hermit." beattie's letters. 39 expected. He has a happy talent at heightening distress ; and very seldom falls into that unmean- ing rant and declamation which abounds so much on the French stage. In a word, I should not scruple to compare the modern Italian opera, as it appears in Metastasio, to the ancient Greek tra- gedy. The rigid observation of the unities of place and time introduces many improprieties into the Greek drama, which are happily avoided by the less methodical genius of the Italian. I cannot, indeed, compare the little Italian songs, which are often very impertinent as well as very silly, to the odes of the ancient tragedians : but a poet must always sacrifice something to the genius of his age. I dare say Metastasio despises those little morceaux of sing-song ; and it is evident, from some of his per- formances in that way, that he is qualified to excel in the more solemn lyric style, if it were suitable to the taste of his countrymen. Some of his little songs are very pretty, and exhibit agreeable pictures of nature, with a brevity of description, and sweet- ness of style, that is hardly to be found in any other modern odes. I beg leave to mention, as instances, the songs in the 7th and 15th scenes of the second, and the 1st of the third act of " Artaserse." By the bye, the songs in this opera, as it is now adapted to the English stage, seem to be very ill translated. You will readily believe, that I rejoice to hear of Dr. Gregory's success. I earnestly wish, for the honour of human nature, and for the good of so- ciety, that he may still be more and more success- ful. The reception his talents and his virtues have met with, gives me a better opinion of the present 40 beattie's letters. age than I should otherwise have had ; and seems to prove, that there is yet in the world something of a sense of virtue and regard to justice. I have just received a letter from him, which I will an- swer as soon as possible. INIr. Arbuthnot and he will please to accept of my best wishes : may you live long happy in each other's society ; and may I have the satisfaction to hear that you are so, and that you sometimes think of me with pleasure. There is a famous stanza in the 4th canto of Tasso's *' Gierusalemme," which has often been quoted as an instance of the harmony of the Italian language : Chiama gli abitator de I'ombre eterne II rauco suon de la tartarea tromba ; Treman le spaciose atre caverne, E I'aer cieco a quel rumor rimbomba : Ne stridendo cosi da le superne Region! del cielo il folgor piomba, Ne si scossa giamai trema la terra, Quando i vapori in sen gravida serva. I attempted, the other day, in a solitary walk, to turn this passage into English ; and produced the following lines, which are as obstreperous at least as the original, but, I am afraid, not so agreeable : Forthwith to summon all the tribes of hell. The trump Tartarean pour'd a thundering yell ; Trembled the unfathomable caverns round. And night's vast void rebellow'd to the sound: Far less the roar that rends the ethereal world, \Vhen bolts of vengeance from on high are hurl'd ; Far less the shock that heaves earth's tottering frame, When its torn entrails spout the imprison'd flame. beattie's letters. 41 I have not Hoole at hand just now ; Fairfax runs thus : The dreary trumpet blew a dreadful blast. And rumbled through the lands and kingdoms under ; Through vastness wide it roar'd, and hollows vast. And fill'd the deep with horror, fear, and wonder. Not half so dreadful noise the tempest cast. That fall from skies with storms of hail and thunder ; Not half so loud the whistling winds do sing. Broke from the earthen prisons of their king. This is sonorous, but tautological, and not quite true to the original : Fairfax makes no mention of the earthquake, and introduces, in the place of it, what is really a bathos. Wind was never so loud as thunder. XIV, TO ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESQ. Aberdeen, 2d March, 1767. I HAVE led a very retired life this winter ; the con- dition of my health having prevented my going into company. By dint of regularity and attention, I flatter myself I have now established my health on a tolerable footing ; for I have been better during the two last months than for a year before. My leisure hours, of which I have but few at this season, have been employed in reading Metas- tasio, an author whom I now understand pretty well, and of whom I am very fond. I have also finished my essay on— I know not well how to call it ; for its present title-page, " An Essay on Rea- son and Common Sense," must be altered. Some persons, who wish well to me and to my 42 beattie's letters. principles, have expressed their wishes, in pretty strong terms, to see this essay in print. They say, I have set the sceptics in a new point of view, by treating them without any kind of reserve or de- ference ; and that it might be of use to those who may be in danger from their doctrines, to consider them in the same light. However, I am far from being convinced that it would be proper to publish such a treatise; for the principles are quite un- fashionable ; and there is a keenness of expression in some passages, which could please only a few ; namely, those who are thoroughly convinced of the truth and importance of religion. I shall be di- rected entirely by you and Dr. Gregory, and my other friends at Edinburgh. At any rate, I do not repent my having written it ; it has rivetted my conviction of the insignificance of metaphysics and scepticism ; and I hope it will be of some use to the young people under my care ; for whose prin- ciples (at least as far as they depend upon me) I hokl myself accountable to my own conscience and the public. XV. TO DR. BLACKLOCK. Aberdeen, COth May, 1767' My performance in Spenser's stanza has not ad- vanced a single line these many months. Tt is called the *' Minstrel." The subject was suggested by a dissertation on the old minstrels, which is prefixed to a collection of ballads lately published by Dodsley, in three volumes. I proposed to give an account of the birth, education, and adventures beattie's letters. 43 of one of those bards; in which I shall hare full scope for description, sentiment, satire, and even a certain species of hnmonr and of pathos, which, in the opinion of my great master, are by no means inconsistent, as is evident from his works. My hero is to be born in the south of Scotland; which you know was the native land of tjie English min- strels — I mean of those minstrels who travelled into England, and supported themselves there by singing their ballads to the harp. His father is a shepherd. The son will have a natural taste for music and the beauties of nature; which, however, languishes for want of culture, till in due time he meets with a her- mit, who gives him some instruction ; but endeavours to check his genius for poetry and adventures, by representing the happiness of obscurity and solitude, and the bad reception which poetry has met with in almost every age. The poor swain acquiesces in this advice, and resolves to follow his father's em- ployment ; when, on a sudden, the country is in- vaded by the Danes, or English borderers, ( I know not which,) and he is stripped of all his little fortune, and obliged by necessity to commence minstrel. This is all that I have as yet concerted of the plan. I have written 150 lines, but my hero is not yet born, though now in a fairway of being so, for his parents are described and married. I know not whether I shall ever proceed any farther: however, I am net dissatisfied with what I have written. 44 beattie's letters. XVI. TO THE REV. JAMES WILLIAMSON.* Aberdeen, 22d October, 1767. I HAVE been studying Rousseau's miscellanies of late. His " Epistle to D'Alembert," on theatrical exhibitions, I think excellent, and perfectly de- cisive. His discourse on the effects of the sciences is spirited to a high degree, and contains much mat- ter of melancholy meditation. I am not so much of his mind in regard to the origin of inequality among mankind, though I think the piece on this subject has been much misunderstood by critics, and misrepresented by wits. Even by his own con- fession, it is rather ajeu d' esprit than a philosophi- cal inquiry; for he owns, that the natural state, such as he represents it, did probably never take place, and probably never will ; and if it had taken place, he seems to think it impossible that man- kind should ever have emerged from it without some very extraordinary alteration in the course of nature. Farther, he says, that this natural state is not the most advantageous for man ; for that the most delightful sentiments of the human mind could not exert themselves till man had relin- quished his brutal and solitary nature, and become a domestic animal. At this period, and previous to the establishment of property, he places the age most favourable to human happiness ; which is just • Mr. Williamson had been his pupil. This gentleman afterwards became a fellow of Hertford College, Oxford, and distinguished himself by his skill in mathematics. The following letter is curious, as it gives us the sentiments of Dr, Seattle, relative to some of Rousseau's works. beattie's letters. 45 what the poets have done before him, in their de- scription of the golden age ; so that his system is not that preposterous thing it has been represented. Yet he says many things in this treatise to which I cannot agree. His solitary and savage man is too much of a brute ; and many of his observations are founded on facts not well ascertained, and very am- biguous in their meaning. There is a little treatise of his, which he calls a letter to Mr. Voltaire, which I read with much pleasure, as I found it to be a transcript of my own sentiments in regard to Pope's maxim, ** Whatever is, is right." XVII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 17th January, 17 68. I HAVE been intending, for these several weeks, to write to you, though it were only to assure you of the continuance of my esteem and attachment. This place, you know, furnishes little amusement, either political or literary ; and at this season it is rather more barren than usual. I have, for a time, laid aside my favourite stu- dies, that I might have leisure to prosecute a philo- sophical inquiry, less amusing, indeed, than poetry and criticism, but not less important. The extra- ordinary success of the sceptical philosophy has long filled me with regret. I wish I could undeceive mankind in regard to this matter. Perhaps this wish is vain ; but it can do no harm to make the triaK The point I am now labouring to prove, is the universality and immutability of moral senti- ment, — a point which has been brought into dis- pute, both by the friends and by the enemies of 46 beattie's letters. virtue. In an age less licentious in its principles, it would not, perhaps, be necessary to insist much on this point. At present it is very necessary. Philosophers have ascribed all religion to human policy. Nobody knows how soon they may ascribe all morality to the same origin ; and then the foun- dations of human society, as well as of human hap- piness, will be effectually undermined. To accom- plish this end, Hobbes, Hume, IMandeville, and even Locke, have laboured ; and, I am sorry to say, from my knowledge of mankind, that their labour has not been altogether in vain. Not that the works of these philosophers are generally read, or even understood by the few who read them. It is uot the mode, now-a-days, for a man to think for himself; but they greedily adopt the conclusions, without any concern about the arguments or prin- ciples whence they proceed ; and they justify their own credulity by general declamations upon the transcendent merit of their favourite authors, and the universal deference that is paid to their genius and learning. If I can prove those authors guilty of gross misrepresentations of matters of fact, un- acquainted with the human heart, ignorant even of their own principles, the dupes of verbal ambigui- ties, and the votaries of frivolous though danger- ous philosophy, I shall do some little service to the cause of truth ; and all this 1 will undertake to prove in many instances of high importance. You have no doubt seen Dr. Blacklock's new book.* I was very much surprised to see my name * " Paraclesis, or Consolations deduced from Natural and Revealed Religion." beattie's letters. 47 prefixed to the dedication, as he never had given me the least intimation of such a design. His friend- ship does me great honour. I should be sorry, if, in this instance, it has got the better of his pru- dence; and, I have some reason to fear, that my name will be no recommendation to the work, at least in this place, where, however, the book is very well spoken of by some who have read it. I should like to know how it takes at Edinburgh. XVIII. TO ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESQ. Aberdeen, 25th February, 1768. I INTENDED long ago to Write to you ; but several pieces of business, some of them unexpected, have, from time to time, prevented me. The writing out a copy of Mr. Gray's poems for the press has em- ployed me the last fortnight. They are to be printed at Glasgow, by Foulis, with the author's own permission, which I solicited and obtained : and he sent me four folio pages of notes and addi- tions to be inserted in the new edition. The notes are chiefly illustrations of the two Pindaric odes, more copious, indeed, than I should have thought necessary : but, I understand, he is not a little chagrined at the complaints which have been made of their obscurity; and he tells me, that he wrote tliese notes out of spite. " The Long Story" is left out in this edition, at which I am not well pleased; for, though it has neither head nor tail, beginning nor end, it abounds in humorous de- scription, and the versification is exquisitely fine. Tliree new poems (never before printed) are in- serted ; two of which are imitations from the Nor- 48 beattie's letters. wegian, and one is an imitation from the Welsh. He versified them, he says, " becsuse there is a wild spirit in them, which struck him." From the first of the Norwegian pieces lie has taken the hint of the web, in the ode on the Welsh bards ; but the imitation far exceeds the original. The original, in his version, begins in this manner : Now the storm begins to lower ; Haste, the loom of hell prepare : Iron sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles in the darken'd air. See the gristly texture grow ; 'Tis of human entrails made ; And the weights that play below. Each a gasping warrior's head. Shafts, for shuttles, dipp'd in gore. Shoot the trembling chords along; Sword, that once a monarch bore. Keep the tissue close and strong. The second Norwegian piece, is a dialogue be- tween Odin and a prophetess in her grave, whom, by incantation, he makes to speak. One of the most remarkable passages in it, is the following de- scription of a dog, which far exceeds every thing of the kind I have seen : Him the dog of darkness spied. His shaggy throat he open'd wide, While from his jaws, with carnage fiU'd, Foam and human gore distill'd. Hoarse he bays with hideous din. Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin ; And long pursues, with fruitless yeU, The father of the powerful spell. beattie's letters. 49 I give you these passages, partly to satisfy, and partly to raise, your curiosity. I expect the book will be out iu a few weeks, if Foulis be diligent, which it is his interest to be, as there is another edition of the same just now printing by Dodsley. I gave hira notice of this, by Mr. Gray's desire, two months ago ; but it did not in the least abate his ze^l for the undertaking. XIX. TO DR. BLACKLOCK, Aberdeen, 1st July, 1768. I HAVE at last found an opportunity of sending you the Scottish poems which I mentioned in a former letter.* The dialect is so licentious, (I mean it is so different from that of the south country, which is acknowledged the standard of broad Scotch,) that I am afraid you will be at a loss to understand it in many places. However, if you can overlook this inconvenience, together with the tediousness of some passages, and the absurdity of others, I doubt not but you will receive some amusement from the perusal. The author excels most in de- scribing the solitary scenes of a mountainous coun- try, and the manners and conversation of the lowest sort of our people. Whenever he attempts to step out of this sphere, he becomes absurd. This sphere is, indeeed, the only one of which he has had any experience. He has been for these forty years, a schoolmaster in one of the most sequestered pa- rishes in the Highlands of Scotland, where he had • The " Fortunate Shepherdess," and other poems, by Alexander Ross of Lochlee. VOL. I. D so beattie's letters. no access either to compauy or books that could improve him. His circumstances and employment confine him at home the whole year long; so that his compositions, with all their imperfections, are really surprising. INIy personal acquaintance with him began only two years ago, when he had occasion to come to this town, on some ni gent business. He is a good-humoured, social, happy old man ; modest without rlownishness, and lively without petu- lance. He put into my hands a great number of manuscripts in verse, chiefly on religious subjects : I believe sir Richard Blackmore himself is not a more voluminous author. The poems now pub- lished seemed to me the best of the whole coUec- tion : indeed, many of the others would hardly bear a reading. He told me he had never written a single line with a view to publication, but only to amuse a solitary hour. Some gentlemen in this country set on foot a subscription for his Scottish poems ; in consequence of which they were printed, and he will clear by the publication about twenty pounds, a sum far exceeding his most sanguine ex- pectations ; for, I believe, he would thankfully have sold his whole works for five. In order to excite some curiosity about liis work, I wrote some verses in the dialect of this country, which, together with an introductory letter in English prose, were published in the Aberdeen Journal ; and the book- seller tells me, he has sold about thirty copies since they appeared. I have sent you enclosed a copy of the verses, with a glossary of the hardest words. Having never before attempted to write any thing in this way, I thought 1 could not have done it, and was not a little surprised to find it so easy. How- deattie's letters. 51 ever, I fear I have exhausted my whole stock of Scottish words in these few lines; for I endea- voured to make the style as broad as possible, that it might be the better adapted to the taste of those whose curiosity I wished to raise. You will ob- serve, that Mr. Ross is peculiarly unfortunate in his choice of proper names. One of his heroes is called by a woman's name, Rosalind. The inju- rious mountaineers he called Sevitians, with a view, no doubt, to express their cruelty; but the printer, not understanding Latin, has changed it into Sevilians. The whole is incorrectly printed. The following epigram has some merit. It is said to have been written by Voltaire ; but this I doubt. I have subjoined a translation, of which I only wrote the first five lines. The three last are by Mr. Charles Boyd, lord Erroll's brother : Epitaphe sur le rot de Prusse. Ce mortel prcfana tous les talens divers, 11 charma les humains qui furent ses victiraes, Barbare en action, el philosophe en vers, II chanta les vertus, et commit tous les crimes. Hai du Dieu d'Amour, cher au Dieu de Combats, II bagna dans le sang I'Europe et la patrie, Cent mille homraes par lui re^urent le trepas, Et pas un n'en re^ut la vie. He every human talent misemploy'd. And men at once delighted and destroy'd ; Savage in action, but a sage in rhyme, Each virtue sung, and practised every crime; The scorn of Venus, but of Mars the pride. He fiU'd his country and the world with strife. Thousands for him in honour's bed have died. But from his own not one e'er sprang to life. 52 • BEATTIE'S LETTERS. XX. TO THE HON. CHARLES BOYD.* I PROMISED to give you my opinion of the " Hen- riade;" but I must premise, that I take it for granted you have not implicitly adopted the notions of the French critics wiih regard to this poem. I hear, it is accounted by them the greatest poem that ever human wit produced, in any age or nation. For my part, I judge of it without prejudice either for or against it, and as I would judge of Tasso's " Gierusalerame," or any other work, in whose fate I have no national concern. Among the beauties of this work I would reckon its style, which, though raised above prose as much as the genius of the language will permit, is yet elegant and simple, though sometimes, to one ac- customed to English poetry, it may have the ap- pearance of being too prosaic. Ou plutot en effet Valois ne regnait plus — Henri sgait profiler de ce grand av ant age — Cest iin usage antique et sacre parmi nous — De Paris d I' instant il fait ouvrir la parte — and many others, have nothing to distin- guish them from the flattest prose but the measure and rhyme. But I do not insist on this as a fault ; for the same objection might be made to the finest poems in the world ; and I know not whether a flatness of this kind may not sometimes have a good effect, and heighten, as it were, the relief of the more distinguished parts. The versification of the " Heuriade" is agreeable, and often more harmo- • This letter has no date, but it was probably the year 1767. beattie's letters. 53 iiious than one could expect, who has not a greater niceness of ear in regard to the French numbers than I can pretend to have. I know not whence it happens, that I, who am very sensible of the Greek, Latin, and Italian harmony, can never bring myself to relish that of the Frencli, although I understand the French language as well as any of the others. Is it true, as Rousseau asserts, that this language, on account of the incessant monotony of the pro- nunciation, is incapable of harmony ? I should like to have your sentiments on tliis subject. The thoughts or reflections in this poem are not too much crowded, nor affectedly introduced ; they are, in general, proper and nervous, frequently un- common. The author evidently appears to be a man of wit, yet he does not seem to take any pains to appear so. The fable is distinct, perspicuous, and intelligible ; the character of Henry historically just; and tlie description of particular objects ap- posite, and sometimes picturesque. But his descriptions are often of too general a nature, and want that minuteness which is necessary to interest a reader. They are rather historical than poetical descriptions. This is no verbal di- stinction ; there is real ground for it. An historian may describe from hearsay ; a poet must describe from seeing and experience ; and this he is enabled to do by making use of the eye of imagination. What makes a description natural? It is such a selection of particular qualities as we think that we ourselves would have made, if we had been specta- tors of the object. What makes a description pic- turesque ? It is a selection, not of every circum- stance or quality, but of those which most power- 54 beattie's letters. fully attract the notice, and influence the affections and imagination of the spectator. In a word, a poet must, eitlier in vision or reality, be a spectator of the objects he undertakes to describe : an his- torian (being confined to truth) is generally sup- posed to describe from hearsay ; or, if he describe what he has seen, he is not at liberty to insert one circumstance, and omit another; magnify this, and diminish that ; bring one forward, and throw the other into the back ground : he must give a detail of all the circumstances, as far as he knows them, otherwise he is not a faithful historian. Now, I think, through the whole of this poem, V'oltaire shows himself more of an historian than a poet ; we understand well enough what he says, but his re- presentations, for the most part, are neither pic- turesque nor affecting. To one who has read the second book of Virgil, Voltaire's " Massacre of St. Bartholomew" will ap- pear very tiitling. It is uninteresting and void of incident ; the horrors of it arise only upon re- flection ; the imagination is not terrified, though the moral sense disapproves. The parting of Henry and Mad. D'Estrees is another passage that dis- appointed me ; it is expressed in a few general terms, that produce no effect. The parting of Dido and yEneas, of Armida and Rinaldo, are incom- parably fine, and do as far exceed that of Henry and his paramour, as the thunder of heaven transcends the mustard-bowl of the playhouse. There is hardly an attempt at character in the poem. That of Henry is purely historical ; and, though well enough supported on the whole, is not placed in those dithcult and trying circumstances. beattie's letters. 55 which draw forth into action the minuter springs of the soul. Before I get to the end of the Iliad, I am as much acquainted with Homer's heroes as if I had been personally known to them all for many years; but of Voltaire's hero I have only a confused notion. I know him to be brave and amorous, a lover of his country, and affectionate to his friends; and this is all I know of him, and I could have learned as uiuch from a common newspaper. I acknowledge Voltaire's fable to be perspicuous, but I think it uninteresting, especially towards the end. We foresee the event, but our expectations are not raised by it. The catastrophe is not brought about by any striking incident, but by a series of incidents that have little or nothing in them to engage or surprise the reader. Henry's conversion is a very poor piece of work. Truth descends from lieaven to the king's tent, with a veil over her, which she removes by little and little, till at length her whole person appears in a glorious, but un- dazzling lustre. This may be good philosophy, but it is very indifferent poetry. It affects not the imagination, nor reconciles the reader to the event. Henry is converted, but we know not how or why. The catastrophe of Don Quixote is similar to this. Both Cervantes and Voltaire seem to have been in a haste to conclude ; and this is all the apology I can offer for them. I mention not Voltaire's confusion of fabulous and real personages in his machinery; this has been remarked by others. But I cannot help ob- serving, that his invocation to the Historic Muse is extremely injudicious. It warns the reader to ex- 56 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. pect nothing but truth, and consequently every ap- pearance of fiction in the sequel must produce a bad effect, and bear the mark of improbability, which it ■would not have borne if our author had been con- tent to follow the example of his predecessors, '♦'irgil pretends to no better authority than tradition, Sit mihi fas audita loqni; and Homer throv/s him- self entirely upon his JNIuse, and is satisfied in being the instrument through which she speaks. The dream in the seventh canto (which the French critics think superior in merit to the whole Iliad) disappointed me much, though, in some few pas- sages, it is not amiss. But heaven is not the ele- ment of poets. St. Louis's prayer, in the last canto, is an odd one. He treats his Maker very cavalierly, and almost threatens him. I observed in the " Hen- Tiade" some mixed and some improper metaphors, but did not mark them. One, however, occurs — L'Eternal a ses vceux se laissa penetrer. On the whole, I am very much of Denina's mind with re- gard to this poem — Se iieW Enriade non si trovano molti passaggi pieni di qff'etti^ nt molte orazioni forti e gagliarde, e che espri)na?io il carattere di chi parla, nt quella ubertd d'imagini e di tratti vivi e sorprendenti d'immaginazione, come in Omero, Vir- gilio, Ariosto, Tasso, e Milton, non vi son neppure le superfiuita, ni le stravaganze che in alciini di quest i si notano; e chicchessia puo con gusto, e sod- disfazione leggere V Enriade senza saziarsi ; van- taggio, che Vautore dee riconoscere dalla vivacita e forza del suo stile, e dair energia de" suoi versi. Reserve is the bane of friendly intercourse, the screen of error, and the support of prejudice. I beattie's letters. 57 have, therefore, spoken freely on this occasion, be- cause I would willingly embrace every opportunity of rectifying my errors^, and putting myself in the way of information. If you approve of my senti- ments, [ shall believe them right ; if not, I shall carefully review and correct them. I flatter myself I am of no country, but a citizen of the world. I have received much entertainment from the works of Voltaire ; but I do not admire him much in his critical capacity. I know Mrs. Boyd will support me in this; for she understands and admires Shak- speare, who seems to be the object of Voltaire's envy in a particular degree. The following lines from Tasso have often been quoted as an instance of the unrivalled harmony of the Italian language : Chiama gli abitator del' ombre eterne, Ss,c. I quote these lines, that I may have an opportu- nity of giving you a translation of them, which I made a few days ago. I think I am as obstreperous as my original, but not so musical : Forthwitsi to summon all the tribes of hell,* 4c. Here is another morgeau, written lately in imi- tation of the Italian. I attempted this, because I was dissatisfied with the common translation of it, * The original and translation of this stanza are both in- serted in the letter to sir William Forbes, No. XIII. d2 58 beattie's letters. which is given by the person who adapted *' Aita- xei-xes " to the English stage : L'onda dal mar divisa Bagna la valle, e '1 monte, Va passaggiera In fiurae, Va prigioiiiera In fonte ; Mormora sempre, e geme. Fin che non torna al mar : Al mar, dov' ella nacque. Dove acquistb gli umori. Dove da' lunghi errori Spera di riposar. Metastaiio Artastrsc, Waters, from the ocean borne. Bathe the valley and the hill, Prison'd in the fountain mourn. Warble down the winding rill; But, wherever doom'd to stray. Still they murmur and complain. Still pursue their lingering way. Till they join their native main. After many a year of woe. Many a long, long wandering past, AVhere, at first, they learn'd to flow. There they hope to rest at last. I confined myself to the measure of the old trans- lation, because I wanted that my words should agree with the music, which, in this song, is very good. BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 59 XXI. TO DR. BLACKLOCK.* Aberdeen, Qth January, 176y. It was very kind in you to read over my " Essay on tlie Immutability of Moral Sentiment" with so much attention. I wish it deserved any part of the high encomium you bestowed on it. I flatter myself it will receive considerable improvements from a second transcribing, which I intend to begin as soon as I can. Some parts of it will be enlarged, and others, perhaps, shortened : the examples from history, and authorities from ancient authors, will be more numerous : it will be regularly distributed into chaptei"s and sections, and the language will be corrected throughout. The first part, which treats of the permanency of iruth in general, is now in great forwardness; ninety pages in quarto are finishetJ, and materials provided for as many more. The de- sign of the whole you will guess from the part you have seen. It is to overthrow scepticism, and establish conviction in its place ; a conviction not in the least favourable to bigotry or prejudice, far less to a persecuting spirit ; but such a conviction as produces firnmess of mind, and stability of prin- ciple, in a consistence with moderation, candour, and liberal inquiry. If I understand my own de- sign, it is certainly this ; whether I shall accom- plish this design or not, the event only will deter- mine. Meantime I go on with cheerfulness in this intricate and fatiguing study, because I would fain * In this letter Dr. Beattie gives an account of his iTio- ti.ves for writing and publishing his ♦* Essay on Truth." 60 beattie's letters. hope that it may do some good; harm I think it cannot possibly do any. Perhaps you are anxious to know what first in- duced me to write on this subject : I will tell you as briefly as I can. In my jounger days I read chiefly for the sake of amusement, and I found my- self best amused with the classics, and what we call the belles lettres. Metaphysics I disliked ; ma- thematics pleased me better ; but I found my mind neither improved nor gratified by that study. When Providence allotted me my present station, it be- came incumbent on me to read what had been written on the subject of morals and human na- ture : the works of Locke, Berkeley, and Hume were celebrated as master-pieces in this way ; to them, therefore, I had recourse. But as I began to study them with great prejudices in their favour, you will readily conceive how strangely I was sur- prised to find them, as I thought, replete with ab- surdities : I pondered these absurdities ; I weighed the arguments, with which I was sometimes not a little confounded ; and the result was, that I began at last to suspect my own understanding, and to think that I had not capacity for such a study: for I could not conceive it possible, that the absurdities of these authors were so great as they seemed to me to be ; otherwise, thought I, the world would never admire them so much. About this time, some ex- cellent antisceptical works made their appearance, particularly Reid's " Inquiry into the Human Mind." Then it was that I began to have a ]ittle more con- fidence in my own judgment, when I found it con- firmed by those of whose abilities I did not enter- tain the least distrust. I reviewed my authors again. beattie's letters. 61 with a very different temper of mind. A very little truth will sometimes enlighten a vast extent of science. I found that the sceptical philosophy was not what the world imagined it to be, nor what I, following the opinion of tlie world, had hitherto imagined it to be ; but a frivolous, though dangerous, system of verbal subtilty, which it required neither genius, nor learning, nor taste, nor knowledge of mankind, to be able to put together; but only a captious temper, an irreligious spirit, a moderate command of words, and an extraordinary degree of vanity and presumption. You will easily perceive that I am speaking of this philosophy only in its most extravagant state, that is, as it appears in the works of Mr. Hume. The more I study it, the more am I contirmed in this opinion. But while I ap- plauded and admired the sagacity of those who led me into, or at least encouraged me to proceed in, this train of thinking, I was not altogether satisfied with them in another respect. I could not approve that extraordinary adulation which some of them paid to their arch-adversary. I could not conceive the propriety of paying compliments to a man's hearty at the very time one is proving that his aim is to subvert the principles of truth, virtue, and religion ; nor to his understanding, when we are charging him with publishing the grossest and most contemptible nonsense. I thought I then foresaw, what I have since found to happen, that this con- troversy will be looked upon rather as a trial of skill between two logicians, than as a disquisition in which the best interests of mankind were con- cerned ; and that the world, especially the fashion- able part of it, would still be disposed to pay the 62 beattie's letters. greatest deference to the opinions of him who, even by the acknowledgment of his antagonists, was con- fessed to be the best philosopher and the soundest reasoner. All this has happened, and more. Some, to my certain knowledge, have said, that Mr. Hume and his adversaries did really act in concert, in order mutually to promote the sale of one another's works ; as a proof of which, they mention, not only the extravagant compliments that pass between them, but also the circumstance of Dr.Reid and Dr. Campbell sending their manuscripts to be perused and corrected by Mr. Hume before they gave them to the press. I, who know both the men, am very sensible of the gross falsehood of these reports. As to the affair of the manuscripts, it was, I am con- vinced, candour and modesty that induced them to it. But the world knows no such thing ; and, therefore, may be excused for mistaking the mean- ing of actions that have really an equivocal ap- pearance. T know likewise that they are sincere, not only in the detestation they express for Mr. Hume's irreligious tenets, but also in the compli- ments they have paid to his talents; for they both look upon him as an extraordinary genius ; a point in which I cannot agree with them. But while I thus vindicate them from imputations, which the world, from its ignorance of circumstances, has laid to their charge, I cannot approve them in every thing; I wish they had carried their researches a little farther, and exjjressed themselves with a little more tirmness and spirit. For well I know, that their works, for want of this, will never produce that effect which (if all mankind were cool meta- physical reasouers) might be expected from them. beattie's letters. 63 There is another thing in which my judgment dif- fers considerably from that of the gentlemen just mentioned. They have great metaphysical abilities ; and they love the metaphysical sciences. I do not. I am convinced, that tliis metaphysical spirit is the bane of true learning, true taste, and true science ; that to it we owe all this modern scepticism and atheism ; that it has a bad effect upon the human faculties, and tends not a little to sour the temper, to subvert good principles, and to disqualify men for the business of life. You will now see wherein my views differ from those of the other answerers of Mr. Hume. I want to show the world, that the sceptical philosophy is contradictory to itself, and destructive of genuine philosopliy, as well as of re- ligion and virtue; that it is in its own nature so paltry a thing, (however it may have been cele- brated by some) that to be despised it needs only to be known; that no degree of genius is necessary to qualify a man for making a figure in this pretended science ; but rather a certain minuteness and sus- piciousness of mind, and want of sensibility, the very reverse of true intellectual excellence; that metaphysics cannot possibly do any good, but may do, and actually have done, much harm ; that scep- tical philosophers, whatever they may pretend, are the corrupters of science, the pests of society, and the enemies of mankind. I want to show, that the same method of reasoning, which these people have adopted in their books, if transferred into common life, would show them to be destitute of common sense; that true philosophers follow a different method of reasoning; and that, without following a different method, no truth can be discovered, i 64 beattie's letters. want to lay before the public, in as strong a light as possible, the following dilemma : our sceptics either believe the doctrines they publish, or they do not believe them ; if they believe them, they are fools — if not, they are a thousand times worse. I want also to fortify the mind against this sceptical poison, and to propose certain criteria of moral truth, by which some of the most dangerous scep- tical errors may be detected and guarded against. You are sensible, that, in order to attain these ends, it is absolutely necessary for me to use great plainness of speech. JMy expressions must not be so tame as to seem to imply either a diffidence in my principles, or a coldness towards the cause I have undertaken to defend. And where is the man who can blame me for speaking from the heart, and therefore speaking with warmth, when I appear in the cause of truth, religion, virtue, and man- kind? I am sure my dear friend Dr. Blackiock will not; lie, who has set before me so many examples of this laudable ardour; he, whose style I should be proud to take for my model, if I were not aware of the difficulty, I may say, the insuperable diffi- culty, of imitating it with success. You need not fear, however, that I expose myself by an excess of passion or petulance. I hope I shall be animated, without losing my temper, and keen, without in-, jury to good manners. In a word, I will be as soft and delicate as the subject and my conscience will allow. One gentleman, a friend of yours,* I shall have occasion to treat with much freedom. I have heard of his virtues. I know he has many virtues ; • Mr. Hume. beattie's letters. 65 God forbid I should ever seek to lessen them, or wish them to be found insincere. I hope they are sincere, and that they will increase in number and merit every day. To his virtues I shall do justice ; but I must also do justice to his faults, at least to those faults which are public, and which, for the sake of truth and of mankind, ought not to be con- cealed or disguised. Personal reflections will be carefully avoided ; I hope I am in no danger of falling into them, for I bear no personal animosity against any man whatsoever : sometimes I may, per- haps, be keen ; but I trust I shall never depart from the Christian and philosophic character. A scheme like this of mine cannot be popular, far less can it be lucrative. It will raise me enemies; it will expose me to the scrutiny of the most rigid criticism ; it will make me be considered by many as a suUeu and illiberal bigot. I trust, however, in Providence, and in the goodness of my cause, that my attempts in behalf of truth shall not be alto- gether ineffectual, and that my labours shall be attended with some utility to my fellow-creatures. This, in my estimation, will do much more than counterbalance all the inconveniences I have any reason to apprehend. I have already fallen on evil tongues, (as Milton says) on account of this in- tended publication. It has been reported, that I had written a most scurrilous paper against Mr. Hume, and was preparing to publish it, when a friend of mine interposed, and, with very great dif- ficulty, prevailed on me to suppress it, because he knew it would hurt or ruin my character. Such is the treatment I have to expect from one set of people. I was so provoked when I first heard this 66 beattie's letters. calumny, that I deliberated whether I should not throw my papers into the fire, with a Si popidus vult decipi, declpiatur : but I rejected that thought; for so many persons have told me that it was my duty to publish these papers, that I almost begin to think so myself. iNIauy have urged me to publish them ; nonx3 ever dissuaded me. The gentleman named in the report read the essay, and returned it with the highest commendations ; but I do not recollect that he ever spoke a syllable about pub- lishing or suppressing it. But I have certainly lired you with so long a detail about so trifling a matter as my works. However, I thought it necessary to say something by way of apology for them, for I find that your good opinion is of too much consequence to my peace, to suffer me to neglect any opportu- nity of cultivating it. I informed you, in the letter which I sent by Mr. John Ross, that I was become the father of a son. Both hi.s parents and he are much obliged to you for interesting yourselves so much in that event, and for your kind wishes. He thrives apace, and ray wife is thoroughly recovered. You ask me, what are my feelings ? Perhaps I shall be in a better condition to answer that question afterwards than now. He is always near me, and never has had any illness ; and you know that adversity is the only true touchstone of affection. I find my ima- gination recoils from the idea of such adversity as would bring my affection to the test. To tell the truth, I am at no great pains to obtrude that idea on- my fancy: evils come soon enough; we need not anticipate them. At present, however, I feel enough to convince me experimentally of what I beattie's letters. 67 have proved from the principles of reason in my essay, that this o-ropyTj is something entirely differ- ent from that affection we feel towards dependents, as well as from that which arises from a habit of long acquaintance. I long much to see your translation of the French poem ;* pray send it as soon as you can. You need not, I think, be under any apprehensions of meet- ing with Mr. Home's treatment.f To translate a dramatic poem, can never be made to be on a foot- ing with composing one, and bringing it on the stage. Even Presbyterianism itself allows us to read plays ; and if so, it cannot prohibit the trans- lating of them. XXII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, jQth April, 1769. ***** The Christian religion, according to my creed, is a very simple thing, intelligible to the meanest capacity, and what, if we are at pains to join practice to knowledge, we may make ourselves thoroughly acquainted with, without turning over many books. It is the distinguishing excellence of this religion, that it is entirely popular, and fitted, both in its doctrines and in its evidences, to all conditions and capacities of reasonable creatures — a character, which does not belong to any other re- ligious or philosophical system that ever appeared • The play of " Cenie," by D'Happoncourt de Grafigny: this Dr. Blacklock had translated, with the title of " Sera- phina." t This alludes to the tragedy of " Douglas," G3 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. in the world. I wonder to see so many men, emi- nent both for their piefy and for their capacity, la- bouring to make a mystery of this divine institu- tion. If God vouchsafes to reveal himself to man- kind, can we suppose that he chooses to do so in such a manner as that none but the learned and contemplative can understand him ? The genera- lity of mankind can never, in any possible circum- stances, have leisure or capacity for learning, or profound contemplation. If, therefore, we make Christianity a mystery, we exclude the greater part of mankind from the knowledge of it; which is di- rectly contrary to the intention of its Author, as is plain from his explicit and reiterated declarations. In a word, I am perfectly convinced, that an inti- mate acquaintance with the Scripture, particularly the gospels, is all that is necessary to our accom- plishment in true Christian knowledge. I have looked into some systems of theology; but I never read one of them to an end, because I found I could never reap any instruction from them. To darken what is clear, by wrapping it up in the veil of sy- stem and science, was all the purpose that even the best of them seemed to me to answer. True it is, there are, even in the gospels, and in the dis- courses of Jesus Christ himself, some tilings that stand in need of illustration ; as when he adopts proverbial phrases peculiar to Judea, or alludes to the customs of that country and those times: but these obscurities are but few in number, and gene- rally relate to matters of less indispensable utility ; and I presume, a very moderate share of erudition is all that is necessary to make us understand them, ' as far as they were intended to be understood by beattie's letters. 69 us. As these, I am convinced, are your sentiments, you will agree with me in thinking, that it is not necessary for us, even though we were clergymen, to read a great deal of divinity, as it is called. In- deed, I am every day more and more inclined to Dr. Gregory's opinion, (which, by the bye, I think was Solomon's too,) that the reading of many books of any sort is a bad thing, as it tends to withdraw a man's attention from liimself, and from those amusements and contemplations, which at once sweeten tlie temper and cherish the health. You will do me the justice to believe, that, by the word amusements, I do not mean drinking, or gaming, or any of the fashionable modes of dissipation ; I mean the study of the works of nature, and some of the best performances in the fine arts, which I have al- ways found the most pleasing, as well as the most salutary amusement, both to my mind and body. But I must certainly have tired you with this long disquisition. I am much obliged to you for your account of Dr. Hawkesworth. I want much to see his translation of Telemachus ; but no copies of it have come to this country. The former translations were all very in- different. I am inclined to think, that the doctor judged right in not making his translation too poe- tical and figurative. His own prose style is as much ornamented as good prose can well be ; and nearly as much (if I mistake not) as Cambray's style, even where it is most poetical. The mea- sured prose (as they call it,) which we have in the translations from Ossian, would, I am afraid, be- come disgusting in a work so long as Telemachus. 70 beattie's letters. Besides, the style of tliis work is really simple, and of the narrative, or epic kind, as it ought to be; whereas tlie poems of the Highland bard are alto- gether of the lyric cast, both in the ornaments of the style, and in the arrangement and detail of the fable. I wonder how the editor of these poems took it into his .head to call them epic. They are wholly lyric, and can no more be referred to the class of epic poems, than Milton's *' Paradise Last" can be called an ode. The account you give me of the economy of Dr. Hawkesworth's family pleases me much. I am en- tirely of your mind in regard to Protestant nun- nei-ies or convents, which are much wanted in this country, and which, under proper regulations, might, as you justly observe, be productive of the best effects. Our reformers seem to have wholly forgot the old maxim, Fas est et ah hoste doceri. if any practice was in use among the Papists, this was enough to make them reject it ; and it was al- most enough to recommend any practice to them, that it was contrary to the usage of their adversa- ries. I wish, however, they had condescended to borrow a little church music, and somewhat of more decorum and solemnity in their public wor- ship, even from the Papists ; and that they had provided some safe and creditable asylum for ladies of small fortunes and high breeding, although this had been done in imitation of the votaries of the Romish church. It seems as decent, at least, to imitate the Roman Catholics as the Mahometans ; and yet we (Presbyterians) seem to have imitated the latter, iii banishing from our churches all beattie's letters. 71 music, at least, all good music ; that which we have retained being in general so very bad, that it is ne- cessary for a person to have a bad car befoie he can relish the worship of the church of Scotland. XXIII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES * £6th October, 1769. I THIS moment received yours of the 23d current, enclosing a bank post- bill for 52/. iOs. I am too much affected with a sense of your and Mr, Arbuth- not's friendship on this, as on all other occasions, to say any thing in the way of thanks or compli- ment. Like a man on tlie verge of bankruptcy, I am become almost careless in regard to the extent of the new or old debt I owe to your goodness. If you are determined to persist in heaping favours and obligations upon me, why, be it so ; I shall, at least, in one respect, be even with you, or endea- vour to be so ; I shall try to be as gratefiil as you are kind. As this book had cost me a good deal of labour, and as I had brought myself to think it a pretty good book, I should liave been much disap- pointed if I had not got it published ; and I do firmly believe, that, if it had not been for yon, it never would have been published. As this is the light in which I consider what you have now done for me, you will readily believe, from tbe nature of that attachment which all authors bear to the off- spring of their brain, that I have a pretty high sense of the favour. • The following letter was written in answer to a letter oi sir William Forbes, relative to a negotiation for publish- ing the «' Essay on Truth," 72 beattie's letters. The price does really exceed my warmest expec- tations; nay, I am much afraid that it exceeds the real commercial value of the book ; and I am not much surprised that * * * * refuses to have a share in it, considering that he is one of the principal pro- prietors of Mr. Hume's works, and, in consequence of that, may have such a personal regard for him, as would prevent his being concerned in any work of this nature. In a word, I am highly pleased with the whole transaction, except in this one re- spect, that you and JNIr. Arbuthnot have agreed to be partners in this publication : — this gives me real concern. I know you both despise the risk of losing any thing by it, and will despise the loss when you come to know it, of wliich, I am afraid, there is too great a chance : but, notwithstanding, I could have wished you out of the scrape ; and if it shall afterwards appear that you are losers, I shall be tempted to regret that ever I gave you the opportunity. There are some delicacies on this sub- ject, which embarrass me so much, that I know not how to express myself intelligibly. In a word, you will account the loss a trifle, but to me it will not have that appearance. I will now fall to work, and put the last hand to my manuscript. This will take up a week or two, as several things have occurred to me, within these few days, which I think will, when added, make the book much more perfect. I will venture to say, that few authors liave ever been more solici- tous than I, on this occasion, to make their work correct. It has undergone a most critical exami- nation in the hands of my two friends, doctors Campbell and Gerard, who have both written ob- beattie's letters. 73 serrations on it, and who are perfect masters of all the subjects treated in it, and really, in my judg- ment, the most acute metaphysicians of the age. Both have given me great encouragement, and as- sured me, that, in their opinion, my book will do good, if people will only vouchsafe it a reading. It was but the other day I received Dr. Gr*ard's re-. marks;* and, on my desiring him, honestly and impartially, to give his judgment, " I think,'' says he, '* if is a most excellent book, and cannot fail to do you credit with all the friends of virtue and religion." I mention this only to show you, that, if it shall afterwards apj)ear that I have judged wrong in thinking this book proper to be printed, I am not singular in the mistake. One thing I was particularly careful in recommending to the two gentlemen just mentioned : I desired them, above every thing, to observe, whether I had, in any place, misrepresented my adversaries, or mistaken their doctrine. They tell me, that, in their judg- ment, I have not, except in two or three passages of no consequence, which, however, I have care^ fully corrected. I have the more confidence in their judgment in this particular, because they are per- fect masters of the modern sceptical philosophy, and are particularly well acquainted with Mr, Hume's writings ; indeed, better than any other person I know, except Dr. Reid at Glasgow, to whom, however, they are no ways inferior. Much of my knowledge on these subjects I owe to their conversation and writings, as Dr. Gregory very well * Dr. Gerard was professor of divinity in the Marischal College, Aberdeen. VOL. I. E 74 beattie's letters. knows. Since I am upon this subject, I shall tell you farther, that the book, now under considera- tion, has been my principal study these four years; I have actually written it three times over, and some parts of it oftener. I have availed myself, all I could, of reading and conversation, in order that 1 might be aware of all the possible objections that could be made to my doctrine. Every one of these, that has come to my knowledge, has been canvassed and examined to the bottom, at least, according to the examiner's measure of understanding. If all this, joined to my natural abhorrence of misrepre- sentation, and to the sense I have of what my cha- racter would suffer, if I could be charged with want of candour; if all this, I say, is not sufficient to make my book correct, I must for ever despair of making it so. XXIV. TO CAPT. (afterwards MAJOr) MERCER. Aberdeen, C6th November, 1769. I SHALL not take up your time with enlarging on all the causes that have kept me so long from writing. I shall only tell yoii, that, while the sum- mer lasted, I went about as much as possible, and imposed on myself an abstinence from rcadine, writing, and thinking, with a view to shake off this vile vertigo, which, however, still sticks by me, ■with a closeness of attachment which I could well excuse. Since that time, (I mean since the end of summer) I have delayed writing, till I should be able to inform you of the fate of the papers you were so good last winter as to read and interest yourself in. They are sold to a bookseller in Edin- beattie's letters. 75l burgh, and are now actually in the press, and will make theii' public appearance, if I mistake not, in the spring. I have taken no little pains to finish them ; and many additions, and illustrations, and corrections, and expunctions, and softenings, and hardenings, have been made on them. With tliem I intend to bid adieu to metaphysics, and all your authors of profound speculation ; for, of all the trades to wliich that multifarious animal man can turn himself, I am now disposed to look upon in- tense study as the idlest, the most unsatisfying, and the most unprofitable. You cannot easily con- ceive with what greediness I now peruse the *' Arabian Nights Entertainments," " Gulliver's Travels," " Robinson Crusoe," &c. I am like a man who has escaped from the mines, and is now drinking in the fresh air and light, on the top of some of the mountains of Dalecarlia. These books put me in mind of the days of former years, the romantic aera of fifteen, or the stiil more caffless period of nine or ten : the scenes of which, as hey now stand pictured in my fancy, seem to be illumi- nated with a sort of purple ligb.t, formed with the softest, purest gales, and painted with a verdure to which nothing similar is to be fouiul in the de- generate summers of modern times. Here I would quote the second stanza of Gray's " Ode on Eton College," but it would take up too much room, and you certainly have it by heart. I hear you are likely to be a major in the army Sopn. I need not tell you on how many accounts I wish that event to take place. I should look on it ^ Q forerunner of your return, which I should cer- taliUy rejoice at, even with an excess of joy, though 7f> beattie's letters. I had not a single particle of generositj- in my whole composition, my own happiness is so much inter- ested in it. Alas! my walks now are quite soli- tary. No more do the banks of Dee resound to those confabulations, critical, grammatical, philo- sophical, sentimental, &c. which whilom were agitated between us. I have not seen a man since }'ou left us, whose notions of Homer and Achilles were the same with mine. I was a fortnight at Edinburgh this summer, where I saw our friend Sylvester* almost every day. You would be surjirised to see his outward man so little changed. His voice has the same tone (only with a little addition of the English accent) as when he went away. As to stature and embonpoint^ he is much the same (I fear I have misapplied that word, which, I believe, is never used of lean people.) His complexion rather fresher and fairer than before. He speaks French, Italian, and Ger- man, with fluency, and is as fond of poetry as ever. He never drinks above two or three glasses of wine at a sitting; and, indeed, seems to have acquired a great many good qualities by his travelling, with- out the loss of a single one of those he formerly possessed. You would see I\Ir. Gray's installation ode, and, if so, 1 am sure you have approved it. It is not equal to some other of his pieces, but it is the best ode of the panegyrical kind I have ever seen. I had a letter from him since it came out, in which he says, *' That it cannot last above a single day, or, •The right honourable Sylvester Douglas, lord Glerr- bervie. beattie's letters. n if its existence be prolonged beyond that period, it must be by means of newspaper parodies, and wit- less criticism." He says, be considered bimself bound, in gratitude to the duke of Grafton, to write this ode; and that be foresaw the abase that would be thrown on him for it, but did not think it worth his while to avoid it, I am not of his mind in regard to the duration of the poem. I am much mistaken if it do not carry down the name of his patron to the latest posterity; an honour which, I fear, no other great man of this age will have the chance to receive from the h^nds of the Muses. XXV. TO THE earl OF BUCHAN. Aberdeen, 27th November, 1769. The concern your lordship is pleased to take in my writings does me a great deal of honour. I should think myself very happy, if, by means of them, I could contribute any thing to the advancement of the cause of truth and virtue. I have not been able, since you left us, to make any considerable additions to the " Minstrel ;" all my leisure hours being employed in putting the last hand to my "Essay on Truth," which was ac- tually put to the press about three weeks ago. It will, I think, make its public appearance in the spring. Several important alterations and addi- tions have been made. Most of the asperities have been struck out, and such of them as have been re- tained are very much softened. Still, however, there are, and must be, some strong pictures and 78 bkattie's letters. expressions, which do not well suit the apathy and equivocating; lukewarmness of this age. But my express design was, .to set our sceptics in a new light, and, therefore, I found it necessary to pursue a new method. I want to show, that their reason- ings and doctrines are not only false but ridiculous ; and that their talents, as philosophers and logi- cians, are absolutely contemptible. Your lordship will, I presume, do me the justice to believe, that I have not afectedXo treat them with more contempt than I think they deserve. I should be ashamed of myself, if, in pleading the cause of truth, I were to personate a character that is not my own. The doctrines I have maintained in this book are, every one of them, according to my real sentiments. I have added some renjarks on personal identity ; on the veracity of our senses in regard to extension, distance, magnitude, and those other objects of touch which are commonly referred both to that sense and to sight; on the different classes to which certain truths seem reducible ; and I have made several other additions, which, 1 hope, render the book less exceptionable tlian it was when your lordship did me the honour to peruse it. The "Minstrel" I intend to resume next sum- raer. It will consist of three books ; and, as it promises to be by much the hest, and will probably be the last, of my poetical attempts, I propose to finish it at great leisure. beattie's letters. 79 XXVI. TO the earl of buchan.* Aberdeen, 15th December, 1769. I LAID your letter before a full meeting of our uni- versity ; aud have their orders to return to your 1-ordsliip their most grateful acknowledgments for your attention to tlie interests of learning in gene- ral, and your generosity to this society in particu- lar. We accept, with the most unfeigned senti- ments of gratitude, the noble present you have done us the honour to promise us ; and will most zealously endeavour to promote, to the utmost of our power, those good purposes your lordship has so much at heart. We beg to know more particu- larly, in what way it will be proper for us to pro- pose the prize subjects ? and from what sciences the arguments are to be taken ? what ranks of students (whether the lower or higher classes, or all, in general) are to be admitted as candidates ? in what manner their performances are to be exa- mined? and whether it will be expedient to publish in the newspapers the names of such as shall be thought to have obtained the prize? In these, and in all other particulars, we would choose to be di- rected by your lordship's judgment, • The earl of Buchan had been desirous to establish, in the Marischal college at Aberdeen, a prize for the best Greek exercise. The following is Dr. Beattie's answer to his lord- ship's communication on this subject. 80 beattie's letters. xxvii. to sir avilliam forbes. Aberdeen, 4th May, 1770. Nothing, I think, is stirriug in the literary world. All ranks are run mad with politics ; and I know not whether there was any period at which it was more unseasonable to publish new books. I do not mean, that the nation has no need of instruc- tion ; I mean only, that it has neither leisure nor inclination to listen to any. I am a very great admirer of Armstrong's poem on *' Health j" and, therefore, as soon as I heard that the same author had published two volumes of *' INliscellanies," I sent a commission for them, with great expectations : but I am miserably dis- appointed. I know not what is the matter with Armstrong ; but he seems to have conceived a root- ed aversion at the whole human race, except a few friends, who, it seems, are dead. He sets the pub- lic opinion at defiance ; a piece of boldness, which neither Virgil nor Horace were ever so shameless as to acknowledge. It is very true, that living au- thors are often hardly dealt with by their contem- poraries; witness Milton, Collins the poet, and many others : but I believe it is equally true, that no good piece was ever published, which did not, sooner or later, obtain the public approbation. How is it possible it should be otherwi.^e ? People read for amusement. If a book be capable of yielding amusement, it will naturally be read ; for flo man is an enemy to what gives him pleasure. Some books, indeed, being calculated for the intellects of a few, can please only a few ; yet, if they produce b^attie's letters. 81 this effect, they answer all the end the authors in- tended ; and if those few be men of any note, which is generally the case, the herd of mankind will very willingly fall in with their judgment, and con- sent to admire what they do not understand. I question whether there are now in Europe two thousand, or even one thousand persons, who un- derstand a word of Newton's " Principia ;" yet there are in Europe many millions who extol New- ton as a very great philosopher. Those are but a small number who have any sense of the beauties of Milton ; yet every body admires Milton, because it is the fashion. Of all the English poets of this age, Mr. Gray is most admired, and, 1 think, with justice ; yet there are, comparatively speaking, but a few who know any thing of his, but his " Church- yard Elegy," which is by no means the best of his works. 1 do not think that Dr. Armstrong has any cause to complain of the public: his *'Art of Health" is not indeed a popular poem, but it is very much liked, and has often been printed. It will make him known and esteemed by posterity • and, I presume, he will be the more esteemed, if all his other works perish with him. In his " Sketches," indeed, are many sensible, and some striking remarks ; but they breathe such a ranco- rous and contemptuous spirit, and abound so much in odious vulgarisms and colloquial execrations, that in reading we are as often disgusted as pleased. I know not what to say of his " Universal Alma- nack ;" it seems to me an attempt at humour ; but such humour is either too high or too low for my comprehension. The plan of his tragedy, called the *' Forced Marriage," is both obscure and irn- e2 82 BEIATTIE'S LETTERS. probable ; yet there are good strokes in it, parti* cularly in the last scene. As I know your taste and talents in painting, I cannot help communicating to you an observation, which I lately had occasion, not to make, for I had made it before, but to see illustrated in a very striking manner. I was reading the Abbe du Bos' •* Reflections on Poetiy and Painting." In his 13th section of the first volume, he gives some very in- genious remarks on two of Raphael's cartoons. Speaking of " Christ's charge to Peter," he says of one of the figures in the group of apostles, Pres tie lid est place un autre apbtre emharrasst de sa contenance ; on le d'lscerne pour etre d'un tempera- ment melancholique a. la maigreur de son visage li- vide, a sa barbe ?ioire et plate, a I'/tabltude de s&n corps, enjin a tous les traits que les naturalist es ont assignis a ce temperament. Jl se coiirbe; et les yeiLv fixement attaches sur J. C. il est devore d'line jalousie morne pour une choiw dont il ne se plaindra point, mais dont il conservera long terns un vif res- sentiment : enfin on reconnoit la. Judas aussi distinc- teinent qu'u le voir pendu au jiguier, nne bourse ren- versie au col. Je Ji'ai point prete d' esprit a Ra- phael, &c. You see the ingenious abbe is very positive ; and yet you will immediately recollect, that the charge of " Feed my sheep," to which this cartoon refers, was given to Peter after the re- -surrection, and when, consequently, Judas could not be present.* If it be said-, that this charge re- fers to the keys, which Peter carries in his bosom ; a charge given long before — I answer, first, that • John, xxi. j6. beattie's letters. 83 the sheep in the back-ground is a presumption of the contrary; and, secondly, that the wounds in the feet and hands of Jesus, and the number of apostles present, which is only eleven, are a cer- tain proof, that the fact to which this cartoon re- lates happened after the resurrection. The abbe's mistake is of little moment in itself; but it serves to illustrate this observation, that the expression of painting is at the best very indctinite, and generally leaves scope to the \u]^Qmou^cni\cdeprite7' d* esprit to the painter. XXVIII. TO DR. BLACKLOCK.* Aberdeen, 27th May, 1770. I CANNOT express how nuch I think myself in- debted to your friendship, in entering so warmly into all my concerns, and in making out so readily, and at such length, the two critical articles. The shortest oiie was sent back, in course of post, to Mr. Kiiicaid,f from whom you would learn the reasons that induced me to make some alterations in the analysis you had there made of my book. The other paper I return in this packet. I have made a remark or two at the end, but no altera- tions. Indeed, how could I ? you understand ray • When the " Essay on Truth" was published, it was considered necessary that a short analysis of it should be inserted in the Edinburgh newspapers. The task of writing this analysis was undertaken by Dr. Blacklock. But pre- viously to its publication, he thought proper to submit what he had written to Dr. Beattie, who replied to Dr. Blacklock as follows. t The publisher. 84 beattie's letters. philosophy as perfectly as I do ; you express it much better, and you embellish it witli a great many of your own sentiments, which, though new to me, are exceedingly apposite to my subject, and set some parts of it in a fairer light tlian I have been able to do in my boolv. I need not tell you, how happy I am in the thought, that this work of mine has your approbation ; for I know you too well, to impute to mere civility the many hand- some things you have said in praise of it. I know you approve it, because I know you incapiable to say one thing and think another ; and I do assure you, I would not forego your approbation to avoid the censure of fifty IMr. Humes. V\'hat do I say? j\Jr. Hume's censure I am so far from being ashamed of, that I think it docs me honour. It is, next to his conversion, (which I have no reason to look for) the most desirable thing I have to expert from that quarter. I have heard, fiom very good autho- rity, that he speaks of me and my book with very great bitterness (I own, I tliought he would rather ha\ e affected to treat both with contempt ;) and that he says, I have not used him like a gentleman. He is quite right to set the matter upon that foot- ing. It is an odious chai'ge; it is an objection easily remembered, and, for that reason, will be often repeated by his admirers ; and it has this farther* advantage, that being (in the present case) perfectly unintelligible, it cannot possibly be an- swered. The truth is, I, as a rational, moral, and immortal being, and something of a pliilosopher, treated him as a rational, moral, and immortal be- ing, a sceptic, and an atheistical writer. I\ly de- sign was, not to make a book full of fashionable beattie's letters. 85 plirases and polite expressions, but to undeceive the public in regard to the merits of the sceptical philosophy, and the pretensions of its abettors. To say, that I ought not to have done this with plain- ness and spirit, is to say, in other words, that I ought either to liave held my peace, or to have been a knave. In this case, I might perhaps have treat- ed Mr. Hume as a gentleman, but I should not have treated society, and my own conscience, as became a man and a Christian. I have all along foreseen, and still foresee, that I shall have many reproaclies, and cavils, and sneers, to encounter on this occasion ; but I am prepared to meet them. I am not ashamed of my cause ; and, if I may be- lieve those whose good opinion I value as one of the chief blessings of life, I need not be ashamed of my work. You are certainly right in your con- jecture, that it will not have a quick sale. Not- withstanding all my endeavours to render it per- spicuous and entertaining, it is still necessary for tlie person who reads it to think a little ; a task to which every reader will not submit. My subject too is unpopular, and my principles such as a man of the world would blush to acknowledge. How then can my book be popular ? If it refund the ex- pense of its publication, it will do as much as any person, who knows the present state of the literary world, can reasonably expect from it. I am not at all surprised at your notions in re- gard to liberty and necessity. I have known seve- ral persons of the best understanding, and of the best heart, who could not get over the arguments in favour of necessity, even though their notions of the absurd and dangerous consequences of fata- 86 beattie's letters. lity were the same with mine. The truth is, I see uo possible way of reconciling the fatalists with the liberty-men, except by supposing human liberty to be a self-evident fact, which, perhaps, the fatal- ists will never acknowledge, and which the staunch Arminian, who has been long in the practice of arguing the matter, would think a dangerous and unnecessary supposition. INIy own sentiments of this point I have given fairly and honestly in my book. That I am a free agent, is what I not only believe, but what 1 judge to be of such importance, that all morality must be founded on it, yea, and all religion too. To vindicate the ways of God to man, is not so difficult a thing when we acknow- ledge human liberty ; but, on the principles of fa- tality, it seems to me to be absolutely impossible. I beg you will, from time to time, let me know what you hear of the fate of my book. Every au- thor thinks that his works ought to engross every body's attention. I am not such a novice as to have more of this vanity than my neighbours ; yet I think it highly probable, that my book will be the subject of some conversation, especially about Edinburgh, where Mr. Hume is so well known, and where I happen to be not altogether unknown. By the bye, it was extremely well judged not to men- tion Mr. Hume's name, except very slightly, in the two critical articles you wrote. People will do me a great injustice, if they say or think that my book is written solely against Mr. Hume. Yet many, I am convinced, will say so ; and, therefore, it was pro- per to say nothing in those articles that might en- courage such a notion. BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 87 XXIX. TO MRS. INGLIS.* Aberdeen, 24th December, 1770. While I lived in your neighbourhood, I often wished for an opportunity of giving you my opinion on a subject, in which I know you are very deeply interested ; but one incident or other always put it out of my power. That subject is the education of your son, whom, if I mistake not, it is now high time to send to some public place of education. I have thought much on this subject ; I have weighed every argimient, that I could think of, on either side of the question. Much, you know, has been written upon it ; and very plausible arguments have been offered, both for and against a public educa- tion. I set not much value upon these : speculating men are continually disputing, and the world is seldom the wiser. I have .some little experience in this way ; T have no hypothesis to mislead me ; and the opinion or prejudice which 1 first formed upon the subject, was directly contrary to that which experience has now taught me to entertain. Could mankind lead their lives in that solitude which is so favourable to many of our most virtuous affections, I should be clearly on the side of a pri- vate education. But most of us, when we go out into the world, find difficulties in our way, which good principles and innocence alone will not qua- lify us to encounter ; we must have some address • Daughter of colonel Gardiner. This letter is extremely valuable, as containing Dr. Beattie's sentiments respecting a public or private education for boys. 88 beattie's letters. and knowledge of the world different from what is to be learned in books, or we shall soon be puzzled, disheartened, or disgusted. The foundation of this knowledge is laid in the intercourse of school-boys, or at least of young men of the same age. When a boy is always under the direction of a parent or tutor, he acquires such a habit of looking up to them for advice, that he never learns to think or act for himself; his memory is exercised, indeed, in retaining their advice, but his invention is suf- fered to languish, till at last it becomes totally in- active. He knows, perhaps, a great deal of history or science, but he knows not how to conduct him- self on those ever-changing emergencies, which are too minute and too numerous to be com]»rehended in any system of advice. He is astonished at the most common appearances, and discouraged with the most trifling (because unexpected) obstacles; and he is often at his wits' end, where a boy of much less knowledge, but more experience, would instantly devise a thousand expedients. Conscious of his own superiority in some things, he wonders to find himself so much inferior in others ; his va- nity meets with continual rubs and disappointments, and disappointed vanity is very apt to degenerate into sullenness and pride. He despises, or affects to despise, his fellows, because, though superior in address, they are inferior in knowledge ; and they, in their turn, despise that knowledge which cannot teach the owner how to behave on the most com- mon occasions. Thus he keeps at a distance from his equals, and they at a distance from him ; and mutual contempt is the natural consequence. Another inconvenience attending private educa- beattie's letters. 89 tloii is the suppressing of the principle of emulation, without which it rarely happens that a boy prose- cutes his studies with alacrity or success. I have heard private tutors complain, that they were obliged to have recourse to flattery or bribery to engage the attention of their pupil; and I need not observe, how improper it is to set the example of such prac- tices before children. True emulation, especially in young and ingenuous minds, is a noble principle; I have known the happiest effects produced by it ; I never knew it to be productive of any vice. In all public schools, it is, or ought to be carefully che- rished. Where it is wanting, in vain shall we preach up to children the dignity and utility of knowledge : the true appetite for knowledge is wanting; and, when that is the case, whatever is crammed into the memory will rather surfeit and enfeeble, than improve the understanding. I do not mention the pleasure which young people take in tho company of one another, and what a pity it is to deprive them of it. I need not remark, that friendships of the utmost stability and importance have often been founded on school-acquaintance ; nor need I put you in mind, of what vast consequence to health are the exercises and amusements which boys contrive fov themselves. I shall only observe further, that when boys pursue their studies at home, they are apt to contract either a habit of idleness, or too close an attachment to reading: the former breeds innu- merable diseases, both in the body and soul; the latter, by filling young and tender minds with more knowledge than they can either retain or arrange properly, is apt to make them superficial and in- attentive, or, what is worse, to strain, and conse^ yO BEATTlE S LETTERS. quently impair the facnllies, by overstretching them. I have known several instances of both. The human mind is more improved by thoroughly understand- ing one science, one part of a science, or even one subject, than by a superficial knowledge of twenty sciences and a hundred difierent subjects ; and I would rather wush my son to be thoroughly master of " Euclid's Elements," than to have the whole of " Chambers's Dictionary" by heart. The great inconvenience of public education arises from its being dangerous to morals ; and, indeed, every condition and period of human life is liable to temptation. Nor will J deny, that our innocence, during the tirst part of life, is much more secure at home than anywhere else ; yet even at home, when we reacli a certain age, it is not perfectly secure. Let young men be kept at the greatest distance from bad company, it \\\\l not be easy to keep them from bad books, to which, in these days, all persons may have easy access at all times. Let ns, however, suppose the best ; that both bad books and bad company keep away, and that the young man never leaves his parents' or tutor's side till his mind be well furnished with good principles, and. himself arrived at the age of reflection and caution : yet temptations must come at last ; and when they come, will they have the less strength because they are new, unexpected, and surprising ? I fear not. The more the young man is surprised, the more apt will he be to lose his presence of mind, and consequently the less capable of self-government. Besides, if his passions are strong, he will be dis- posed to form comparisons between his past state of restraint and his present of liberty, very much to BEATtm's LETTERS. iW the disadvantage of the former. His new associates will langh at liim for his reserve and preciseness ; and his unacqnaintance with their manners, and with the world, as it will render him the more ob- noxious to their ridicule, will also disqualify him the more, both for supporting it with dignity, and also for defending hijnself against it. Suppose him to be shocked with vice at its first appearance, and often to call to mind the good precepts he received in his early days; yet when he sees others daily ad- venturing upon it without any apparent inconve- nience ; when he sees them more gay (to appear- ance) and better received among all their acquaint* ance than he is; and when he finds himself hooted at, and in a manner avoided and despised, on ac- count of his singularity, — it is a wonder, indeed, if he persist in his first resolutions, and do not now at last begin to think, that though his former teachers were well-meaning people, they were by no means qualified to prescribe rules for his con- duct. *' The world," he will say, *' is changed since their time, (and you will not easily persuade young people that it changes for the worse:) we must comply with the fashion, and live like other folks ; otherwise we must give up all hopes of making a figure in it." And when he has got thus far, and begins to despise the opinions of his instructors, and to be dissatisfied with their conduct in regard to, him, I need not add, that the worst consequences may not unreasonably be apprehended. A young man, kept by himself at home, is never well known, even by his parents, because he is never placed in those circumstances which alone are able effectually to rouse and interest his passions, and consequently 92 ^ beattie's letters, to make his character appear. His parents, there- fore, or tutors, never know his weak side, nor what particular advices or cautions he stands most in need of; whereas, if he had attended a public school, and mingled in the amusements and pursuits of liis equals, his virtues and his vices would have been disclosing themselves every day, and his teachers would have known what particular precepts and examples it was most expedient to inculcate upon him. Compare those who have had a public edu- cation with those who have been educated at home ; and it will not be found, in fact, that the latter are, either in virtue or in talents, superior to the former. I speak, madam, from observation of fact, as well as from attending to the nature of the thing. XXX. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 28th January, 1771. In preparing corrections and a preface for the se- cond edition of my essay, I have laboured so hard these two months, that I had time to think of no- thing else. The former were tinished three weeks ago ; and of the latter I have sent you, with this, a complete copy. I must beg of you, and Dr. Gregory, and INIr.Arbuthnot, to set apart an hour or two, as soon as possible, to revise this discourse, and mark what you would wish to be changed or altered ; for I will be entirely determined by your judgment and theirs ; and I do not propose to consult, on the present occasion, with any other persons. I beg you will be very free in your censures, as I would not wish to say any thing exceptionable; at the same time, you will see, by the strain of the whole, beattie's letters. 93 that 1 want to express some things as clearly and strongly as possible, and to show that ray zeal is not in the least abated. The printing of th^ second edition goes briskly on. XXXI. TO ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESO. Aberdeen, l^th February, 1771. It is not in your power, my dear sir, or sir William Forbes's, or Dr. Gregory's, to offend me on any oc- casion. Your remonstrances, on the present occa- sion, against my preface, are so far from offending me, that I consider them as a most striking instance of the sincerest friendship; and, as such, I should receive from them a great deal of pleasure, unmixed with any pain, if it were not for the trouble and uneasiness which I know you must have felt on my account. I am distressed, too, at the thought of having taken up so much of your time: Dr. Gre- gory, in particular, has too much cause to complain of me in this respect. As 1 well know the value of his time, you will readily believe that I cannot be entirely at ease, when I reflect on my having been tlie cause of his writing a letter of twelve quarto pages. All I can say for myself is, that I did not intend to give my friends so much trouble; for, though I sent them my preface as I first wrote it, with all its imperfections on its head, and though I knew they would object to several passages in it, 1 never expected nor wislied them to do more than just to mark the exceptionable parts with their pen, which would have fully satisfied me, as I had determined to follow their advice implicitly m every thing. 94 beattie's letters. I hope I have, in my introduction, done jnstice to Mr. Hume as a man and as an historian : I cer- tainly meant it at least. I have linished a draught of a new preface, (postscript 1 shall henceforth call it;) it will be sent to sir William Forbes when finished. You must once more take the trouble to read it over ; I hope you will tind notliint; to blame in it, for I struck out or altered every tliiii* that Dr. Gregory marked or objected to, and many things besides. But lest there should still be any thing wrong, T will invest my friends with a dictatorial power to expunge every thing they do not like. XXXIl. FROIM DR. JOHN GREGORY.* Edinburgh, C6th November, 1771. I HAVE no objection to your marginal note.f But I think the reason of the warmth with which you write should be strongly pointed out, and as con- cisely as possible. It has been said here, that you had written v.ith great heat and asperity against Mr. Hume, because you differed from him about some metaphysical subtleties, of no material conse- quence to mankind. This is alleged by those who never read your book, and seem never to have read Mr. Hume's. You write with warmth aij^ainst him, because he has endeavoured to invalidate every ar- • Respecting the " Essay on Truth." Dr. Gregory was professor of medicine in the university of Aberdeen, and the author of several well-known literary productions, t What the note here alluded to was, does not appear, It probably contained some remarks on the MS. of his post- script, then under consideration. BEATTIE'S LETTERS. ifb gument brought to prove the existence of a Supreme Being; because he has endeavoured to invalidate every argument in favour of a future state of ex- istence; and because he has endeavoured to destroy the distinction between moral good and evil. You do not treat him with severity because he is a bad metaphysician, but because he has expressly applied his metaphysics to the above unworthy purposes. If he has not been guilty of this ; if these are only conclusions which you yourself draw, by implica- tion, from his writings, but conclusions which he himself disavows, then you are in the wrong; you ought to ask pardon of him and of the public, for your mistaken zeal. But I have never heard that he, or any of his friends, have pretended that you do him injustice in these respects. After all, I wish, for the future, that you would rather employ your wit and humour, of which you have so large a share, against these people, in the way that Addison, Pope, Swift, and Arbullinot did. It would mortify them beyond any thing that can be said against them in the way of reasoning. XXXIII. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE DOWAGER LADY FORBES.* Aberdeen, ICth October, 1772. I WISH the merit of the *' Minstrel" were such as would justify all the kind things you have said of it. That it has merit every body would think me a hy- pocrite if I were to deny; I am willing to believe that it has even considerable merit; and I acknow- • Widow of the Right Hon. William lord Forbes. 96 beattie's letters. iedge, with much gratitude, that it has obtained from the public a reception far more favourable than I expected. There are in it many passages, no doubt, which I admire more tlian others do ; and perhaps there are some passages which others are more struck with than I am. In all poetry, this, I believe, is the case, more or less ; but it is much more the case in poems of a sentimeirtal cast, such as the "Minstrel" is, than in those of tlie narrative species. In epic and dramatic poesy there is a standard acknowledged, by which we may esti- mate tlie merit of the piece ; whether tlie narrative be probable, and the characters well drawn and well preserved ; whether all the events be conducive to tiie catastrophe ; whether tlie action is unfolded in such a way as to command perpetual attention, and .undiminished curiosity — these are points, of which, in reading an epic poem or tragedy, every reader, possessed of good sense, or tolerable knowledge of the art, may hold liimself to be a competent judge. Common life, and the general tenor of human af- fairs, is the standard to which these points may be referred, and according to which they may be esti- mated. But of sentimental poetry, (if I may use the expression) there is no external standard. By it the heart of the reader must be touched at once, or it cannot be touched at all. Here the knowledge of critical rules, and a geneial acquaintance of human affairs, will not form a true critic ; sensibility, and a lively imagination, are the qualities which alone constitute a true taste for sentimental poetry. Again, your ladyship must have observed, that some seutiments are common to all men 5 others peculiar to persons of a certain character. Of the beattie's letters. 97 former sort are those which Gray has so elegantly expressed in his " Church-yard Elegy," a poem which is universally understood and admired, not only for its poetical beauties, but also, and perhaps chiefly, for its expressing sentiments in which every man thinks himself interested, and which, at cer- tain times, are familiar to all men. Now the sen- timents expressed in the " Minstrel," being not common to all men, but peculiar to persons of a certain cast, cannot possibly be interesting, because the generality of readers will not understand nor feel them so thoroughly as to tliink them natural. That a boy should take pleasure in darkness or a storm, in the noise of thunder, or the glare of light- ning; should be more gratified with listening to music at a distance, than with mixing in the mer- riment occasioned by it; should like better to see every bird and beast happy and fiee, than to exert his ingenuity in destroying or ensnai'ing them — these, and such like sentiments, which, I think, would be natural to persons of a certain cast, will, I know, be condemned as unnatural by others, who have never felt them in themselves, nor observed them in the generality of mankind. Of all this i was sufficiently aware before I published the *' Minstrel," and, therefore, never expected that it would be a popular poem. Perhaps, too, the struc- ture of the verse, (which, though agreeable to some, is not to all) and the scarcity of incidents, may contribute to make it less relished than it would have been, if the plan had been different in these particulars. From the questions your ladyship is pleased to propose in the conclusion of your letter, as well as VOL. I. F 98 beattie's letters. from some things I have had the honour to hear you advance iu conversation, I find you are willing to suppose, that, in Edwin, I have given only a picture of myself, as I was in my younger days. 1 confess the supposition is not groundless. I have made him take pleasure in the scenes iu which I took pleasure, and entertain sentiments similar to those, of which, even in my early youth, I had repeated experience. The scenery of a mountainous country, the ocean, the sky, thoughtfulness and re- tirement, and sometimes melancholy objects and ideas, had charms in my eyes, even when I was a schoolboy ; and at a time when I was so far from being able to express, that I did not understand my own feelings, or perceive the tendency of such pur- suits and amusements ; and as to poetry and music, before I was ten years old I could play a little on the violin, and was as much master of Homer and Virgil, as Pope's and Dryden's translations could make me. But I am ashamed to write so much on a subject so trifling as myself, and my own works. Believe me, madam, nothing but your ladyship's commands could have iuduced me to do it. XXXIV. TO the rev. MR. WILLIAMSON. London, 8th September, 1771. I NEED not tell you how much it affects me to hear that I cannot have the pleasure of seeing you in England, I hoped it might have been otherwise, and my hopes were sanguine : but I am satisfied with your reasons, and am willing to suppose, with you, that one time or other we may meet again, eveu in this country. My health, though much im- beattie's letters. 99 ])rOved since I left Scotland, is not so well established as to enable me to write a long letter ; otherwise I have ten thousand things to tell you, in which I know you would be much interested. My spirits, which, wlien I came from home, were at the very lowest, are now raised again near to their usual pitch : for I have been as dissipated as possible of late, and have neither read nor written any thing (except now and then a very short letter) these two months. Indeed the physicians do expressly prohibit both. 1 have been here five weeks, and shall probably continue a week or two longer. I have been ex- tremely happy in making a great many very agreeable and very creditable acquaintance. Dr. Hawkesworth, Dr. Armstrong, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Sa- muel Johnson, ar.d several others of note, have treated me, not only with politeness, but with a degree of attention and kindness that equals my warmest wishes. I wish I had longer time to pass among them ; I shall find it no easy matter to force myself away. Johnson has been greatly misrepre- sented. I have passed several entire days with him, and found him extremely agreeable. The compli- ments he pays to my writings are so high, that I have not the face to mention them. Every body I have conversed with on the subject, (among whom I have the honour to reckon lord INIansfield) ap- proves of what I have done in respect to Mr. Hume; and none of them have been able to find any per- sonal abuse, any coarse expressions, or even any in- delicacy, in what 1 have written against him : so, you sec, I liave no great reason to value what my 100 beattie's letters. Scottish enemies say against me. This I mention to you, because I know it will give you pleasure. A letter from Utrecht, which I received since I came here, informs me, that three translations of my Essay, a French, a Dutch, and a German, will appear next winter. Some of them are now in the press. XXXV. TO MRS. MONTAGU.* I REJOICE to hear that Mr. Garrick is so well as to be able to appear in tragedy. It is in vain to in- dulge one's self in unavailing complaints, otherwise 1 could rail by the hour at dame Fortune, for placing me beyond the reach of that arch-magician, as Horace would have called him. I well remem- ber, and I think can never forget, how he once affected me in ]Macbeth,and made me almost throw myself over the front seat of the two-shilling gal- lery. I wish I had another opportunity of risking my ueck and nerves in the same cause. To fall by the hands of Garrick and Shakspeare would ennoble my memory to all generations. To be serious, if all actors were like this one, I do not think it would be possible for a person of sensibility to out- live the representation of Hamlet, Lear, or Mac- beth ; which, by the bye, seems to suggest a reason for that mixture of comedy and tragedy, of which our great poet was so fond, and which the Frenchi- tied critics think such an intolerable outrage both * Tliis letter is imperfect, and the date is wanting ; but it must have been written about tliis time. beattie's letters. 101 against nature and decency. Against nature it i.s no outrage at all: the inferior officers of a conit know little of what passes among kings and states- men ; and may be very merry, wlien their supcrioi-s are very sad ; and if so, the porter's soliloquy in Macbeth may be a very just imitation of nature. And I can never accuse of indecency the man, who, by the introduction of a little unexpected merri- ment, saves me from a disordered head or a broken heart. If Shakspcare knew his own powers, he must have seen the necessity of tempering his tragic rage by a mixture of comic ridicule ; otherwise there was some danger of his running into greater excesses than deer-stealing, by sjjorting with the lives of all the people of taste in these realms. Other playwrights must conduct their approaches to the human heart with the utmost circumspec- tion ; a single false step may make them lose a great deal of ground : but Shakspeare made his way to it at once, and could make his audience burst their sides this moment, and break their hearts the next. I have often seen Hamlet performed by the underlings of the theatre, but none of these seemed to understand wliat they were about. Hamlet's character, though perfectly natural, is so very un- common, that few, even of our critics, can enter into it. Sorrow, indignation, revenge, and con- sciousness of his own irresolution, tear his heart ; the peculiarity of his circumstances often obliges him to counterfeit madness, and the storm of pas- sions within him often drives him to the verge of real madness. This produces a situation so inter- esting, and a conduct so complicated, as none but Shakspeare could have had the courage to describe. 102 beattie's letters. or even to invent, and none but Ganick will ever be able to exhibit. Excuse this rambling : I know you like the subject ; and, for my part, I like it so much, that when 1 once get in, I am not willing to find my way out of it. The book of second-sight has not, I fear, given you much entertainment.* The tales are ill-told and ill-chosen, and the language so barbarous as to be in many places unintelligible, even to a Scots- man. I have heard many better stories of the second-sight than any this author has given, at- tested by such persons, and accompanied by such circumstances, as to preclude contradiction, though not suspicion. All our Highlanders believe in the second-sight ; but the instances in which it is said to operate are generally so ambiguous, and the re- velations supposed to be communicated by it so fri- volous, that I cannot bring myself to acquiesce iu it. Indeed this same historian has made me more incredulous than I was before ; for his whole book betrays an excess of folly and weakness. Were its revelations important, I should be less inclined to unbelief: but to suppose the Deity working a mi- racle, in order to announce a marriage, or the ar- rival of a poor stratiger, or the making of a coliin, would require such evidence as has not yet at- tended any of these tales, and is indeed what scarce any kind of evidence could make one suppose. These communications are all made to the igno- rant, the superstitious, and generally to the young ; I never heard of a man of learning, sense, or ob- • Dr. Beattie had introduced a disquisition on the second eight into his " Essay on Poetry and Music?," beattie's letters. 103 servation, that was favoured with any of theQi ; a strong presumption against their credibility. I have been told, that the inhabitants of some parts of the Alps do also lay a claim to a sort of second-sight; and I believe the same superstition, or something like it, may be found in many other countries, where the face of nature, and the solitary life of the natives, tend to impress the imagination with melancholy. The Highlands of Scotland are a pic- turesque, but gloomy region. Long tracts of soli- tary mountains covered with heath and rocks, and often obscured by mists ; narrow valleys, thinly in- habited, and bounded by precipices that resound for ever with the fall of torrents ; a soil so rugged, and a climate so dreary, as to admit neither the amuse- ments of pasturage nor the cheerful toils of agri- culture ; the mournful dashing of waves along the friths and lakes that every where intersect this country; the portentous sounds which every change of the wind, and every increase and diminution of the waters, is apt to raise in a region full of rocks and hollow cliffs and caverns ; the grotesque and ghastly appearance of such a landscape, especially by the light of the moon ; — objects like these diffuse an habitual gloom over the fancy, and give it that romantic cast that disposes to invention, and that melancholy which inclines one to the fear of un- seen things and unknown events. It is observable, too, that the ancient Scottish Highlanders had scarce any other way of supporting themselves thaa by hunting, fishing, or war; professions that are continually exposed to the most fatal accidents. Thus, almost every circumstance in their lot tended to rouse and terrify the imagination. Accordingly, 104 beattie's letters. their poetry is uniformly mouruful ; their music melancholy and dreadful, and their superstitions are all of the gloomy kind. The fairies confined their gambols to the Lowlands : the mountains were haunted with giants, and angry ghosts, and funeral processions, and other prodigies of direful import. That a people, beset with such real and imaginary bugbears, should fancy themselves dreaming, even when awake, of corpses, and graves, and coffins, and other terrible things, seems Tiatural enough ; but that their visions ever tended to any real or useful discovery, I am much inclined to doubt. Not that I mean to deny the existence of ghosts, or to call in question the accounts of extraordinary revelations granted to individuals, with which both history and tradition abound. But in all cases where such accounts are entitled to credit, or sup- ported by tolerable evidence, it will be found that they referred to something which it concerned men to know ; the overthrow of kingdoms, the death of great persons, the detection of atrocious crimes, or the preservation of important lives. But I take up too much of your time with these matters. I have lately received another very kind letter from Mr. Mason, in which he gives me an account of all the poetical pieces which Mr. Gray has left unpublished. There is, 1. A Sonnet on the death of a friend, written 1742, of true Petrarchian pa- thos and delicacy. 2. Stanzas, in ahernate rhyme, to IMr. Bentley, on the designs he made for his poems. 3. An Epitaph on Sir William Williams, who was killed at the siege of Belleisle ; perfect in its kind. 4. The opening scene of a tragedy, called Agrippina, with the first speech of the second ; beattie's letters. 105 written much in Racine's manner, and with many masterly strokes. 5. An unfinished Address to Ig- norance, in rhyme of ten syllables ; satirical. 6. One hundred and seven lines, of the same measure with the former, of the beginning of an ethical Essay on Education and Government ; finished, as far as it goes, in the highest manner: the most va- luable piece he has left. 7. Six eight-lined stanzas of an Ode on the Vicissitude of the Seasons, nearly equal, in point of merit, (allowing for its being in- complete) with the Ode on Spring; — besides some translations, epigrams, and Latin poems. Mr. Ma- son obligingly offers me such of these pieces as I wish to see, and I have asked to see the I. 3, 6. and 7. I heartily wish they may be printed, as they would tend to show the universality of Gray's genius. XXXVI. FROM DR. PERCY.* Northumberland-house, 27th May, 177". I LOSE no time in thanking you for your most obliging letter, and the very pleasing ballad that accompanied it. iiach presents, when they fall in your way, will always be most acceptable, and very gratefully acknowledged. I had also another reason for troubling you with so early an answer : it was to convey to you a copy of the enclosed sermons; wherein you will find very • Afterwards bishop of Dromore, the editor of " Reliques of Ancient Enghsh Poetry," to which the first part of this letter alludes. f2 106 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. wann but just acknowledgments for the service.^ you have done to the cause of truth. The author * of them is so much your admirer, that, when he knew I was writing to you, he desired me to en- close a few lines from himself. If his personal character is not known to you, I must inform you that Dr. Porteus is one of the brightest ornaments of the church of England : he was chaplain to arch- bishop Seeker, who left liim one of the executors to his will, and editor of his works, which he has since published. He is a man of the most engaging and amiable manners, and most distinguished abi- lities. The sermons here sent were preached before the king, and procured the preacher a degree of reputation beyond that of any sermons preached in my remembrance. The king and whole court talked of nothing else for many days after ; the queen per- sonally desired to peruse them afterwards in her closet ; and the duke of Northumberland, being not at court till the Thursday after the last of them was preached, came home full of the accounts he heard from every mouth, of the impressions these sennons had made in the Chapel Royal. All this you will perhaps think veiy extraordinary; it is, nevertheless, literally true, as I can testify of my own personal knowledge. • The Rev. Dr. Porteus, afterwards bishop of London. beattie's letters, 107 xxxvii. from dr. porteus. Lambeth, 22d May, 1772. Though I have not the pleasure of being personally known to you, I take the liberty of requesting your acceptance of a small performance of mine, which Dr. Percy promises to convey to you. I have read, sir, with singular delight, both your poem called the *' Minstrel," and your " Essay on Truth." It is a very uncommon thing to see so much true poetical invention, and such a talent for profound philosophical disquisition, united in the same per- son ; and it is still more uncommon, to see such tine parts, especially in a layman, dedicated to the support of virtue and religion. I am not at all sur- prised to hear, that your spirited attack on the head-quarters of scepticism has drawn upon you the resentment of Mv. Hume and his followers. It is nothing more than might be expected ; and, in the eyes of all impartial men, it is so far from being any reproach, that it is an honour to you. It shows that they feel the force of your arguments ; for personal invective they cannot justly complain of. The keenness of your manly reproofs is directed, not against their persons, but their cause ; and it falls far sliort of what such a cause deserves. But whatever unjust aspersions may be thrown upon you by your own countrymen, let this be your con- solation, (if you* need any) that in England your book has been received with universal applause. In the range of my acquaintance, which is pretty extensive, both among the clergy and the laity, i have never yet met with a single person, of true 108 beattie's letters. taste and sound judgment, who did not speak of your essay in the warmest terms of approbation. In this they have always had my most hearty con- currence ; and I was glad of an opportunity of giving some public testimony of my great esteem for your writings, as you will see I have done in a note, wliich very honestly expresses my real sen- timents, and says nothing more than is justly your due. The two sermons which I send you are meant as the best return I could make, (though, I must con- fess, a very inadequate one) for the great pleasure and instruction I have received from your writings. Give me leave only to add farther, that tliis place (which is contiguous to London) is my constant re- sidence from the end of November to the beginning of June; and if either business or amusement should bring you to the metropolis during that part of the year, I shall be extremely glad to pay my respects to you here, and to assure you how mucli I am, sir, yours, &c. XXXVIII. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Edinburgh, 6th July, 1772. Your last letter, of the 5ih June, reached me after I had been some days at Peterhead, endeavouring, by the use of the medicinal waters of that place, to shake off this hideous indisposition : but from that 'ivater I did not receive half so much benefit as from the very agreeable accounts you gave me of your health and spirits. I congratulate you, madam, and myself, on your recovery, and I earnestly pray it may be permanent. beattie's letters. 109 Your description of Tunbridge-wells is so very lively, that I think myself present in every part of it. I see your hills, your cattle, your carriages, your beaux and belles blended together in agreeable confusion. I ain delighted while I sympathise with the feelings of those, whose imagination is re- freshed and amused by the pleasing incongruities of the scene, and whose health and spirits are re- stored by the freshness of the air, and the virtues of the fountain. But what interests and delights me most of all, and more than words can express, is, that by the eye of fancy I behold you, madam, look- ing around on this scene with an aspect, in which all your native benignity, sprightliness, and har- mony of soul are heightened with every decoration that health and cheerfulness can bestow. I am greatly affected with your goodness and lord Lyttelton's, in urging my advancement with so much zeal and perseverance. After what lord Mansfield has done me the honour to declare in my favour, I cannot doubt but your friendly endeavours will at last prove successful. I now see that lord Mans- field wishes fo establish me in Scotland; and, I am certain, that in this, as in other matters, his judgment is founded on the best reasons. I am greatly flattered by your kind invitation to Sandle- ford. I would not, for any consideration, forego the hope that I shall one time or other avail myself of it ; but, at present, this is not in my power. The second canto of the *' Minstrel" is nearly finished, and has been so these two years ; but, till my health be better established, I must not think of making any additions to it. If you have not seen Dr. Porteus's two sermons. 110 beattie's letters. lately published, I would recommend them to your notice, because they are, in my opinion, amongst the most elegant compositions of the kind in the English language. Dr. P. did me the honour to send me a copy of them, accompanied with a very kind, and very polite letter. XXXIX. TO DR. PORTEUS. Aberdeen, 18th August, 177C. Your approbation of my weak endeavours in the cause of truth gives me the most sincere pleasure. How shall I thank you, sir, for having declared that approbation, so flattering to my ambition, and so favourable to my reputation and interest ? Not satisfied with giving the public a favourable opinion of my late publication, and honouring my name with a place in your work, you wish to recommend me to the notice of royalty itself, and to give to my labours such a lustre as might attract those eyes, from which many would desire to hide all merit but their own. Be assured, sir, that I shall ever retain a just sense of your candour, good nature, and ge- nerosity; and that the encouragement I have re- ceived from you, and from your noble-minded countrymen, will serve as an additional motive to employ that health and leisure which Providence may hereafter allot me, in promoting, to the ut- most of my poor abilities, the cause of truth, virtue, and mankind. This is the best return I can make to your goodness; for thus only can I, in any de- gree, approve myself worthy of it. The ** Essay on Truth," according to ray ori- ginal plan, is only the first part of a large treatise beattie's letters. Ill that I had pi'ojected, on tlie evidences of morality and religion. I entered on my second part some years ago, and made a little progress in it. My intention there was to attempt a confutation of the errors which Hume, Helvetius, and other fa- shionable writers, had introduced into the moral sciences. The subject would have led me to the evidence of Christianity ; and my own heart would have disposed, and my own conscience determined me to do justice to the characters and abilities of Voltaire, and other contemporary infidels, with the same freedom, and with the same spirit, that ap- pear in what I have written against Hume's philo- sophy. But the wretched state of my health obliges me to suspend, for the present, all my lite- rary projects. I hope, however, to get better iii time ; for I am told, tliat these nervous disorders are seldom fatal at my age. I can never forget what I owe to the candour and humanity of the English nation. To have obtained the approbation and patronage of those who have so long been, and who will, I hope, continue to the latest ages to be, the patrons of truth, and the great assertors of the rights of mankind, is an ho- nour, indeed, of which I feel the high value. While animated by this consideration, I can overlook, and almost forget, the opposition I have met with from a powerful party in this country, who, since the publication of the " Essay on Truth," have takeu no little pains to render ray condition as uneasy um possible. In other countries, infidels appear but as individuals; but in Scotland they form a party, whose principle is, to discountenance and bear down religion to the utmost of their power. 112 beattie's letters. I am much obliged to you for speaking so favour- ably of the *' ^linstrcl." When I published the first book, the greatest part of the second was writ- ten, and I hoped to have got the whole ready (for I intend only three books) within a year; but since that time my health has been quite unfit for study of every kind. When I go to London, which may possibly be next summer, I will, with great plea- sure, avail myself of your kind invitation, and take the first opportunity of paying my respects to you at Lambeth. XL. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 30th September, 1772. I HAVE never seen Mr. Jones's imitations of the Asiatic poetry. From what you say of them, I am sure they will entertain me ; though I am entirely of your opinion, that, if they had been translations, they would have been much more valuable, and the more literal the better. Such things deserve atten- tion, not so much for the amusement they yield to the fancy, as for the knowledge they convey of the minds and manners of the people among whom they are produced. To those who have feelings, and are capable of observation, that poetical ex- pression and description will be most agreeable, which corresponds most exactly to their own expe- rience. 1 cannot sympathise with passions I never felt ; and, when objects are described in colours, shapes, and proportions, quite unlike to what I have been accustomed to, I suspect that the descrip- tions are not just, and that it is not nature that is beattie's letters. 113 presented to my view, but the dreams of a man who had never studied nature. What is the reason, madam, that the poetry, and, indeed, the whole phraseology, of the Eastern na- tions (and, I believe, the same thing holds of all uncultivated nations) is so full of glaring images, exaggerated metaphors, and gigantic descriptions ? Is it, because that, in those countries where art has made little progress, nature shoots forth into wilder magnificence, and every thing appears to be constructed on a larger scale ? Is it that the lan- guage, through defect of copiousness, is obliged to adopt metaphor and similitude, even for expressing the most obvious sentiments ? Is it, that the igno- rance and indolence of such people, unfriendly to liberty, disposes them to regard their governors as of supernatural dignity, and to decorate them with the most pompous and high-sounding titles, the fre- quent use of which comes at last to infect their whole conversation with bombast ? Or is it, that the passions of those people are really stronger, and their climate more luxuriant? Perhaps all these causes may conspire in producing this effect. Certain it is, that Europe is much indebted, for her style and manner of composition, to her ancient authors, particularly to those of Greece, by whose example and authority that simple and natural dic- tion was happily established, which all our best authors of succeeding times have been ambitious to imitate; but whence those ancient Greek authors derived it, whether from imitating other authors, still more ancient ; or from the operation of physi- cal causes ; or from the nature of their language, particularly its unrivalled copiousness and flexibi- 114 beattie's letters. lity; or from some unaccountable and peculiar delicacy in their taste ; or from the force of their genius, that, conscious of its owu vigour, despised all adventitious support, and all foreis^n ornament) — it is not, perhaps, easy to determine. The fourth edition of my Essav is now in the press. XLI. FUOM THE LORD ARCHBISHOP OF YORK.* Brodsworth, IQth September, 1772. As my brother, lord Kinnoull, has lately commu- nicated to me your letter to him of August 10th, explaining your views, which certainly have not as yet been answered with success correspondent to your talents, I desired him to communicate to you ray thoughts, which, at least, are the thoughts of a real friend and well-wisher, who has the highest esteem of your merit in the cause of truth. I doubt, whether you would be well suited with a lay-place, or a pension, or a residence in Scotland. As far as I can judge, the ministry in the church of England would be the profession the most agreeable to your qualifications and inclination : but the prospect of fair profit in it ought to be considered ; for that is a duty to yourself and to your family. Give me leave, too, to say, that there is a prior duty, that is, to your conscience. Though I was educated in the church of England, yet I have often sifted my mind with sincere and impartial reflection, and with as enlarged views as I could take in, of the great dispensations of the • Dr. Drummond. BEATTIE'S LETTERS. U5 Deity, centering in Christ. Upon the whole, I have always tliought, that the church of England is the most agreeable to Christian doctrine and discipline; equally distant from wild conceit and implicit faith; free, manly, and benevolent; conducive to the cause of truth and virtue, to the happiness of society, and of every individual in it ; and it is the establishment that seems to carry the fairest aspect with it, towards promoting pure Christianity, and civil order; without overbearing, or artful, or ab- ject means. With due Christian condescension to different opinions and modes, this is the result of frequent consideration and conviction, and is the testimony of my conscience. If it were otherwise, I would not, I could not, in honour, retain even the great emoluments with which I am favoured, for another moment. It is, surely, unreasonable and unnecessary to trouble you with my notions. I allow it : but this is only a mode of flattering myself with the hopes that yours are similar. If such is your opinion of the church of England, and if it is your upright in- tention to exercise in its ministry your most valuable abilities and knowledge for the service of true reli- gion, I shall think your entry into it a happy acqui- sition. And I would endeavour to contribute, as far as my scanty patronage goes, or my friendship and influence can extend, that you should enter into it with credit, and live in it with comfort. Lord KinnouU has written to lord Mansfield, and I shall talk with him after Christmas. I shall not leave my diocese till that time. I have written also to-day to our friend Mrs. Montagu, il6 beattie's letters. XLII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 6th November, IT?'-'. I AM happy to find, that the plan I have just now in v!e\y is honoured with your approbation. It is the result of the most mature deliberation ; and I hope I shall never have occasion to repent it. Whether ray present views shall prove successful, is a point very uncertain. I shall endeavour, by moderating my hopes and my wishes, to prepare myselffor the WOl'St. You do too much honour to the letter I wrote to the archbishop of York, It contained nothing that could entertain you. Some time or other I shall give you, at large, my opinion of the matters con- tained in it ; for of the letter itself I kept no copy. It has pleased his grace, and given great satisfac- tion to lord KinnouU. Dr. Gregory will show you the character of Rous- seau, as it is now finished. Some years ago, I should have put more paneg7ric in it, and less cen- sure ; but since that time, I have had leisure to ex- amine some of his theological, and some, too, of his philosophical tenets, which has lowered con- siderably my opinion of his candour and understand- ing : but my admiration of his talents, as an elo- quent and pathetic writer, still remains unim- paired ; and I am confident he had originally that in him, which might have made him one of the greatest philosopheri> in the v.'orld,if his genius had not been perverted by the fashion of the times, and by the love of paradox. The passage I allude to. beattie's letters. 117 where he speaks so well of the genius of Christianity, and the character of its Divine Founder, is in the creed of the Savoyard curate, where he draws a comparison between Jesus Christ and Socrates. XLIII. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 12th January, 1773. It gave me the most sincere pleasure to find that the archbishop of York was satisfied with the sen- timents expressed in the letter I had the honour to write to him. His grace sent my letter to lord Kinnoull, who was pleased to write to me on the occasion, and to express his approbation in very strong terms. Considering the turn that my affairs were likely to take, I wished for an opportunity of doing myself justice, by explaining my opinion of the doctrine and discipline of the church of Eng- land; and a more favourable opportunity could not have been wished for, than that which his grace was pleased to grant me. I am much honoured by your application in my behalf to the duchess of Portland, and deeply sensible of the importance of her grace's interest and favourable opinion. In the new edition of my " Essay," I have in- serted a long note, containing a character of Rous- seau and his writings. This I did by the advice of Dr. Gregory, who told me, that many persons, who wished me well, had signified to him their desire of knowing my reasons for thinking so favourably of that philosopher, as to place his name in the same list with Bacon, Shakspeare, and Montes- quieu. I was somewhat afraid, lest, by bestowing on Rousseau those praises which, I think, are his 118 beattie's letters. due, I might offend some well-ineaniug people, v/ho had read only those parts of his works that express his dissatisfaction with some parts of the Christian doctrine : and, therefore, when I sent my criticism to Dr. Gregory, I desired liim to consider it very seriously, and, if he thought it would give offence to any Christian, or tend to embroil me in contro- versy, to suppress it altogether. But, instead of suppressing, he forwarded it to the printer, and afterwards wrote to me that he entirely approved of it. I long to know your opinion of this note, and have, therefore, desired Mr. Dilly to send you the book. There is at page 330, a ludicrous note, intended to expose someof ^^oltaire's reasonings on the subject of necessity. These are the only addi- tions of any consequence that are made to this new impression. Mr. Dilly will also send you a copy of this book, addressed to INIrs. Carter, which I must beg, ma- dam, you will take the trouble to forward to her, with son)e apology, to make it acceptable. It is a tribute of respect and gratitude which I owe to her extraordinary genius and vii-tue, and to the plea- sure and instruction I have received from her wiitings. I anj greatly delighted with your account of the causes that produced the striking diversity which appears in the poetical style of Greece and of modern Europi', compared with the style commonly called oriental. You have, in my opinion, fully accounted for this diversity. It is a great pity we know so little of Homer's history, and of the state of Gre- cian literature before his time. It appears to me, that the records of Greece have never gone far be- beattie's letters. 119 yond the Trojan war; for it is observable, that most of Homer's heroes are descended from Jupi- ter, in the third or fourth degree only; in other words, that they could not trace their genealogy higher than the third or fourth generation; which is a proof, or at least, a presumption, that they wanted letters, and had but lately emerged from barbarity. Horace makes tlie contemporaries of Orpheus and Amphion to have been perfect savages, till humanized by the charms of poetry and music: but, perhaps, he spoke only from conjectures, ga- thered out of the fables of those ancient times. If those conjectures be just ; if the Greeks were really in a state of barbarity and ignorance, so late as the third or fourth generation before the Trojan war; it is a matter of astonishment, that, in Homer's time (about 150 years after that war,) their lan- guage should be so copious, so regular, so harmo- nious, so subtle in the discrimination of thought, and so wonderfully diversified in its inflections. If we did not know the thing to be impossible, we should be tempted to think that the Greek language must have been the invention of philosophers : if it arose, like other languages, from vulgar and acci- dental use, and yet came, in so short time, to such perfection, we cannot help thinking that the Greeks had received from nature superior force of genius, and delicacy of taste ; and that Horace spoke as a philosopher as well as a poet, when he said. Gram ingenium, Gra'iis dedii ore rotunda Musa loqui. 120 beattie's letters. XLIV. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 13th February, 1773. I AM deeply sensible of your goodness, in communi- cating to me, in so tender and soothing a manner, the news of a misfortune, which is, indeed, one of the severest I have ever felt.* For these two months past, my spirits have been unusually de- pressed, so that I am but ill prepared for so terrible a stroke. Of the loss which society, and which his family have received; of the incomparable loss which I sustain, by the death of this excellent per- son, I can say nothing ; my heart is too full, and I have not yet recovered myself so far as to think or speak coherently on this or any other subject. You justly observe, that his friends may derive no small consolation, from the circumstance of his death having been without pain, and from the well- grounded hope we may entertain of his having made a happy change. But I find 1 cannot proceed. I thought I should have been able to give you some of my thoughts on this occasion ; but the subject overpowers me. Write to me as soon, and as fully as you can, of the situation of his family, and what- ever you may think I should wish to know. I shall endeavour to follow your kind advice, and to recon- cile myself to this great affliction, as much as I am able. My reason, I trust, is fully reconciled : I am thoroughly convinced that every dispensation of * The death of Dr. Gregory. He was found dead in bed, probably from an attack of the gout, to which he w^as sub- ject. ceattie's letters. 121 Providence is wise and good ; and that by making a proper improvement of the evils of this life, we may convert them all into blessings. It becomes us, therefore, to adore the Snprenie Benefactor when he takes away, as well as when he gives; for he is wise and beneficent in both. XLV. TO MRS, MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 3d May, 177S. I HAVE just now finished the business of a melan- choly wiiiter. When I wrote to you last, which was in January, my health and spirits were in a very low state. In this condition, the unexpected death of the best of men and of friends, came upon rae with a weight, which at any time I should have thought almost unsupportable, but which, at that time, was afflicting to a degree which human abili- ties alone could never have endured. But Provi- dence, ever beneficent and gracious, has supported me under this heavy dispensation ; and, I hope, I shall, in time, be enabled to review it, even with that cheerful submission which becomes a Chris- tian, and which none but a Christian can entertain. I have a thousand things to say on this most affect- ing subject ; but for your sake, madam, and for my own, I shall not, at present, enter upon them. No- body can be more sensible than you are, of the irre- parable loss which not only his own family and friends, but which society in general, sustains by the loss of this excellent person : and I need not tell you, (for of this too I know you are sensible,) that of ull his friends, (his own family excepted,) VOL. I. G 122 beattie's letters. none has so much cause of sorrow, on this occa- sion, as I. I should never have done, if I were to enter into the particulars of his kindness to me. For these many years past, I have had the happi- ness to be of his intimate acquaintance. He took part in all my concerns ; and, as I concealed no- thing from him, he knew my heait and my charac- ter as well as I myself did ; only the partiality of his friendship made him think more favourably of me than I deserved. In all my difficulties, I applied to him for advice and comfort; both which lie had the art of communicating in such a way as never failed to compose and strengthen my mind. His zeid in promoting my interest and reputation is very generally known. In a word, (for I must en- deavour to quit a subject, which will long be op- pressive to my heart,) my inward quiet and ex- ternal prosperity were objects of his particular and unwearied care, and he never mis.sed any opportu- nity of promoting both to the utmost of bis power. I wrote to his sou soon after the fatal event; and have had the comfort to hear from several hands, that he, and his sisters, and the whole family, be- have with a propriety that charms every body. In continuing his father's lectures, he acquits himself lo universal satisfaction. XLVl. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, Cist April, 3773- A BOOK has been lately published, which makes no little noise in this country. It is an " Essay on the Origin and Progress of Language j" the author is. beattie's letters. 12^ Mr. Burnet of Monboddo,* one of the lords of the session, a man of great learning, but rather too much devoted to Greek literature, particularly the Peripatetic philosophy. In the first part of his work he gives a very learned, elaborate, and abstruse account of the origin of ideas, according to the metaphysics of Plato, and the commentators upon Aristotle. He then treats of the origin of humaii; society, and of language (which he considers as a human invention,) in the way in which many of our fashionable philosophers liave treated of them of late; representing men as having originally been, and continued for many ages to be, no better than beasts, and indeed in many respects 'worse ; desti- tute of speech, of reason, of conscience, of social affection, and of every thing that can confer dignity upon a creature, and possessed of nothing but ex- ternal sense and memory, and a capacity of im- provement. The system is not a new one : it is borrowed (whatever these philosophers may pre- tend) from Epicurus, or rather from Lucretius, of whose account of it, Horace gives a pretty exact abridgement, in these lines : Cum prorepserunt pri~ mis animalia terris, mutum et turpe pecuSy &c. which lord Monboddo takes for his motto, and which, he says, comprehend, in miniature, the whole history of man. In regard to facts that make for his system (all which our author sees with mi- croscopical eyes,) he is amazingly credulous, and equally blind and sceptical in regard to every fact of an opposite tendency. He professes a regard for * One of the judges of the supreme court of law in Scot- land, by the title of lord Monboddo. 124 beattie's letters. the Scripture, and I believe means it no harm ; but his system cannot possibly be reconciled to it. In a word, he has gone further in brutifying human na- ture, than any author, ancient or modern. Yet there are many curious and good things in his book. I have been entertained, and sometimes instructed by it ; but notwithstanding this, and in spite of my regard for the author, who is truly a worthy man, and to whom I am under particular obligations, I take it up as a task, and can never read above half an hour in it at a time; so odious, so filthy, is the picture he gives of the nature of man. It pains and shocks me, as if I were witnessing the dissection of a putrid carcase. It is, however, a book, which, I believe, will do little hurt : for the vulgar, it is too abstruse and too learned ; and the greater part of his readers will be moved rather to laughter than tt) conviction, when they hear him assert, which he does with the utmost confidence and gravity, that the ouran-outangs are of our species; that in the bay of Bengal exists a nation of human creatures with tails, discovered 130 years ago, by a Swedish skipper; that the beavers and sea-cats are social and political animals, though man, by nature, is neither social nor political, nor even rational; rea- son, reflection, a sense of right and wrong, society, policy, and even thought, being, in the human spe- cies, according to this author, as much the effects of art, contrivance, and long experience, as wri- ting, ship-building, or any other manufacture. Some years ago, I wrote a small treatise in Latin, on a subject similar to this of lord Monboddo's, but the conclusions I drew were widely different. From the nature of language, I proved, to my own satis- EEATTIE'S LETTERS. 125 faction at least, that if men had ever been a mutum et turpe pecusy they must, witliout supernatural assistance, have continued so to this dayj that therefore man, in all ages from the beginning, must have been a speaking animal; that the first man must have received the divine gift of language from God himself, by inspiration; and that the children of our first parents, and their descendants to the present time, must have learned to speak by imita- tion and instruction. And for tlie smaller diversi- ties in kindred language (such as those which took place in the French language, for instance, com- pared with the Italian and Spanish,) I would ac- count from the revolutions of human affairs, and the tendency of language to alteration ; and for the greater diversities, (such as those that appear in the European languages, compared with those of China, America, &c.) I would account from the confa- sion of Babel ; nor do I think it possible to account for them satisfactorily in any other way» XLVII. TO DR. PORTEUS. London, 23d July, 1773. I HAVE been very much hurried of late by a variety of interesting matters, otherwise I should have sooner acknowledged the receipt of your most obliging letter of the 1st of July. The many favours I have had the honour to receive at your hands, affect me with the most lively gratitude, which I would fain attempt to express in words, but find, after repeated trials, that I cannot. All, therefore, that I shall now say on this subject is, that I shall ever cherish a most grateful remembrance of them. 126 beattie's letters. The business which I hinted at in my last still remains undetermined; and I, of consequence, am still confined to tliis town, or, at least, to the neigh- bourliood. I thank you for your good wishes ; but I fear you far overrate my talents when you sup- pose that London is the properest theatre for exerting them in. One thing at least is in my power — to employ, in whatever place Providence shall allot me, those intervals of health and leisure which may fall to my share, in vindicating, to the utmost of my poor abilities, the cause of truth, virtue, and mankind. If I shall be able to do any thing good in this way, my ambition will be com- pletely gratified, and I shall have the satisfaction to think, that I am not altogether unworthy of the kindness and attention which I have met with from you, sir, and from others of your noble-minded countrymen. You have heard, perhaps, of my being at Oxford at the late installation. I went tliither in conse- quence of a letter from the bishop of Chester.* The university did me great honour. They were unanimous, not only in conferring the degree, but also ordering that it should be given to me free of all expense. I have not seen the poem you mention. Dr. Hawkesworth's book I have seen, and read some parts of it. I do not think that the interests of science or of mankind will be much promoted by what I have read of this work ; which, however, does not reflect on tlie doctor, who was no doubt obliged to tell his story in the very way in which he • Dr. Markham, afterwards archbishop of York. beattie's letters. 127 has told it. I am very apt to be distrustful of our modern travellers, when I find them, after a three months' residence in a country of whose language they know next to nothing, explaining the moral and religious notions of the people, in such a way as to favour the licentious theories of the age. I give them full credit for what they tell us of plants, and minerals, and winds, and tides ; those things are obvious enough, and no knowledge of strange language is necessary to make one understand them : but as the morality of actions depends on the mo- tives that give rise to them ; and as it is impossible to understand the motives and principles of national customs, unless you thoroughly understand the lan- guage of the people, I should suspect that not one in ten thousand of our ordinary travellers is quali- fied to decide upon the moral sentiments of a new discovered country. There is not one French au- thor of my acquaintance that seems to have any tolerable knowledge of the English government, or of the character of the English nation : they ascribe to us sentiments which we never enter- tained ; they draw, from our ordinary behaviour, conclusions directly contrary to truth; — how then is it to be supposed that Mr. Banks and Mr. So- lander could understand the customs, the religion, government, and morals, of the people of Ota- heite } Dr. Hawkesworth, in his preface, has given an account of Providence, which, in spite of all my partiality in his favour, I cannot help thinking inde • fensible. But I need not say any thing on this sub- ject, as you must have seen the whole passage in 123 beattie's letters. the newspapers. When my aflfiiirs are deterjnined, which I hope will be soon, I shall take the liberty to write to you aga.iu. XLVIH. TO MRS. MONTAGU, London, 21st August, 1773. I HAVE at last received a letter from Mr. Robin- son,* dated yesterday, in which he tells me, " that lie is desired by lord North to inform me, that his majesty has been pleased to consent that a pension be paid me of two hundred pounds a-year." Mr. Robinson says, he will order the warrant to be inade out for me immediately, and desires me to call for it at the treasury; which I shall do ou Monday. And now, madam, allow me to congratulate you on the happy conclusion of this affair; for sure I am, you will take as much pleasure in it as I do. You may believe, I shall never forget from whom this long series of applications took its rise. But I shall not at present enter on this subject. I fear it will not be in my power to set out for Sandleford till towards the end of the week, as J have the warrant to get from the treasury, the court to at- tend, and a multitude of letters to write, to the archbisho]) of York, lord Kinnoull, sir Adolphus Oughton, lord North, &.c. &c. As soon as I can possibly fix a time for setting out, I will write to you. Meantime, I beg to hear some account of your health. • At that time secretary of the treasury. beattie's letters. 129 It is very good in you, madam, to flatter me witli the hopes that still better things may be in reserve for me. But I assure you, I think myself rewarded above my deservings, and shall most willingly i;it down contented — not to eat, or drink, or be idle ; but to make such a use of the goodness of Provi- dence, and his majesty's bounty, as the public has a right to require of me. What 1 have now got, added to the emoluments of my present office, will enable me to live independently and comfortably ia Scotland, and to cultivate those connexions and friendships in England, which do me so much ho- nour. But more of this when I have the happiness to see you. I am ashamed to send you so sliabby a letter, all made up of shreds and patches. It is by mistake, owing to hurry, that 1 write on so many bits of paper; but as the post is just going out, I have no time to transcribe ; and 1 would not keep back this- intelligence for a single day. I have another piece of news to tell you,^ whidi will give you pleasure. Sir Josliua Reynolds, with whom I formerly told you that I have the hap- piness to be particularly acquainted, and whose talents, both as a painter, and as a critic and philo- sopher, I take to be of the very first rate, has planned out a sort of allegorical picture, represent- ing the triumph of truth over scepticism and infi- delity. At one corner of the picture, in the fore- ground, stands your humble servant, as large as lifcj arrayed in a doctor of laws' gown and band, witli his " Essay on Truth" under his arm. At some little distance appears Truth, habited as an angel, with a sun on her breast, who is to act such a part g2 130 beattie's letters. -with respect to the sceptic and infidel, as shall show, that they are not willing to see the light, though they have the opportunity. JMy face (for ■which I sat) is finished, and is a most striking like- ness ; only, I believe, it will be allowed, that sir Joshua is more liberal in the articles of spirit and elegance than his friend Nature thought proper to be. The angel also is finished, and is an admirable figure: and sir Joshua is determined to complete the whole with all expedition, and to have a print done from it. He is very happy in this invention, which is entirely his own. Indeed, if I had been qualified to give any hints on the subject (which is not at all the case,) you will readily believe, that I would not be instrumental in foruarding a work that is so very flattering to me. The picture will appear at the Exhibition ; but whether sir Joshua means to keep it, or dispose of it, is not, I believe, determined. XLIX. TO THE EARL OF KINNOULL. London, 29th August, 1773. Mrs. Montagu's state of health is very indifferent; she complains of a feverish disorder, which has haunted her the greatest part of the summer. She is greatly afflicted at the death of our great and good friend, lord Lyttelton. This event was unex- pected ; it is little better than a fortnight since I received a very kind letter from him. The loss to his friends and to society, is unspeakable and irre- parable ; to himself his death is infinite gain; for •whether we consider what he felt here, or what he hoped for hereafter, we must admit, that no man beattie's letters. 131 ever had more reason to wish for a dismission from the evils of this transitory life. His lordship died, as he lived, a most illustrious example of every Christian virtue. His last breath was spent in comforting and instructing his friends. *' Be good and virtuous," said he to lord Valentia,* *' for know that to this you must come." The devout and cheerful resignation that occupied his mind during his illness, did not forsake him in the moment of dissolution, but fixed a smile on his lifeless counte- nance. 1 sincerely sympathise with your lordship on the loss of this excellent man. Since I came last to town, I have had the honour and happiness to pass many an hour in his company, and to con- verse with him on all subjects : and I hope I shall be the better, while I live, for what I have seen, and what I have heard, of lord Lyttelton. L. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 15th October, 1773, I PURPOSELY delayed for a few days to answer your letter, that I might be at leisure to think seriously, before I should venture to give my opinion in regard to the important matter about which you did me the honour to consult me. A religious education is indeed the greatest of all earthly blessings to a young man ; especially in these days, when one is in such danger of receiving impressions of a con- trary tendency. I hope, and earnestly wish, that this, and every other blessing, may be the lot of * His son-in-law. 132 beattie's LETTSHS. your nephew, who seems to be accomplished and promising, far beyond his years. I must confess, I am strongly prepossessed in favour of that mode of education that takes place in the English universities. I am well aware, at the same time, that in those seminaries, there are, to some young men, many more temptations to idleness and dissipation, than in our colleges in Scotland ; but there are also, if I mistake not, bet- ter opportunities of study to a studious young man, and the advantages of a more respectable and more polite society to such as are discreet and sober. The most valuable parts of human literature, (I mean the Greek and Latin classics) ai-e not so completely taught in Scotland as in England ; and I fear it is no advantage (I have sometimes known it a misfortune) to those young men of distinction that come to study with us, that they find too easy and too favourable an admittance to balls, assem- blies, and other diversions of a like kind, where the fashion not only permits, but requires, that a particular attention be paid to the younger part of the female world. A youth of fortune, with the English language and English address, soon be- comes an object of consideration to a raw girl; and equally so, perhaps, tliough not altogether on the Same account, to lier parents. Our long vacations, too, in the colleges in Scotland, though a conve- nience to the native student, (whocon)monly spends those intervals at home with his parents) are often dangerous to the students from England; who being then set free from the restraints of academical discipline, and at. a distance from their parents or BEATTIE'S LEtTERS. 133 guardians, are too apt to forget, that it was for the purpose of study, uot of amusement, they were sent into this country. All or most of these inconveniences, may be avoided at an English university, provided a jouth have a discreet tutor, and be himself of a sober and studious disposition. There classical erudition receives all the attentions and honotirs it can claim ; and there the French philosoj)hy, of course, is sel- dom held in very high estimation; there, at pre- sent, a regard to religiou is fashionable; there, the recluseness of a college- life, the wholesome severi- ties of academical discipline, the authority of the university, and several other circum: tances 1 could mention, prove very powerful restraints to such of the youth as have any sense of true hoiiour, or any regard to their real intere^^t. We, in Scotland, boast of our professors, that they give regular led u res in all the sciences, which the students are obliged to attend ; a part of lite- rary economy which is but little attended to in the universities of England. But I will venture to affirm, from experience, that if a professor does no more than deliver a set of leclures, his young audi- ence will be little the wiser for having attended him. The most profitable part of my time is that which I employ in examinations, or in Socr^itical dialogue with my pupils, or in conimenting upon ancient authors ; all which may be done )>y a tutor in a private apartment, as well as by a professor in a public school. Lectures indeed I do, and must give, in order to add solemnity to the truths I would inculcate; and partly too, in compliance with the fashion, and for the sake of my own cha- 134 beattie's letters. racter; (for this, though not the most difficult part of our business, is that which shows the speaker to most advantage,) but I have always found the other methods, particularly the Socratic form of dialogue, much more effectual in fixing the at- tention and improving the faculties of the stu- dent. I will not, madam, detain you longer with this comparison : it is my duty to give you my real sentiments, and you will be able to gather them from these imperfect hints. If it is determined that your nephew shall be sent to an university in Scotland, he may, I believe, have as good a chance for improvement at Edinburgh or Glasgow, as at any other : if the law is to form any part of his studies, he ought, by all means, to go to one or other of these places ; as we have no law- professors in any other part of this kingdom, except one in King's college, Aberdeen, whose office has been a sinecure for several generations. Whether he should make choice of Edinburgh or of Glasgow, I am at a loss to say : 1 was formerly well enough acquainted with the professors of both those socie- ties, but tempora mutantnr. Dr. Reid is a very learned, ingenious, and worthy man, so is Dr. Blair ; they are both clergymen ; so that, 1 am confident, your inephew might lodge safely and pro- fitably with either. Whether they would ciioose to accept of the office of tutor to any young gentleman, they themselves only can determine ; some profess- ors would decline it, on account of the laboriou^i- ness of their office : it is partly on this account, but chiefly on account of my health, that I have been obliged to decline every offer of this sort. beattie's letters. 135 LI. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES.* Aberdeen, 22d October, 177-3. The late arrival of the post yesterday put it out of my power to answer your most obliging letter in course. I shall not, at present, attempt to tell you (indeed I could not) how much my heart is touched by the many kind and generous expressions of friendship contained in your excellent letter : to be honoured with so great a share of the esteem and affections of such persons as you, is surely of all earthly blessings the greatest. Bur 1 shall pro- ceed to business, without further preamble. Some years ago, I should have thought myself a very great gainer, by exchanging my present office with a professorship in the university of Edinburgh. Such an event would have doubled my income, without subjecting me to one half of the labour which I now undergo. But those were only se- condary considerations. My attachment to Edin- burgh ai'ose, chiefly, from my liking to the people ; and surely it was natural enough for me to love a place, in which I had, and still have, some of the dearest and best friends that ever man was blessed with. Nor had I then any reason to fear that either my principles or the general tenor of my conduct could ever raise me enemies in any Chris- tian society; it having been, ever since I had any thing to do in the world, my constant purpose to • The following letter relates to the professorship of Na- tural and Experimental Philosophy in the university of Edinburgh, for which it was recommended to Dr. Beattie to become a candidate. 1^ beattie's letters. do my duty, and promote peace; and my singular good fortune, to obtain from all who liuew me, a share of esteem and regard, equal to my wishes and greater than my deserviugs. Nor, at tliis time, are my affections to Edinburgh at all diminished, I am still known to some members of that univer- sity, whose talents and whose virtues 1 hold iu the highest estimation, and with whom. I should account it my honour to be more uearly connected ; and the favours I ha\ e received from very many per- sons of distinction iu the place, demand my most liearty acknowledgments, and shall ever be che- rished in my remembrance, with every sentiment that the warmest gratitude can inspire. And yet, my dear friend, there are reasons, and those of no small moment, which determine me to give up all thoughts of appearing as a candidate ou the present occa.-ion ; and which would determine me to this, even though I were absolutely certain of being elected. Nay, though my fortune were as narrow now as it lately was, 1 should still incline rather to remain in quiet where I am, than, by be- coming a member of the university of Edinburgh, to place myself witliin the reach of those (few as they are) who have been pleased to let the world know that they do not wish me well; not that 1 have any reason to mind their enmity, or to dread its com;equences. They must not flatter themselves that they have ever been able as yet to give me a moment's uneasiness, notwithstanding the zeal with which they have spoken against me. My cause is so good, that he who espouses it can never have occasion to be afraid of any man. I know my ovvu talents, and I am not ignorant of theirs j I do noS BEATTIE*S LETTERS. ' 137 (God knows) think highly of the former, indeed I have no reason ; hut I am under no sort of appre- hension in regard to the latter ; and as to the esteem of others, 1 have no fear of losing it, so long as I do nothing to render me unworthy of it. But I am so great a lover of peace, and so willing to think well of all my neighbours, that I do not wish to be connected even with one person who dislikes me. Had I ever injured tlie persons whom I allude to, I might have hoped to regain their favoivr by sub- mission (which, in that case, would have become me,) and by a change of conduct. But, as they are singular enough to hate me for having done my duty, and for what, I trust (with God's help,) I shall never cease to do ;. (I mean, for endeavouring to vindicate the cause of truth with that zeal which so important a cause requires,) I could never hope that they would live with me on those agreeable terms, on which I desire to live with all good men, and on which, by the blessing of Providence, I have the honour and the happiness to live with so great a number of the most respectable persons of this age. I must, therefore, my dear friend, make it my request to you, that you would, in better terms than any I can suggest, in terms of the most ardent gratitude and most zealous attachment, return my, best thanks to the gentlemen of your council, for the very great honour they have been pleased to confer upon me ; and tell them, that the city and university of Edinburgh shall ever have my sincerest good wishes, and that it will be the study of my life to act such a part, as may, in some measure^ 138 beattie's letters. justify their good opinion ; but that I must, for se- veral weighty reasons, decline appearing as a candi- date for tlie present vacant professorship. LII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES.* Aberdeen, IQth April, 1774. J HAVE just received your two letters of the 16th current, enclosing two from lord Hailes to you, which, according to your desire, I return under this cover. I cannot sufficiently thank you, or his lordship, for your zealous good wishes, and for the very favourable opinion you and he are pleased to entertain of me. As I desire nothing more ear- nestly than to secure the continuance of that fa- vourable opinion, I must beg leave to be somewhat particular in answering two accusations, which, from two passages of his lordship's letter, I have reason to fear are likely to be brought against me, even by my friends. It is insinuated, that my dis- inclination to resign ray present employment may be the effect of obstinacy or oifear. Now, I humbly think, that when a man's con- duct, and the reasons of it, are approved by a very great majority of those who are acquainted with both, it would be rather hard to charge him with obstinacy for adhering to such conduct. And most certain it is, that, by all my English friends to whom * Sir William Forbes had received two letters from lord Hailes, one of the judges of the supreme courts of civil and criminal law of Scotland, urging him to prevail with Dr. Beattie to allow himself to be proposed as a cantlidate for the vacant professorsliip. These letters sir 'William had enclosed to Dr. Beattie. beattie's letters. 139 I have liarl occasion to explain the affair in ques- tion, and by many respectable friends in Scotland, this conduct of mine, and the reasons of it, have been highly approved. Another thing, too, on this head, deserves attention. A man should not be accused of obstinacy, till he have told all his rea- sons, and till it appear that they are all unsatisfac- tory. I have never told all my reasons : I have told those only which are of a less private nature : other reasons I could specify; but they are of such a sort, that I should think it petulance to obtrude them on the public. To the second accusation, I know not whether 1 can decently reply. When I see a man solicitous to prove that he is sober, I generally take it for granted that he is drunk ; and when one is at pains to convince me that he is brave, I am apt to set him down for a coward. Whether I deserve to be considered as a timorous assertor of good prin- ciples, I leave the world to judge, from what I have written, and from what I have done and said on occasions innumerable. Many hundreds in Great Britain, and some too elsewhere, think that no Scottish writer, in my time, has attacked the ene- mies of truth with less reserve, and confuted them more zealously, than I have done. I have declared, in a printed book, which bears my name, that I detest their principles and despise their talents; and that very book is, in the opinion of many, a proof that I have no reason to retract the declara- tion. What I have avowed, I am still ready to avow, in the face of any man upon earth, or of any immber of men ; and I shall never cease to avow, in plain language, and without concealment or sub* 140 beattie's letters. terfuge, so long as the Deity is pleased to contiuue with me the use of my faculties. I cannot think that ray friends will treat me so Imrdly, as to give out that I fear every thing which I dislike. I dis- like the croaking of frogs and the barking of curs ; but I fear neither. I dislike the conversation of infidels ; but I know not in what sense I can be said to fear it. I should dislike very much to live in a,society with crafty persons, who would think it for their interest to give me as much trouble as possible, unless I had reason to think that they had conscience and honour sufficient to restrain them from aspersing the innocent ; yet, if my duty were to call me thither, I should not be in the least afraid to live in such a society; for I know, that, while an honest man does his duty, the world sel- dom fails to do him justice. As to obloquy, I have had a share of it, as large as any private man I know ; and I think I have borne it, and can bear it, with a degree of fortitude, of which I should not need to be ashamed, even if niy station were as pub- lic and as important as that of a judge. Every honest man, whether his station be public or pri- vate, will do his duty without minding obloquy, which, in fact, was never more harmless than at present, because it never was more common. Con- vince me that it is my duty to remove from hence to Edinburgh, and you shall see me set out imme- diately, as regardless of the snarling of my enemies there, as of that of the curs who might snap at my heels by the way. So very little ground is there for suspecting me of an inclination to shrink from my principles, that one chief reason which determines my preseut choice is, that I may have the more lei- BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 141 sure to apply myself to those studies, which may tend to the farther confutation of error and illus- tration of truth : so that, if they think I have any talents in this way, and if they know what my pre- sent resohitions are, my adversaries would wish me rather in Edinburgh, where I should have but little leisure, than at Aberdeen, where I have a great deal. On this account, as well as on others, I am morally certain, that I shall have it in my power to do more good to society by remaining where I am, than by moving to Edinburgh. That I am entirely useless in my present profes- sion, is not the opinion of those in this country, who have access to know how I employ myself. My lec- tures are not confined to my own class. I do what no other professor here ever did, and what no pro- fessor in any other part of Great Britain can do; I admit, together with my own students in moral philosophy, all the divinity students of two univer- sities, who are willing to attend me ; and I have often a very crowded auditory ; and I receive fees from nobody, but from such of my own private class as are able to pay them. Nobody ever asked me to do this, and nobody thanks me for it, except the young men themselves ; and yet, in all this there is so little merit, (it being as easy for me to lecture to a hundred as to thirty) that I should not have thought it worth mentioning, except with a view to obviate an objection that seems to be im- plied in some things that have been thrown out at this time. So much for my duties to the public, to which, I would fain hope, it will be found, that I am not quite insensible. But, according to my notions of 142 beattie's letters. morality, there are also duties which a man owes to his family and to himself: nor is it, in my opi- nion, incumbent on any man to overlook the latter, merely because it is possible, that, by so doing, he might discharge the former more effectually. I do not think it the duty of any particular Christian, of you, for instance, or ^Ir. Arbuthnot, or myself, to relinquish his family, friends, and country, and to attempt the conversion of the Indians j and yet, it is not absolutely impossible, but that, by so doing, he might perform a great deal of good. IMy health and quiet may be of little consequence to the public, but tliey are of very considerable consequence to me, and to those who depend upon me; and I am cer- tain, that I shall have a much better chance of se- curing both, by staying where I am, than by re- moving to Edinburgh. Dr. Gregory was of this opinion: I can show his hand-writing for it ; and this is the opinion of many others. I have more reasons than the world knows of, to wish to pass the latter part of my days in quiet : and the more quiet, and the more health I enjoy, the more I shall have it in my power to exert myself in the service of the public. To what lord Hailes adds, in the conclusion of his letter, about my leaving the office in question if I found it disagreeable, in the hopes of finding some decent retirement elsewhere, I make no reply : I only say, that I wonder at it. I wish there were more foundation for his humorous conjecture about my food : if I could eat vegetables, I should think myself a great man ; but, alas I the state of my health is such, that I dare not indulge myself in that wholesome diet. beattie'^s letters. 143^ I hope his lordsliip will now be convinced that I um neither whimsical nor timorous in this affair. The reasons I have specified have been admitted as valid by many persons, whose judgment in other matters he would allow to be good, if I were to name them ; which I would do, without scruple, if I thought it necessary. I shall only add, what you, my dear friend, know to be a truth, and what I can bring the fullest evi- dence to prove, that my present disinclination to an Edinburgh professorship is not the consequence of any late favourable change in my circumstances. The very same disinclination I showed, and the same reasons I urged, more than two years ago, when I had no prospect of such a favourable change. To conclude ; every principle of public and pri- vate duty forbids me to comply with this kind soli- citation of my friends ; and I will add, that nothing but a regard to duty could have determined me to resist so kind a solicitation. I am certain, the city of Edinburgh can find no difficulty in procuring an abler professor than I am. I heartily wish it may ever flourish in learning, and in every useful and honourable art ; and I shall ever retain a most grateful sense of the honour which so many of its inhabitants have done me on this occasion. I ask pardon for not answering your letter sooner. My health is just now in such a state (the confinement, occasioned by my broken arm, having brought back many of my old complaints,) that I am not able to write more than a few sentences at a time, without suffering for it. I have not said a word on the subject of interest. 144 beattie's letters. It is evident to me, and I think I could prove to your satisfaction, that the change now proposed wouhl be detrimental in that respect. But this consideration should not det-erme from making the change, if my duty required me to make it. And yet, even if I were to pay some attention to inter- est in an affair of this kind, I do not believe that the world in general would blame me, considering that I have others to provide for besides myself. It may be said, indeed, that, having already gotten a.s much as might support me independently on my office, v.hich is more than I deserve, I have no right to extend my views to interest anyfatther. I admit the fact, but I deny the inference-, in which I will not believe any man to be serious, till he show me, by his own conduct, that he thinks it valid. The reasons I have here specified, I wish to be as generally known, in and about Edinburgh, as you may think necessary, for the vindication of my character. Lin. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES.* Aberdeen, 23d April, 1774. The long letter, enclosed, you are to consider as an answer, not to yours, but to those of lord Hailes to you. I knov/, not only the goodness, but the ge- nerosity and gentleness of your heart; and, I am sure, you would never wish me to do a thing dis- agreeable to me, if I could, with a clear conscience, avoid it. Our learned and worthy friend seems to « The preceding letter was enclosed in the following. beattie's letters. 145 thiuk, that my interest and gratification ought to be entirely out of the question : in this, I know, you will differ from him, as well as in some insinua- tions touching my character, which, I confess, pique me a little. Rut this entre nous. I have the greatest regard for him, notwithstanding, on ac- count of his learning and worth ; and I am pretty certain he has a regard for me ; but I thought it was best to speak plain, and put an end to the affair at once. Be assured, that 1 did not form my pre- sent resolution without very good reason. LIV. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 18th December, 1773. My Studies proceed so slowly, that I can hardly be said to study at all; which, after what I have told you, will not appear surprising. I have, however, added largely to my discourse on classical learning, and have been looking out for materials towards the finishing of my other little essays. If the sub- scription-affair succeed, I hope I shall have every thing in readiness in due time. I understand, by a letter from Mr. Gregory to one of his friends here, that he has been obliged to lay aside the scheme of publishing his father's works in one volume ; two of the treatises being (it seems) the property of Dodsley the bookseller : this has made me postpone, to a time of more leisure, what I intended to write on the subject of the doctor's character. I knew that Mr. Gregory* would please you : he is, indeed, • Eldest son of the late Dr. John Gregory. He after- wards was professor of the practice of physic in the uni- versity of Edinburgh. VOL. I. H 146 beattie's letters. an excellent youtig man; I know not whether I ever have met witli one of his years, whose heart was so good, or whose understanding was so tho- roughly improved. I had the honour of a letter, lately, from the duchess of Portland, which I will answer soon. Mrs. Delany's misfortune gave great concern to IMrs. Beattie and me ; but as you mention no- thing of it, we are satisfied that the danger is now over. It gives me pleasure to hear, that your nephew finds Edinburgh so much to his mind. Mr. Ar- buthnot will do every thing in his power to make it agreeable to him. To the soundest principles, and to the best heart, to a very extensive knowledge both of men and books, and to great delicacy and correctness of taste, Mr. Arbuthnot joins a vein of pleasantry and good humour, peculiar to himself, which renders his conversation equally agreeable and instructive. His character, in many particu- lars, resembles that of his namesake and near rela- tion, the famous Dr. John Arbuthnot; but my friend has none of those singularities of manner which sometimes rendered his great kinsman some- what ridiculous. I am convinced that your ne- phew and he will be mutually agreeable to each other; and as Mr. Arbuthnot is well acquainted with every body in Edinburgh, he is one of the properest persons there to give advice to the other, in regard to his company. I shall write to Mr. Arbuthnot in a few days, and tell him what you say of him, which, I know, will make him very happy. I know not, whether, in a former letter, I did not give you some account of an offer I lately had, beattie's letters. 147 from some of the town-council of Edinburgh, of their interest of bringing me into that university, iu which, at present, there is a professorship va- cant. I thanked them in the best manner I could ; but, for several reasons, some of which I specified to them, and with all of which you are well ac- quainted, I begged leave to decline the offer. Yesterday's post brought me a letter from the archbishop of York: it is more than friendly; it is an affectionate letter. His grace had written to me soon after my return to Scotland, to congratu- late me on my late success ; and, by a very delicate hint, he gave me an opportunity of explaining, whether I would now confine my future views to this country, or make any farther efforts to rise higher in the world. My answer to that part of his grace's letter was to the following purpose : *'That my late success was greater than I had any reason either to expect or wish for ; that I con- sidered myself as rewarded beyond my deservings ; that the provision, now made for me, was sufficient to procure for me, at Aberdeen, every convenience of life which I had any right to aspire after; that I had neither spirits nor bodily health to qualify me for a life of bustle and anxiety ; and that I might,, perhaps, be as useful in my present station as in any other; that, therefore, to give my friends any farther trouble in seconding my views, would, in my judgment, be to presume too far upon their ge- nerosity, and my own merit." The archbishop ap- proves highly of these sentiments. " Your resolu- tion," says he, " to employ your time and endea- vours to promote the cause of truth, and your content to remain in Scotland with your present 148 beattie's letters. provisions, is worthy of you ; * * * and though your entry into our church would have been a happy acquisition to it, yet I cannot but applaud your de- termination." LV. TO LADY MAYNE.* Aberdeen, 5d Januan% 1774. Of my ^vorthy and generous friend, Dr. jMajendie, I know not what to say. I must leave it to your ladyship to tell him (for no words of mine have energy enough) with what gratitude, affection, and esteem, I do, and ever shall, remember him. The sentiments which his royal mistress has been pleased to express, in regard to my affairs, do me the greatest honour; and I should be unworthy of them, if they did not give me the greatest pleasure. It is peculiarly fortunate, that her majesty should honour the subscription with her approbation. This may exclude, from a certain quarter, those misrepresentations of this affair, which, I have reason to think, are already circnlating, very much to the prejudice of my character. I was, indeed, somewhat apprehensive, from the beginning, that my enemies might tax me with avarice and impu- dence. But your ladyship and Mrs. Montagu con- certed the scheme in such a manner, that, if it is rightly understood, it must redound, even in the • The lady of sir William Mayne, bart. afterwards crea- ted lord Newhaven. It had been proposed, by some of the friends of Dr. Beattie, to publish by subscription an edition of the " Essay on Truth." The following letter is on this subject. beattie's letters. 149 judgment of my enemies themselves, still more to my honour tlian it can to my interest. And of this I lately endeavoured to satisfy a friend of mine in England, a gentleman eminent in the literary world, who, on hearing some imperfect account of a subscription, wrote me a letter, urging me, in the most earnest manner, as I valued my character, to put a stop to it. I gave him, in return, as plain an account as, without naming names, could be given, of the rise and progress of the affair. I told him, " that it was a thing of a private nature en- tirely; projected, not by me, but by some of my friends, who had condescended to charge them- selves with the whole trouble of it ; that it was never meant to be made public, nor put into the hands of booksellers, nor carried on by solicitation ; but was to be considered as a voluntary mark of the approbation of some persons of rank and fortune, who wished it to be known that they patronized me on account of what I had written in defence of truth; and that I was so far from desiring to put the patience or generosity of my friends to any far- ther trial, that I had repeatedly protested, and did still protest, that I was fully satisfied with the pro- vision which, by his majesty's bounty, I now enjoy, which was equal to my wishes, and far superior, in my opinion, to my deservings." I told him, far- ther, " that, considering the nature of this sub- scription, and the high character of the persons who had proposed it, I could not have refused my consent, without giving myself airs, which would have very ill become me :" and I added, " that while the subscri|)tlon, by remaining in suspense, was liable to be misunderstood, I trusted to my 150 beattie's letters. friends for the vindication of my conduct; but, that, if ever the intended vohime came to be pub- lished, I should take care to do justice, in a pre- face, both to them and to myself, by stating the matter fairly to the public." This information will, I hope, satisfy the gentleman, that the sub- scription is not, as he was made to believe, dis- graceful to my character^ (these are his words,) but, on the contrary, highly creditable to it, and honourable. However, that it may never be in the power, even of malice itself, to lay any thing to my charge on this score, I would luimbly propose, that no entreaty should be used to draw in subscribers, and that they who make objections should never be addressed a second time on the subject. LVI. TO ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESQ. Aberdeen, 8th January, 1*74. Since I left London, Mr. Hume's friends have been contriving a new method to blacken ray character. I have been written to upon the subject, and de- sired to viudicato myself; as the utmost industry is used, even by some people of name, to circulate the malicious report. The charge agaiust me, as stated in my corre- spondent's letter, is word for word as follows : I ara accused of rancour and ingratitude to Mr. Hume: " For," say they, " Mr, Hume was very instrumen- tal in procuring for me the professorship I now hold at Aberdeen, and kept up a friendly corre- spondence with me for some time ; till at length I sent him a poem of mine, (which was never printed :} but ^Ir. Hume not liking it, and being beattie's letters. 151 frank in liis nature, sent me word, it was as insipid as milk and water; upon which, bent on revenge, I immediately set about my Essay on Truth, which is full of virulence and misquotation." You may believe, that an accusation of this sort, in which, you know^ I can prove there is not on« single word of truth, cannot give me much pain. But I should be glad that Mr. Hume, for his owm sake, would disavow it ; and, indeed, I cannot sup. pose that he is so destitute of candour, as to give countenance to a report, which he himself certainljf knows to be altogether false. LVII. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 13th March, 1774. The second book of the " Minstrel," (which Mr. Fred. Montagu pennits me to send under his co- ver,) will be delivered to you, along with this ; and I must give you the trouble to keep it till Mr. Dilly calls for it. You were very indulgent to that part of it which you read last summer, in which 1 have made no very material alterations. 1 am impatient to know your opinion of the other part, and parti- cularly of the conclusion, which I do not like the better for its being on a new plan, but to which I cannot help being partial, for the sake of the sub- ject. You will see that the blank is to be filled up with the name of Gregory; a name which I forbeai* to write at length, till I see whether the public opinion will be so favourable, as to justify my taking that liberty with so dear and so respectable a friend. The lines relating to him were written (as I think I told you before) immediately after I received the 152 beattie's letters. melancholy news of his death ; when my mind was oppressed with a weight of sorrow, which I did uot, and which I needed not, attempt to exaggerate in the description. His friendship was for many years a never-failing source of consolation to me in all my distresses ; and he was taken from me at a time when my health was very bad, and my spirits in a most dejected condition. I had a letter from Mr. Gregory, a few days ago, enclosing a copy of *' The Father's Legacy." I read it several years ago, in manuscript, and I then told the doctor, tliat I looked upon it as the most elegant of all his compositions. You are right in conjecture, in regard to Dr * * » He had, it seems, heard some acconnt of a sub- scription, and wrote of it to ]Mr. * * * of * * *, whose letter to me was in these words : " I take the liberty to trouble you with this line, merely to mention a thing, which my friend. Dr. * * *, out of pure good will to you, advises me to mention. He writes me word, that he hears, on good autho- rity, a subscription has been set on foot, and is so- liciting, for your ' Minstrel,' (as well the new, as the old part.) This way of publishing it, he thinks, (and I heartily concur with him) will be thoughtun- ■worthy of your character, and will certainly disgust your best friends. I take it for granted, if the story is true, you have acquiesced in the thing, at the instance of some friend, who did not feel that this method of publishing has so mean an appearance, as it really at present has. I would, therefore, ad- vise you, by all means, to stop the progress of the affair, as soon as possible ; for I really think, it will be highly disgraceful to a person of your confessed beattie's letters. 153 abilities, if it proceeds, &c." I returned Mr. * * * an answer in course, and told him, that Dr. * * * had been misinformed in regard to the " Minstrel," but tliat there actually was on foot a subscription of another sort, of which I gave him that account, which I afterwards sent to lady Mayne, in that let- ter which you i-ead. This happened about three months ago; and I have not heard from Mr. * * * since; from which I know not whether to draw a favourable or an unfavourable inference. Piay, madam, be so good as to favour me with some account of the bishop of Carlisle, Dr. Law, if he happens to be of your acquaintance. His lord- ship (in a book lately published) has been pleased to attack me in a strange manner,* though in a few words, and very superciliously seems to con- tlemn my whole book; *' because I believe in the identity of the human soul, and that there are in- nate powers and implanted instincts in our nature." He hints, too, at my being a nativeof Scotland, and imputes my unnatural way of reasoning (for so he characterises it,) to my ignorance of what has been written on the other side of the question, by some late authors. It would be a very easy matter for me to return such an answer to his lordship, as would satisfy the world, that he has been rather hasty in signing my condemnation ; but, perhaps, it will be better to take no notice of it : I shall be determined by your advice. His doctrine is, that the human soul forfeited its immortality by the fall, but regained it in consequence of the merits of • Considerations on the Theory of Religion, by Edmund, Jord bishop of Carlisle. h2 154 beattie's letters. Jesus Christ, and that it cannot exist without the body; and must, therefore, in the interval between death and the resurrection, remain in a state of uon-existence. The theory is not a new one; but his lordship seems to be one of the most sanguine of its adherents. Some of the objections, drawn from the Scripture, he gets the better of by a mode of criticism, which, I humbly think, would not be admitted in a commentary upon any other book. 1 must now beg leave to put you in mind, tliat I have a claim on you for an essay to my quarto vo- hime ; for I wish to have in it something new, that is really worth the money to be paid for it. I ground my claim upon a promise, which, I think, you wei-e pleased to make me at Sandleford. Such a contribution will give you no trouble ; and to me, considering how poorly provided I am for furnish- ing out a whole quarto, it will be an act of the greatest charity. The hope of it will be a spur to my industry; for though it is impossible for me to provide for it suitable accommodation, I shall, how- ever, bestir myself in decking and garnishing the rest of the volume for its reception. Since I have been in this state of confinement, I have amused myself in collecting materials for tinishing an " Es- say on Laughter," which I sketched out about ten years ago. I intend that it shall be one of my ad- ditional essays : it is a grave philosophical inquiry into the nature of those objects that provoke laughter, with critical remarks on the different sorts of ludicrous composition, and an attempt to account for the superiority of the moderns over the ancients, in the articles of wit and humour. I beattie's letters. 155 have written fifty pages, and shall have nearly as many more to write. When i have finished the first draught, I will have it transcribed, and sent to you. LVIII. FROM LADY MAYNE. St. James's Square, London, April 18th, ITT*- I BELIEVE it is unnecessary to say, how much plea- sure I have received, in reading over and over the second part of your delightful poem, which, I find, meets with the universal approbation it deserves ; and all those, to whom you was so obliging as to send copies, through me, join with sir William and me, in a great many thanks for so agreeable a pre- sent. Mr. John Pitt, of Arlington-street, has desired me to make a proposal to you, which, whether it be agreeable to you or not, will be, I am sure, con- sidered by you as a real proof of his friendship and esteem. It is, that in case you should have re- solved to follow the advice of some of your friends, with regard to taking orders in our church, he has a living in his neighbourhood in Dorsetshii-e, likely to be very soon vacant, which he will not dispose of till he knows your mind. I believe sir William and I know it pretty well ; but, as it did not become me to answer for you, I have only undertaken to obtain your own, which he begs may be as soon as pos- sible, because he has a number of applications for it, though the yearly value is only a hundred and fifty pounds. You will, I dare say, judge it proper to write to him yourself upon the occasion. He is a man of most uncommon goodness of 156 beattie's letters. heart ; he and his charming wife are well-deserving of each other. They both, in the beginning of this winter, proposed a plan, for a society of well-dis- posed persons, to raise a fund by voluntary sub- scription, for the relief of distressed and deserving objects. The society soon became very numerous, as well as rich, and consists of several of the high- est rank and most eminent virtue, besides others who wish to imitate such good examples. Some very honest judicious people are kept in pay, to inquire and examine strictly into the true state of all such objects as send in petitions, and a committee of thirty meet every Saturday morning, to consider the reports of these inquirers, and to order suitable relief; besides which, the whole body of subscribers, to the amount of live guineas and upwards, have a general meeting every Wed- nesday evening, to form general rules and regula- tions, and consult upon any extraordinary cases that may offer. Besides this committee, there is another chosen, consisting of six ladies, and a seventh called the treasurer, whose department is to employ poor women in w'ork, who are indus- trious, but deprived of employment. I dare say it will immediately strike you, that such an unlimited plan must soon become impracticable, in such a town as this is, from the infinity of business that would multiply daily: and so it has proved. We, therefore, about a month ago, found ourselves obliged to confine ourselves to the residents in five parishes; St. James's, St. George's, St. Ann's, St. Martin's, and iNIaryboue. This gave a little relief for some time; but now, as might well be expected, the poor are all establishing themselves withiu beattie's letters. 157 these limits ; so that, I greatly fear, this most ex- cellent scheme cannot hold out long, at least, upc^ii its present footing. However, the zeal that the greatest number of the subscribers manifest, and the indefatigable pains, as well as time, that they employ this way, in spite of all the allurements of pleasure-and dissipation that surround them, make me hope, that experience will open the way to some effectual and durable method of doing all the good they wish, botli in the way of relief and de- tection. Lady Charlotte Finch, and her two daughters, her sister, lady Juliana Penn, lady Spencer, lady Erskine, lord and lady Dartree, lady Dartmouth, your friend Mr. Hawkins Browne, the duchess of Northumberland, lord and lady Willough- by. Miss Cowper, Miss Proby, Mrs. Eliz. Carter, and a very great number besides, give up the great- est part of their time and thoughts to this busi- ness, to such a degree, that some have suffered in their health by it. Who would have expected, some time ago, to be so edified in the year 1774, in contemplating the occupations of one of the first and most numerous societies in the environs of St. James's } I know this w-ill give double satisfaction to you, as it tends to confirm your system of innate goodness ; for I am sure the greatest part of this society did not acquire theirs, either by prejudices of education, or by the London habits, in which they were early initiated. I dare say it would give you the greatest satisfaction to attend at any of these weekly meetings, where you would see so many amiable people, attentive, for several hours together, to the sole purpose of 158 beattie's letters. trying to alleviate the distresses of their fellow- creatures. LIX. TO LADY MAYNE. Aberdeen, 20th May, 1774. I HAVE enclosed an answer to INIr. John Pitt's very kind offer, which you will be so good as to forward. I thank him for his generosity, of which, indeed, I have a very affecting sense : but I tell him, that, by the advice of my best friends, I have given up all thoughts of entering into the church, many months ago. I am much obliged to you, madam, for your agreeable account of the charitable society lately established in the neighbourhood of St. James's. It is, as you observe, an honour to my theory of vir- tue : but, what gives me much more pleasure, (theo- rist as I am,) it does honour also to the virtue and good sense of the age, it does honour to human na- ture. I do not know any thing more desirable nor more difficult, than to lay down, and carry into ex- ecution, a proper plan for the relief of the poor, which, without encouraging idleness or vice, shall administer real comfort to the helpless and the needy. The provision, established by your poor's rate in England, is, indeed, very ample ; nay, in some places so exorbitant, that I should think nothing -could flourish in those places, but poverty. I have heard of eight, ten, nay, even fourteen shillings in the pound, paid, in some parishes, to the poor's rate, which, added to the land-tax, would seem to make the laud-holder the poorest man in the di- beattie's letters. 159 strict. There must be some grievous mismanage- ment, both in the exaction and application of such sums; and it were most devoutly to be wished, that the legislature would endeavour to provide a remedy for so enormous an evil. Till this be done, all that individuals can in prudence do, is to in- quire into, and relieve the necessities of those poor who live in their neighbourhood, and with whose circumstances they are well acquainted, either from personal knowledge or undoubted informa- tion. Were this done in all parts of the kingdom, the poor would be better supplied than by any legal provision, how great soever; and begging, as a trade, would be at an end ; and nothing can be more praiseworthy, than for persons of rank and fortune to set the example of so benevolent an in- stitution. A prince of Liege, in order to cancel all at once the wrong side of his spiritual account, bequeathed, on his death-bed, his whole fortune, which was very large, to the poor, appointing the magistrates of Liege his administrators. The consequence is, that of all the beggars and vagabonds in the Nether- lands, Liege is now the common receptacle. It is no uncommon thing for an army of five or six thou- sand of these people to invest the house of the chief magistrate, and threaten to extirpate him and all his generation, with fire and sword, if he does not instantly make a pecuniary distribution. The gen- tleman from whom I have this account, and who is a person of sense and veracity, resided some time in Liege, and, to give an idea of the multitude of beg- gars that swarm in the streets of that town, told me 160 beattie's letters. farther, that one day, in walking half a mile, he gave away to professed beggars, not less than fifty- eight pieces of money. I need not tell your lady- ship what inferences are to be drawn from this story. LX. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 3d May, 1774. I AM greatly obliged and honoured by what the hierarchy have done, and are doing for me. Of Dr. Law's attack I shall take no farther notice.* I received a letter, two days ago, from Dr Hurd.f It is a very kind letter, and much in praise of the " Minstrel." Lord Chesterfield's *' Letters," he says, are well calculated for the purpose of teaching " manners without morals" to our young people of quality. This opinion I had, indeed, begun to form concerning them, from some short extracts in the newspapers. In one of these extracts I was greatly surprised to see such a pompous encomium on Bo- lingbroke's Patriot King, which has always ap- peared to me a mere vo:c et prcsterea JiVtil. Plato was one of the first who introduced the fashion of giving us fine words instead of good sense ; in this, as in his other faults, he has been successfully imitated by Shaftesbury ; but I know not whether he, or any other author, has ever put together so many words with so little meaning, as Boling- broke, in his papers on Patriotism. * See letter. No. 57. •f Afterwards bishop of Worcester. beattie's letters. 161 Lord Monboddo's second volume has been pub- lished some time. It is, I think, much better than the first, and contains much learning, and not a little ingenuity ; but can never be very interesting, except to those who aim at a grammatical and criti- cal knowledge of the Greek tongue. Lord Kaimes's *' Sketches" I have seen. They are not much dif- ferent from what I expected. A man, who reads thirty years, with a view to collect facts, in support of two or three whimsical theories, may, no doubt, collect a great number of facts, and make a very large book. The world will wonder when they hear of a modern philosopher who seriously de- nies the existence of such a principle as universal benevolence ; — a point, of which no good man can entertain a doubt for a single moment. I am sorry for poor Goldsmith. There were some things in his temper which I did not like ; but I liked many things in his genius; and I was sorry to find, last summer, that he looked upon me us a person who seemed to stand between him and his interest. However, when next we meet, all this will be forgotten ; and the jealousy of authors (which Dr. Gregory used to say, was next in rancour to that of physicians,) will be no more. I am glad that you are pleased with the addi- tional stanzas of the second canto of the " Min- strel;" but I fear you are too indulgent. How it will be relished by the public, I cannot even guess. I know all its faults ; but I cannot remedy them, for they are faults in the first concoction; they re- sult from the imperfection of the plan. I am much obliged to you, madam, for advising that two copies 162 beattie's letters. should be presented to their majesties, which, Dilly writes me word, has been done by my good friend Dr. JMajendie. This honour I meant to have soli- cited when the second edition came out, which will be soon. My reason for this delay was, that the first edition having been put to press, and some sheets of it printed off before I knew, I had it not in my power to order any copies on fine paper. But it is better as it is : the paper of the copy I have is not at all amiss. My *' Essay on Laughter" advances but slowly. I have all my materials at hand ; but my health obliges me to labour very moderately in reducing them into order. I am very unwilling to relinquish the hope of receiving from you, madam, some as- sistance in completing my volume. I beg you will think of it. Perhaps you may find more leisure when you come into the North. Mr. Mason has never answered the letter I wrote to him concerning the subscription. I guessed, from the tenor of his letters, tliat he is (as you say) out of humour with the world. Mr. Dilly writes me word, that he says he is tempted to throw his *' Life of Mr. Gray" (which is now finished, or nearly so,) into the fire, so much is he dissatisfied with the late decision on literary property. By the way, I heartily wish the legislature may, by a new law, set this matter on a })roper footing. Literature must suifer if this decision remains unobviatedv beattie's letters. 163 lxi. to mrs. montagu. Aberdeen, 27th May, J 774. I AM much diverted by Johnson's character of lord Chestertield's Letters. Dr. Hurd and Mr. Mason (for I have heard from them both since the second part of *' The Minstrel" came out) give nearly the same account of them. Mr. Mason seems now to be tolerably reconciled to the subscription, but he has found a new subject of concern, in this allegorical picture by sir Joshua Reynolds, which, he thinks, can hardly fail to hurt my character in good earnest. I know not certainly in what light Mr. Mason considers this picture; but, so far as I have yet heard, he is singular in his opinion. If Mr. Gray had done me the honour to address an ode to me, and speak in high terms of my attack on the sceptics, my enemies might have blamed him for his partiality, and the world might have thought that he had employed his Muse iu too mean an office ; but would any body have blamed me ? If sir Joshua Reynolds thinks more favourably of me than I deserve (which he certainly does,) and if he entertains the same favourable sentiments of my cause which I wish him and all the world to entertain, I should be glad to know from Mr. Mason, what there is in all this to fix any blame on my character? Indeed, if/ had planned this picture, and urged sir Joshua to paint it, and paid him for his trouble, and then had solicited admit- tance for it into the Exhibition, the world would liave had good reason to exclaim against me as a vain coxcomb ; but I am persuaded, that nobody 164 beattie's letters. will ever suspect me of this : for nobody can do so, without first supposing that I am a fool. About three weeks ago, I received a very short letter from Dr. Priestley, of which the following is a copy : " Reverend sir — Thinking it right that every person should be apprised of any publication in which his writings are animadverted upon, 1 take the liberty to send you a copy of a sheet, that will soon be published, in which I announce my intention to remark upon the principles of your * Essay on Truth.' I am, reverend sir, your very humble servant, J. Priestley." This sheet contains a preface to a third volume of *' Institutes of Reli- gion." That you, madam, may be the better ena- bled to judge between him and me, I send it to you in a separate packet, which will be delivered along with this. I never saw Dr. Priestley ; I greatly esteem his talents as a natural philosopher, particularly as a chemist: whether his talents in moral philosophy be as distinguished, I have no opportunity of know- ing. His excessive admiration of Mr. Hartley's book I have heard mentioned as one of the learned doctor's hobby-horses. 1 am not ignorant of his connexions in the way of party ; but I hope, in this attack upon my book, he is determined by nothing but a love of truth. I need not tell you, that he is the oracle of the Sociuians and Dissenters ; and the public will no doubt expect that I should answer his preface. This will not be a ditficult matter. The doctor must certainly have read my book, since he declares, in print, his disapprobation of it j but that he has read it attentively, and without pre- judice, is not clear. Certain it is, that every one beattie's letters. 165 of his remarks on me, as they appear in this pre- face, is founded in a gross niisappi-ehension of my doctrine. I have written him a letter, which I enclose in this packet for your perusal : if you ap- prove of it, please to cause it be forwarded to him^ if not, you may suppress it. One would think, from reading Dr. Priestley's preface, that Dr. Reid, Dr. Oswald, and I, wrote in concert, and with a view to enforce the very same hypothesis. But the truth is, tliat I write in con- cert with nobody: Dr. Oswald's book I never read till after my own was published ; and Dr. Reid (to whom I have made all due acknowledgments for the instruction I have received from his work) ne- ver saw mine, till it was in the hands of the public. The controversial part of Dr. Reid's book regards the existence of matter chiefly ; Dr. Oswald's system (though there are many good things in his book) I never distinctly understood. The former of these authors differs in many things from me ; and the latter (if 1 am rightly informed) has actually at- tacked a fundamental principle of mine, in a second volume, lately published, which 1 have not yet got leisure to read. ^ LXII. FROM THE REV. DR. PORTEUS. Hunton, near Maidstone, Kent, July 24th, 1774. I AM desired, by one of the episcopal bench, whose name I am not yet at liberty to mention,* to ask you, whether you have any objections to taking orders in the church of England. If you have not, • This prelate was Dr. Thomas, bishop of Winchester. 166 beattie's letters. there is a living, now vacant, in his gift, worth near five hundred pounds a-year, which will be at your service. Be pleased to send me your answer to this, as soon as possible, and direct it to me at Peterbo- rough, in Northamptonshire, where I shall probably be before your letter can reach me. I feel myself happy in being the instrument of communicating to you so honourable and advantageous a proof of that esteem which your literary labours have secured to you amongst all ranks of people. LXIII. TO the rev. dr. PORTEUS. Peterhead, 4th August, 1774. I HAVE made many efforts to express, in something like adequate language, my grateful sense of the honour done me by the right reverend prelate, who makes the offer conveyed to me in your most friendly letter of the 24th July. But every new effort serves only to convince me, more and more, how unequal I am to the task. When T consider the extraordinary reception which my weak endeavours in the cause of truth have met with, and compare the greatness of my success with the insignificance of my merit, what reasons have I not to be thankful and humble ! to be ashamed that I have done so little public ser- vice, and to regret that so little is in my power ! to rouse every power of my nature to purposes of be- nevolent tendency, in order to justify, by my inten- tions at least, the unexampled generosity of my benefactors ! My religious opinions would, no doubt, if I were eeattie's letters. 167 to declare them, sufficiently account for, and vin- dicate, my becoming a member of the church of England : and I flatter myself, that my studies, way of life, and habits of thinking, have always been such, as would not disqualify me for an ecclesias- tical profession. If I were to become a clergyman, the church of England would certainly be my choice; as I think, that, in regard to church-go- vernment and church-service, it has many great and peculiar advantages. And I am so far from having any natural disinclination to holy orders, that I have several times, at different periods of my life, been disposed to enter into them, and have directed my studies accordingly. Various accidents, hov,'eve)-, prevented me ; some of them pretty re- markable, and such as I think I might, without presumption, ascribe to a particular interposition of Providence. The offer now made me, is great and generous beyond all expectation. I am well aware of all the advantages and honours that would attend my ac- cepting, and yet I find myself obliged, in con- science, to decline it ; as I lately did another of the same kind (though not so considerable) that was made me, on the part of another English gen- tleman. The reasons which did then, and do now determine me, T beg leave, sir, briefly to lay before you. I wrote the " Essay on Truth," with the certain prospect of raising many enemies, with very faint hopes of attracting the public attention, and with- out any views of advancing my fortune. I published it, however, because I thought it might probably do a little good, by bringing to naught, or at least 168 beattie's letters. lessening the reputation of that wretched system of sceptical philosophy, which had made a most alarm- ing progress, and done incredible mischief to this country. My enemies have been at great pains to represent my views, in that publication, as very different ; and that my principal, or only motive, was to make a book, and, if possible, to raise my- self higher in the world. So that, if I were now to accept preferment in the church, I should be appre- hensive that I might strenuthen the hands of the gainsayer, and give the world some ground to be- lieve that my love of truth was not quite so ardent or so pure as 1 had pretended. Be>>ides, might it not have the appearance of levity and insincerity, and, by some, be construed into a want of principle, if I were at these years (for I am now thirty- eight) to make such an import- ant change in my way of life, and to quit, with no other apparent motive than that of bettering my drcumstances, that church of which I have liitherto been a member } If my book has any tendency to do good, as I flatter myself it has, I would not, for the wealth of the Indies, do any thing to counteract that tendency; and I am afraid that tendency might, in some measure, be counteracted (at least in this conntry,) if I were to give the adversary the least ground to charge me with inconsistency. It is true, that the force of my reasonings cannot be really affected by my character : truth is truth, whoever be the speaker: but even truth itself be- comes less respectable, when spoken, or supposed to be spoken, by insincere lips. It has also been hinted to me, by several persons of very sound judgment, that what I have written. IJEATTIE'S LE'ITERS. 169 or may hereafter write, in favour of religion, has a chance of being more attended to, if I continue a layman, than if I were to become a clergyman. Nor am I without apprehensions (though some of my friends think them ill-founded,) that, from entering so late in life, and from so remote a province, into the church of England, some degree cf ungraceful- ness, particularly in pronunciation, might adhere to my performances in public, sufficient to render them less pleasing, and consequently less useful. Most of these reasons were repeatedly urged upon me, during my stay in England last summer ; aud I freely own, that the more I consider them, tlie more weight they seem to have : and from the peculiar manner in which the king has been graciously pleased to distinguish me, and from other circumstances, I have some ground to pre- sume, that it is his majesty's pleasure that I should continue where I am, and employ my leisure hours in prosecuting the studies I have begun. This I can find time to do more effectually in Scotland than in England, and in Aberdeen than in Edin- burgh ; which, by the bye, was one of my chief reasons for declining the Edinburgh professorship. The business of my professorship here is indeed toilsome ; but I have, by fourteen years' practice, made myself so much master of it, that it now re- quires little mental labour ; and our long summer vacation, of seven months, leaves me at ray own disposal for the greatest and best part of the year ; a situation favourable to literary projects, and now become necessary to my health. Soon after my return home, in autumn last, I had occasion to write to the archbishop of Yorli on VOL. I. f 170 beattie's letters. this subject. I specified my reasons for giving up all thoughts of church-preferment, and his grace was pleased to approve of them ; nay, he conde- scended so far as to say, they did me honour. I told his grace, moreover, that I had already given a great deal of trouble to my noble and generous patrons in England, and could not think of being any longer a burthen to them, now that his ma- jesty had so graciously and so generously made for me a provision equal to my wishes, and such as puts it in my power to obtain, in Scotland, every convenience of life, to which I have any title, or any inclination, to aspire. I must, therefore, make it my request to you, that you would present my humble respects and most thankful acknowledgments to the eminent person, at whose desire you wrote your last letter, (whose name, I hope, you will not be under the necessity of concealing from me,) and assure him, that, though I have taken the liberty to decline his generous offer, I shall, to the last hour of my life, presen-e a most grateful remembrance of the ho- nour he has condescended to confer upon me ; and, to prove myself not altogether unworthy of his goodness, shall employ that health and leisure which Providence may hereafter afford me, in op- posing infidelity, heresy, and error, and in pro- moting sound literature and Christian truth to the utmost of my power. UEAITIE'S LETTERS. 171 LXIV. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Peterhead, 5th August, 1774. Dr. Priestley's Preface is come out, without any acknowledgment of tlie information conveyed to him in my letter. But he has written to me on the occasion, and says, he will publish my letter in that book which he is preparing, in opposition to the *' Essay on Truth," as he thinks such a letter will do me honour. He praises the candour and generosity which, he says, appear in my letter, and seems to be satisfied that I wrote my book with a good intention ; which is the only merit he allows me, at least he mentions no other. He blames me exceedingly for my want of moderation, and for speaking, as I have done, of the moral influence of opinions. He owns that his notions, on some of the points in which he differs from me, are exceed- ingly unpopular, and likely to continue so ; and says, that, perhaps, no two persons professing Christianity ever thought more differently than he and I do. It is a loss to me, he seems to think, that I have never been acquainted with such per- sons as himself and his friends in England : to this he is inclined to impute the improper style I have made use of on some subjects ; but he hopes, a little reflection, and a candid examination of what he is to write against me, will bring me to a better way of thinking and speaking. His motive for en- tering the lists with me, is no otlier, he says, than *' a sincere and pretty strong, though, perhaps, a mistaken regard to truth." This is the substance 172 bkattie's letters. of his letter, as I understand it. There are, in- deed, some things in it, which I do not distinctly understand ; and therefore, I believe, I shall not at present make any reply. He does not tell me, what the points of difference between us are : but I find, from some reports that have penetrated even to this remote corner, that he has taken some pains to let it be known that he is writing an answer to my book. A volume of his " Institutes of Religion" lately fell into my hand, which is the first of his theological works I have seen ; and, I must con- fess, it does not give me any high opinion of him. His notions of Christianity are indeed different from mine ; so very different, that I know not whe- ther I should think it necessary or proper to as- sume the title of a Christian, if I were to think and write as he does. When one proceeds so far, as to admit some parts of the Gospel history, and rejlr. Hume's tenets as much as I did, or could do ; and he spoke of religion with great reverence. In a word, I found from his conversation, that he is just what your grace had described him to me, and that all the other accounts I had heard of him were wide of the truth. I would thank you, madam, for unde- ceiving me in this particular, and establishing peace, and I hope amity, between us ; but I have so many things to thank you for, that, if I were to en- ter upon tliat matter in detail, I should not know where to begin, and my letter would never have an end. Thus far I had written on Friday, wlien I had tlie lionour to receive your grace's letter of last Wed- nesday; which is so very flattering to me, that 1 cannot answer a word. I certainly left Gordon- Castle with great reluctance; and my heart and my fancy did, both of them, and still do, cast Many a longing, lingering look behind. The society was most agreeable; but, I flatter my- self, you will do me the justice to believe it was not the parting with the guests that touched me so nearly,— though, I am sure, I love and esteem them all as much as they themselves would wish me to do. 1 delivered your message to Dr. Livingston, vvltli beattie's letters. 81 whom I dined the other day, in company with three sensible and cheerful Quakers. I spoke to them of my friend, and their brother, Mr. Scott, (the author of the " Eclogues," which your grace liked so much,) whom the Londoner very well knew; and I diverted them with the history of a dinner, with which I was once entertained by ten or twelve of their fraternity, on the king's birth-day, at one o'clock, near the confluence of the Thames and Fleet-ditch, the very spot where Pope makes his dunces jump into the mud, in the second book of the " Dunciad." These Quakers were all men of learning and sense ; and their manners, polite tliongh peculiar, were to me a very entertaining no- velty. Indeed, the affection they showed n)e, de- served, on my part, the warmest returns of grati- tude. I have put up in a parcel for your grace, " Count Fathom," *' The Tale of a Tub," and ** Gauden- tio di Lucca;'' which, with the Italian *' Prayer Book," I have committed to a faithful hand. '* Gaudentio" (if you have never seen it) will amuse you, though there are tedious passages in it. The whole description of passing the deserts of Africa is particularly excellent. The author is no less a person than the famous bishop Berkeley. As to the whisky, I cannot trust it in the rude hands of a carrier, and must, therefore, keep it till a more fa- vourable opportunity offer: but, that it may remain sacred, I have sealed the cork of the bottle with the impression of three ladies,* whom I take to be your grace's near relations, as they have the honour, not • The seal had an impression of the three Graces.^ e2 82 BEArriE's letters. only to bear one of your titles, but also to resemble you exceedingly in form, feature, and manner. If you had lived three thousand years ago, which I am very glad you did not, there would have been four of them, and you the first. May all happiness ever attend your grace. en. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 6th November, 1780. Your letter, my dear sir, from Oxford, which I re^ ceived a few' days ago, gave me great pleasure, on account of the agreeable information it brought me of lady Forbes's health and yours, and of your amusing journey. I know, from Pennant's ''Welsh Tour," that there are many things in that country worthy of the traveller's attention ; many wild and many soothing scenes, and many noble monuments of war, and of superstitious and feudal magnifi- cence. Such things, to a mind turned like yours, would have a charm inexpressible ; and would be highly amusing to lady Forbes, whose mind is, if I mistake not, as open to tbe impressions of romantic art and nature, as either yours or mine ; which, I will venture to say, is a bold word. Accept of my hearty welcome to your own house and home, which I hope you have reached before this time j for, in this season of tempest and immature winter, I should be sorry to think that you and your amiable associate were struggling with the inconveniences of deep roads, cold inns, and short days. I hope you got William settled to your mind during your absence; and that, at your return, you found him, and my friend Miss Forbes, and my sworn brother beattie's letters. 83 John, and my acquaintance James, and the other young gentleman, who, I hope, will one day be my acquaintance, in perfect health, and as flourishing as I wish them to be. The many kind attentions I received from my friends in Edinburgh and its neighbourliood, particularly from lady Forbes and you, and Mr. Arbuthnot, did me the greatest service ; and I re- turned home a new man. But then I instantly found myself plunged into such a chaos of per- plexity, as at once swallowed up all the little health I had been collecting from so many quarters ; and, after a few days' ineffectual wranglhig, I was neces- sitated (I will not say to go, but) to run away to Peterhead, taking my son along with me ; and there I remained seven weeks. To unfold the causes of this perplexity, would, I think, require two volumes as large as the " Sorrows of Werter :" * I will not, therefore, attempt it at present. I shall only say, that it did not arise from a certain cir- cumstance which lies nearest my heart, (for in that there is not the least variation,) but from the un- reasonableness of some persons with whom I am connected, and who, having not much sensibility themselves, can hardly make allowance for that of other people. However, matters are now a little softened, and seem to promise tranquillity, at least, for a short time ; and a very sm-?dl abatement of trouble is a sort of tranquillity to one, who, like me, has been so long buffetted, on all sides, by more storms than are commonly found to assail a person so insignificant as I am. Dr. Livingston knows • A German novel much in fashion at that time. 84 beattie's letters. every circumstance of what I allude to.* I have in every thing been governed by his advice; for I begin to distrust my own faculties, as I feel them sensibly impaired. At any rate, I am sure I will do well in doing what he recommended; as I have al- ways found him a most intelligent, prudent, and affectionate friend, as well as one of the ablest of liis profession. 1 shall sometime, hereafter, explain myself to you on this subject veiy particularly. At present, I wish rather to decline troubling you in regard to it. I am glad you met with the bishop of Bangor. I knew him formerly when he was dean of Canter- bnry;f and I once passed a morning in company with his lady Mrs. JMoore, at Dr. Markham's, then bishop of Chester, now archbishop of York. Your account of Dr. Moore is very just ; he is really a most worthy man. By the bye, I think the English bench of bishops was never more respectable than at present for learning and piety. cm. TO THE duchess of GORDON. Whitehall, l6th May, 178 1. I HAVE seen most of the fashionable curiosities ; but will not trouble your grace with any particular account of them. The exliibitiou of pictures at the Royal Academy is the best of the kind I have seen. The best pieces, in my opinion, are, Thais with a tojch in her hand ; the Death of Dido j and a Boy, • Dr. Thomas Livingston, a physician at Aberdeen, •t Dr. Moore, afterwards archbishop of Canterbury. eeattie's letters. 85 supposed to be listening to a wonderful story ; thes€ three by sir Joshua Reynolds: a Shepherd- boy, by Gainsborough : some landscapes by Barrett. Christ healing the sick, by West, is a prodigious great work, and has in it great variety of expres- sion; but there is a glare and a hardness in the colouring, which makes it look more like a picture than like nature. Gainsborough's picture of the king is the strongest likeness 1 have ever seen ; his queen too is very well: but he has not given them attitudes becoming their rank ; the king has his hat in his hand, and the queen looks as if she were going to curtsy in the beginning of a minuet. Others may think differently : I give my own opi- nion. There is nothing at either playhouse that is in the least captivating ; nor, I think, one player, Mrs. Abington excepted, whom one would wish to see a second time. I was shocked at Leoni, in Had I a heart for falsehood framed, &c. A man singing with a woman's voice sounds as unnatural to me as a woman singing with a man's. Either may do in a private company, where it is enough if people are diverted; but, on a stage, where nature ought to be imitated, both are, in my opinion, intolerable. Johnson's new "^ Lives" are published. He is, as your grace heard he would be, very severe on my poor friend, Gray. His life of Pope is excellent; and in all his lives there is merit, as they contain a great variety of sound criticism and i)leasing infor- mation. He has not done justice to lordLyttelton. 86 beattie's letters. He has found means to pay me a very great compli- ment, for which I am much obliged to him, in speaking of Mr. Gray's journey into Scotland in 1765. • Copley's picture of lord Chatham's death is an exhibition of itself. It is a vast collection of por- traits, some of them very like ; but, excepting three or four of the personages present, few of this vast assembly seem to be much affected with the great event ; which divests the picture of its unity, and will in the next age make it cease to be inter- esting. CIV. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Middle Scotland-yard, 'Whitehall, 1st June, 1781. If you will not allow eating and drinking, and walking and visiting, to be work, I must confess I have for these five weeks been very idle. Yet in such a perpetual hurry have I been kept by this sort of idleness, that I had no time to write, to read, or even to think. For the amusement of my young fellow-traveller,* and in order also to drive away painful ideas from myself, I have run through a complete Enajclopedie of shows, and monsters, and other curiosities, from " Douglas " at Drury- Lane, to the puppet-show at Astley's riding-school j from the wonderful heifer with two heads, to Dr. Graham and his celestial brilliancy ; from the great lion in the Tower, and the stuffed elephant's skin at sir Ashton Lever's, to the little Welsh wo- • His son. beattie's letters. 87 man in Holborn, who, though twenty-three years of age, weighs only eighteen pounds. But, what you will readily believe to have been much more beneiicial to my health and spirits, I liave been visiting all my friends again and again, and found them as affectionate and attentive as ever. Death has, indeed, deprived me of some since I was last here ; of Garrick, and Armstrong, and poor Harry Smith ; but I have still many left; some of whom are higher in the world, and in bet- ter health, than they were in 1775, and all as well and as flourishing as I had any reason to expect. I have seen Mr. Langton several times, and 1 gave him your memorandum relating to INI. Trem- bley.* He goes to Chatham in a few days with his family, in quality of engineer; and I intend to make him a visit there, having some curiosity to see the shipping and the fortitlcations. You cer- tainly know that ]\Ir. Langton is an officer of mi- litia. He loves the military life, and has been in- defatigable in acquiring the knowledge that is necessary to it. He is allowed to be a most ex- cellent engineer. Indeed, he is excellent in every thing. Johnson grows in grace as he grows in years. He not only has better health and a fresher com- plexion than ever he had before, (at least since I knew him,) but he has contracted a gentleness of manners which pleases every body. Some ascribe this to the good company to which he has of late been more accustomed than in the early part of his * Bennet Langton, esq. of Langton, in the county of Lincoln. 88 beattie's letters. life. There may be something in this ; but I am apt to think the good health he has enjoyed for a long time is tlie chief cause. INIr. Thrale appointed him one of his executors, and left him two hundred pounds : every body says he should have left him two hundred a-year ; which, from a fortune like his, would have been a very inconsiderable deduc- tion. CV. TO THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. London, 3d June, 1781. Your grace's letter gave me more pleasure than words can express. I see from it, you are in good health and spirits, and that you do me the honour sometimes to think of me. I meet with the great- est civilities here every day, from persons for whom I have the highest esteem ; yet so far am I from en- tertaining any idea of remaining among them, that I begin to look forward with some impatience to that day on which I am asrain to set my face north- wards, and ^vhich, I think, is not above three weeks distant : and I hope, that, in three or four weeks more, I shall have the honour to present you with as many pens at Peterhead, as will convey to all your friends th« most pleasing intelligence. The thunder is roaring while I write this; and a most welcome sound it is to me, as it will bring rain and coohiess, of which the country stands, and I stand, very much in need. For some days past the heat has been intolerable; the mercury iu the thermometer being at 80o, or, as some say, 83o, which is five degrees liigh^r, at least, than ever I knew it in Scotland. Persons who have been in the beattie's letters. 89 West Indies say, tliat the Jamaica heat is much more tolerable. In this situation, it is no wonder that I shouhl often think of the sliades of the holly- bank at Gordon-castle, and the sea breezes of Pe- terhead. The Persees, or Gentoos, or (as some call them) the Persian ambassadors, are, at present, one of the great curiosities of the town. They are charged with some embassy from their own country ; but what that is nobody knows. Lord William Gordon did me the honour to make me one of a large party, whom he lately invited to Green-park Lodge to see them. By means of a gentleman, who acted as their interpreter, I asked them several questions, to which they returned pertinent answers. They are dressed in the manner of their country, in long robes of a whiteish-coloured stuff resembling Indian silk, with turbans on their heads, differing, how- ever, from the Turkish turbans. Their complexion is a yellowish black, resembling the mulatto colour, with mustachios or whiskers of the deepest black, as are also their eyes. Their features are regular, and of the European cast : the younger of the two may be called handsome ; and the elder, who is his father, has a most expressive, sensible countenance. Though many people of great rank were present, particularly the duke of Gloucester, lord and lady Pembroke, lady Frances Scot, lady Irvine and all her daughters, the three lady Waldegraves, lord Herbert, &c. the sti-angers behaved witli great ease, as well as with great courtesy. Lord William pre- sented me to the duke of Gloucester, with whom I had the honour of a short conversatiouj and who 90 beattie's letters. made me ven' happy in saying that he had heard your grace speak of me. CM. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. London, C8th June, 1781. I HAVE seen bishop Hard once and again ; and last Sunday at Canewood passed a truly classical day with lord Mansfield and him. I never saw lord Manstield better. He is in perfect health and good spirits, and looks no older than fifty-ftve. He walked with me three miles and a half, without the least a[)pearance of fatigue. The bishop of Chester has been gone some time, and several others of my friends have left the town ; so that as my business is tinished, or nearly so, I have nothing to keep me longer here. I hope we shall meet in little more than a fortnight. Mrs. JMontagu, on going to her country-seat in Berkshire about a month ago, was seized with a violent illness. The physicians sent her instantly to Bath, where she has been ever since. I had the pleasure to learn last night, by a letter from her own hand, that she is now quite well. I went lately to Rochester, on a visit to Mr. Langton and lady Rothes, who desire to be re- membered to lady Forbes and you. Mr. Langton has sent me Trembley's book, which I shall take proper care of. At Chatham I saw that wonderful sight, a ninety-gun ship on the stocks : but, from the top of Shooters-hill, on my return, I saw a sight still more magnificent, a complete view of thU luige metropolis from Chelsea to Blackwall, beattie's letters. 91 the back-gronnd embellished with a violent storm of thuiuler and lightning, which roared and flashed without intennitision. I thought it my duty to appear at the levee be- fore I left London ; and accordingly the week be- fore last I went to court. The king had not seen rae for six years, and yef, to my surprise, knew me at first sight. He spoke to me with his wonted condescension and affability ; and paid me a very polite compliment on the subject of my writings. CVII. TO THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. Aberdeen, 21st November, 1781. In calling your grace's attention to an *' Essay on Beauty," I am afraid I shall incur the same cen- sure with a brother-professor of mine, who had the assurance to deliver, in the hearing of the greatest commander on earth, a dissertation on the art of war. " INIany a fool have I seen in my time," said Hannibal, "but this old blockhead ex- ceeds them all." However, one must keep one's word ; and, as your grace desired to see this Essay, and I pro- mised to send it, (as soon as I could get it tran- scribed,) I send it accordingly. I should not give you the trouble to return it, if I had not promised a reading of ii to sir Joshua Reynolds. As it is only an extract from *' A Discourse on Memory and Imagination," (which your grace could not find time to look into at Peterhead, and which it is impossible for me to send at present, as I am correcting it for the press,) I am afraid you will 92 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. find some obscurity in it, especially towards the be- ginning. If the last letter had not miscarried, wiiich I had the honour to write to your grace, you would have known that I am now very busy in revising and transcribing papers ; as I am to put a quarto volume to press in little more than a month ; and a quarto not much smaller than my last. Your grace has seen a good deal of it, but not the whole. CVIII. TO THE REV. MR. WILLIAMSON. Aberdeen, 5th December, 1781. If Dr. Home* be returned to Oxford, I beg you will take the first opportunity to present my best respects to him, and assure him, that I shall ever retain a most grateful sense of the honour he has done me in his elegant letter to Adam Smith.-f This acknowledgment comes rather late; but it is not on that account the less sincere. Why it has been so long delayed, I now beg leave to explain. The first notice I received of Dr. Home's excel- lent pamphlet, was in a short letter from you, wdiich came at a time when my health was in so bad a way, that most of my friends here thought I had not many weeks to live. These sufferings, I must acknowledge, drove all literary matters out of • Afterwards bishop of Norwich. t On the Life, Death, and Philosophy of David Hume, esq. This pamphlet has lately been republished by the So- ciety for promoting Christian Knowledge, and at a very low price, for the purpose of general distribution. beattie's letters. 93 my head : your letter was lost ; and of Dr. Home's pamphlet I heard nothing more, till this last sum- mer, when lord JMansfield asked me whether I liad seen it, speaking of it, at the same time, la terms of the highest approbation. I was forced to confess I had not seen it, and never heard of it but once ; and, to account for this, I told his lordship what I have now told you. At Oxford, you will probably remember, that I found it in the begin- ning of July last ; and then it was that I knew for the first time the extent of my obligations to Dr. Home. I wished immediately, as you know, to pay my respects to him, but he was gone out of town. Since my return from England, I find the pamphlet has given universal satisfaction ; and r^ome of my friends have wished, that a small and cheap edition of it could be printed, and circulated all over the country, as tliey think it miglit coun- terwork the unwearied efforts which Mr. Hume's friends have long been making to extol his cha- racter, and depress mine. CIX. TO THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. Aberdeen, 18th August, 178C. 1 HAD the lionour to receive your grace's letter, and the noble present enclosed in it, * just as I was setting out for Edinburgh. After many attempts to thank you for it, and to tell you how much I glory in it, 1 find I must at last confine my grati- tude and my exultations to my own breast ; having • A portrait of the duchess of Gordon. 94 beattie's letters. noAVOvdsthat can in any degree do them justice. It is indeed a most charming picture, and an exact copy of sir Joshua's; and I am envied the posses- sion of it by every one Vv'ho sees it. JMr. Smith has outdone himself on the occasion j I am exceedingly obliged to him. Your grace will perhaps remember, that at Gor- don-castle there was some conversation about Pe- trarch. Knowing that it was the custom of his age to write gallant verses ; and conjecturing, from other circumstances, that his passion for Laura was not so serious a business as his French biogra- pher pretends, I happened to say, that there was some reason to think that he wrote his Italian sonnets as much to display his wit as to declare his passion. I have since made some discoveries in regard to this matter, which amount to what fol- lows : That Petrarch's passion for the lady was so far sincere, as to give him uneasiness, appears from an account of his life and character, written by himself in Latin prose, and prefixed to a folio edi- tion of his works, of which I have a copy, printed in the year 1554. But that his lore was of that permanent and overwhelming nature, which some writers suppose, or that it continued to the end of his life, (as a late writer affirms,) there is good reason to doubt, upon the same authority. Nay, there is presumptive, and even positive evidence of the contrary ; and that he was less subject, than most men can pretend to be, to the tyratiny of the *' Winged Boy." The presumptive evidence is founded on the very beattie's letters. 95 laborious life which he must have led in the pur- suits of literature. His youth was employed in study, at a time when study was extremely diffi- cult, on account of the scarcity of books and of teachers. He became the most learned man of his time ; and to his labour in transcribing several an- cient authors with his own hand, we are indebted for their preservation. His works, in my edition of them, fill 1455 folio pages, closely printed ; of which the Italian Sonnets are not more than a twentieth part : the rest being Latin Essays, Dia- logues, &c. and an epic poem in Latin verse, called ''Africa," as long as "Paradise Lost." His re- tirement at Vaucluse, (which in Latin he calls Clausa,) was by no means devoted to love and Laura. " There," says he, in the account of his life above mentioned, " almost all the works I ever published were completed, or begun, or planned ; and they were so many," these are his words, " that even to these years they employ and fatigue me." In a word, Petrarch wrote more than I could transcribe in twenty years ; and more than I think he could have composed, though he had studied without intermission, in forty. Can it be believed, that a man of extreme sensibility, pining, from twenty-five to the end of his life, in hopeless love, could be so zealous a student, and so voluminous a writer ? But more direct evidence we have from himself, in his own account above mentioned of his life, conversation, and character. I must not translate the passage literally, on account of an indelicate word or two ; but I shall give the sense of it : ** In my youth I was violently in love j but it was only 96 beattie's letters. once; and the passion was honourable, or virtu- ous ; and would have continued longer, if the flame, already decaying, had not been extinguished by a death, which was bitter indeed, but useful." And a little after, he says : *' Before I teas forty years of age, I had banished from my mind every idea of love as effectually as if I had never seen a woman." He adds some things, in a strain of bitterness, ex- ecrating the belle passion, as what he had always hated as a vile and a disgraceful servitude. In the above passage, your grace will observe, that Petrarch does not name his mistress. This, if we consider the manners of that age, and the piety and good sen.-?e of Petrarch, may make us douljt whether Laura was really the object of his passion. I had this doubt for a little while : but Hieronymo Squarzalichi, a v.-riter of that age, and the author of another Latin Life of Petrarch, pre- iixed to the same edition of his works, positively says, that the name of the lady whom the poet loved was Lauretta, which her admirer changed to Laura. The name, thus changed, supplies him with numberless allusions to the laurel, and to the story of Apollo and Daphne. iNIight not Petrarch, in many of his sonnets, have had an allegorical re- ference to the poetical laurel, which was offered him at one and the same time by deputies from France and from Italy; and with which, to his great satisfaction, he was actually crowned at Rome with the customary solemnities ? In this view, his love of fame and of poetry would happily coincide with his tenderness for Laura, and give peculiar enthusiasm to such of his thoughts as might relate to any one of the three passions. beattie's letters. 97 But how, you will say, is all this to be recon- ciled to the account given by the French author of that Life of Petrarch, which Mrs. Dobson has abridged in English ? I answer : tirst, That Petrarch's own account of his life, in serious prose, is not to be called in question : and, secondly. That to a French biogra- pher, in a matter of this kind, no degree of credit is due. I have seen pretended lives, in French, of Horace, Tibullus, Propertius, &c. in which there was hardly one word of truth ; the greatest part being fable, and that sort of declamation which some people call sentiment : and your grace knows, that no other character belongs to the *' Belisa- rius" and ** Incas of Peru" by Marmontel. The French Life of Petrarch I consider in the same light ; and that what is said of his manuscript let ters and memoirs, is no better than a job contrived by the bookseller, and executed by the author. ex. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 26th October, ]782. Elphinston's ** Martial" is just come to hand. It is truly an unique. The specimens formerly pub- lished did very well to laugh at ; but a whole quarto of nonsense and gibberish is too much. It is strange that a man, not wholly illiterate, should have lived so long in England, without learning tlie language. I have lately been very much entertained and in- structed with a work of a different nature, which will do honour to this country, and be a blessing to mankind — Dr. Campbell's " Translation of the vol. II. F VS BEATTIE'S LETTERS. Four Gospels," with explanatory and critical anno- tations. I have revised the first eighteen chapters of 3Iatthe\v; and am really astonished at the learn- ing and accuracy of the author. He had hefore given the world sufficient proofs of both ; but this will be his greatest work. It will be accompanied with preliminary dissertations, for explaining what could not be conveniently illustrated in the notes. I have read tiie titles of the Dissertations, and shall soon have them in my hands. The whole will make, as I guess, two quarto volumes. I have se- veral limes studied the Gospels in the original; but had no idea, till now, that the common translation stood so much in need of a revisal. CXI. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 30th January, 178.'). 1 LATELY had the happiness to receive from the bishop of Chester the most agreeable accounts of your health; which no perplexities of my own can ever make me cease, even for a single hour, to be interested in. Your little godson, who was all last summer in the countsy, returned home in October, and since tliat time has been under my own inspection ; which, till uovV; the peculiar circumstances of my family did not permit him to be. I found him wild, and not very Tractable ; tliough not destitute either of affection or of generosity. He had been com- mitted to the care of people, who, it seems, thought it too soon to inure him to moral discipline. But as that part of education cannot, in my opinion, begin too early, I have been combating his evil beattie'!* letters. yy habits with all the caution and steadiness I am master of; and my success has been not inconsi- derable. I have taught him to fear my anger above every thing, (for he is too young to be impressed with any fear of a higher kind ;) and I find, that the more he fears, the more he loves me. His brother co-operates with me in this good work ; and I hope we shall in time make him a very good boy. He is stout and healthy, and the picture of good humour and good cheer, and a very great fa- vourite in the neighbourhood. Bodily correction 1 have never used as yet ; considering it as a danger- ous remedy, which ought not to be had recourse to till all others have been tried and found inef- fectual. JMy other boy is busy at his French and Greek. I thought him too young to go into the higher classes, and have made him study the ele- ments of Greek a second time. He is not, I think, very lucky in a French master. The man speaks the language well enough, but does not seem to be an exact grammarian : however, my boy knows grammar pretty well, and has always been accus- tomed to study with accuracy; so that I hope he is in no danger of getting into habits of superficial reading. We have been here, and still are, in great appre- hensions of famine. Last summer was cold and tempestuous beyond imagination ; and in many parts of the country there was little or no harvest. Oatmeal, without which our common people have no notion of supporting life, sells just now at double its usual price ; and the common people are mur- muring ; and anonymous letters, in a threatening style, have been sent to many persons. In no other loo beattie's letters. part of Scotland is the scarcity so great as in this town and neighbourhood; and I believe it is the fear of the military alone that prevents insur- rection. I am just now informed, that preliminaries of peace with France and Spain are signed, and that a cessation of hostilities is agreed on with the Dutch. The news is certainly very agreeable, if the condi- tions be but moderately good. Whether our sepa- ration from America will be beneficial or hurtful either to this country or to that, is, I think, doubt- ful ; but such a separation must have happened soon, and I wish it had happened forty years sooner. Though our empire is diminished in ex- tent, our national honour is not impaired ; and our enemies, notwithstanding what they have gained and we have lost, have no cause of triumph. JMy new book has been in the press for some time ; and I have now received sixteen sheets of it, wliich is about one-fifth of the wliole. It is a quarto, of the same size nearly with my last ; and what I have seen is very correctly printed. The proprietor, Mr. Strahan, thinks it will be ready for publication in the spring. I am afraid the plain- ness and simplicity of the style will not hit the taste of the present race of orators and critics ; who seem to think, that the old English tongue, and the old English constitution, stand equally in need of change. Their reasonings, however, have not yet satisfied me that our forefathers were at all inferior to us in the arts either of writing or of government. My models of English are Addison, and those who write like Addison, particularly yourself, madam, and lord Lyttelton. We may be beattie's letters. 101 allowed to imitate what we cannot hope to equal ; nay, I think we are, in every laudable pursuit, commanded by all the great teachers of mankind to do so. The literary labours of lord Kaimes have come to an end at last. He was certainly an extraordinary man : and, though he cannot be vindicated in every thing, his enemies must allow, that his mind was uncommonly active, and liis industry indefatigable. He was six-and-fifty years an author ; for to a Col- lection of Decisions, dated in 1726, I have seen a preface of his writing. He retained his good hu- mour to the last. He and I misunderstood one an- other for several years ; but we were thoroughly reconciled long before his death, and he acknow- ledged that he had utterly mistaken my character. I am very happy to find, that my notions, in re- gard to the origin of language, coincide so exactly with yours. I have, I think, confuted Monboddo's theory, which I look upon as equally absurd and dangerous. He and lord Kaimes passed a few days last autumn together at Gordon-castle, and gave no little entertainment to the company ; for they two were in every thing direct opposites ; and they mu- tually despised and detested each other. Kaimes confessed that he understood no Greek ; and Mon- boddo told him, that no man who was ignorant of Greek- could pretend to write a page of good En- glish. Monboddo has many good qualities : but on the subject of Greek and of Aristotle, he is as ab- surd and as pedantic as Don Quixote was on that of chivalry. The last time I saw him, I iucensed him to the highest degree, by calling the great circum- 102 beattie's letters. navigator Cook an ingeuions philosopher. It was to no purpose tliat I explained tlie sense in whieh I used the word, and told him, that \)\ philosoplnjy I meant the hnon-ledge of nature applied to practi cal and u.ieful purposes : he seemed to think tliat I had offered an insult to science, hy calling a man a philosopher, whose only merit, he said, was " that of heine a good seamen, even as one may he an ex- pert shoemaker or tailor, and who, hesides, was of an obscure origin : for I hold," said he, " that in men, as well as in horses, nothing can be great but what is nolle'.' It was, indeed, in oj^position to this notable aphorism, that I had mentioned the name of Cook with that encomium which provoked the wrath of Monboddo. CXir. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, Od March, 178S. I HAVE been more idle, and more in company this winter than I used to be ; which the doctor tells roe is good for my health. But I have not been quite idle. I have revised, with all the attention I am master of. Dr. Campbell's new translation of Matthew and iMatk, with the notes upon it, and ten or twelve of his preliminary dissertations ; and that this revisal has been the work of sometime, you will readily believe, when I tell you, that I liave written, of critical remarks, not less than se- venty or eighty quarto pages. Many of these, in- deed, I thought of little moment ; but as lovers be- fore marriage. are advised to be as quick-sighted, beattie's letters. lO.T and after marriage as blind as possible, to one an- other's fanlts, so I consider it as my duty to be as captious as possible in the revisal of a friend's work before publication, and when it is published to be captious no longer. The principal, however, is pleased to think more favourably than I do of my strictures, and tells me he has adopted nine-tenths of them. Of the translation of Luke and John, and the notes upon it, and of four or five more pre- liminary dissertations, he has the materials almost ready ; but they are not yet put together. The whole will amount to two large quartos at least ; and will, in my opinion, be one of the most im- portant publications that has appeared in our time. It is really a treasure of theological learning, exact criticism, and sound divinity; and has given me more information, in regard to what may be called scriptural knowledge, than all the other books I ever read. His translation conveys the meaning of the original very correctly, and, so far as I could observe, neither adds nor takes away a single idea ; but I have told him, that I wish it had been more strictly literal, and more conformable to the Greek (or rather to the Hebrew) idiom, which is in many things congenial to the English. His love of con- ciseness makes him sometimes less simple, though perhaps not less expressive, than the original, and sometimes less harmonious than the common ver- sion. But 1 believe most of the passages of this sort, that I objected to, will be mended. 104 beattie's letters. CXIII. TO THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. Aberdeen, 1 6th March, 1783. I DO not wonder that your grace should be greatly affected with lord Kaimes's kind remembrance in the hour of death. Friendship, that can stand such a test, must be very sincere indeed. But jou have other friends, who are capable of all this, though perhaps it may not be in their power to show it. Recollection and composure are not granted to all in those awful moments. On his own account, his death is not to be regretted ; but Mrs. Drummond* is much to be pitied. No man ever enjoyed life more than he; and, when we consider how little time he passed in sleep, we cannot sup- pose liis age to be less than one hundred and twenty. All his wishes, with respect to this world, were gratified ; and there is no reason to think that his life could have been prolonged without a prolongation of pain. I hope he employed a good hand to draw the picture. A good portrait of a dear friend is inestimable ; but an indifferent one is a daily and an hourly grievance. As I wish to die satisfied with every body, it gives me great pleasure to think, that, before his death, he be- came satisfied witli me : this, and many other good things, I owe to your grace. I need not attempt to express what I feel, in consequence of that kind invitation which your * The \vife of lord Kaimes, who assumed the name of Drummond, on succeeding to her family estate, on the death of her nephew. beattie's letters. 105 grace and the duke have honoured me with. I have been long accustomed to his grace's goodness and yours in this particular ; but I trust ray grati- tude is as lively as it was at the first. If my health would permit, and if I could get my family properly settled, nothing would hinder me from setting out for Gordon-castle the first or second week of April. CXIV. TO THE HONOURABLE MR. BARON GORDON. Aberdeen, 30th March, 1783. I REALLY do not know what to say, or what to think, of the times. They seem to exhibit scenes of confusion, which are too extensive for my poor head either to arrange or to comprehend. We had much need of peace ; but I know not whether we have reason to rejoice in the peace we have made. Yet lord Shelburne spoke plausibly for it ; but lord Loughborough was as plausible on the other side. When a controversy turns upon a fact, in regard t(» which the two contending parties are likely never to agree, a decision is not to be expected; and peo- ple may continue to wrangle, and to make speeches, till death ; like the president of the Robin-Hood, knock them down with his hammer, without co- ming one inch nearer the truth than they were at first. This seems to be the present case. If we were as much exhausted, and our enemies as pow- erful, as one party affirms, we had nothing for it but to sun'ender at discretion, and any peace was good enough for us : but if we were as little ex- hausted, and our enemies as little powerful, as the f2 106 beattie's letters. other party says, we might have made a struggle or two more before we called out for mercy. To the present confusion in our councils I can foresee no end, till the rage of party subside, or till the executiv. power regain some part of that influ- ence, which it has been gradually losing ever since 1 was capable of attending to public affairs. The encroachments that have lately been made on the power of the crown are so great as to threaten, in my opinion, the subversion of the monarchy. Our government is too democratical ; and what we want, in order to secure its permanence, is not more liberty, for we have too much ; but the ope- ration of a despotical principle, to take place in cases of great public danger. If it had not been for this, the consular state of Rome would not have existed two hundred years. I hate despotism, and love liberty, as much as any man ; but because me- dicine has sometimes killed as well as cured, I would not for that reason make a vow never to swallow a drug as long as I lived. The despotical principle I speak of, might be a little violent in its operation, like James's powders and laudanum ; but if it could allay paroxysms and fevers in the body-politic, (which, by judicious management, it certainly might do,) it would be a valuable addi- tion to the materia medica of government. CXV. TO the bishop of WORCESTER. Peterhead, 18th September, 1783. Your lordship's very kind letter, which I had the honour to receive about six weeks ago, demands beattie's letters. 107 my most grateful acknovvledgments. I wished to have made them sooner, but was prevented by a tedious indisposition ; from whicli, after long per- severance in the use of the sea-bath at this place, I am now recovered so far as to be able to atteud a little to the duties of life. I know not how to thank j'our lordship for ho- nouring my book with a perusal; nor have I words to express the pleasure which your approbation of it has afforded me. Some professed critics have been pleased to find much fault with it, and with me ; but your favourable opinion, my lord, is more than a sufficient counterbalance to all they have done or can do ; and satisfies me, that my endeavours to do a little good, and give a little harmless amuse- ment, have not been wholly unsuccessful. Indeed I have the happiness to find, that most of those who approve ray principles, are as friendly to this performance as i could desire. I have not yet met with Dr. Blair's " Lectures," but 1 hear they have been very well received. With respect to his ** Sermons," I am entirely of your opinion. Great merit they undoubtedly have; but I cannot discover in them that sublime simplicity of manner and style, which I have long thought essential to such compositions, and have seen so nobly exemplified in those of your lordship. Whether it will be in my power to prepare any more of my papers for the press, I know not ; but I shall keep the thing in view; and, if Providence grant me a moderate share of health and spirits, shall consider it as my Indispensable duty, as far as I am able, to promote the love of truth, and to op- pose the licentious doctrines that many authors of 108 deattie's letters. this age are labouring so industriously to establish. Though my last publication does not bear a con- troversial form, a great part of it was really in- tended, as your lordship observes, *' to correct some mistakes, and obviate some abuses, of other writers." I would have availed myself, with the greatest pleasure, of your lordship's most obliging invitation to Worcestershire; but I am not yet so well as to undertake a journey, and the business of my pro- fession will soon call me to Aberdeen, and confine me to the college. Next summer I hope I shall be in a condition to revisit England, and pay my re- spects to your lordship once more. CXVI. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, Cd Februarj', 1784. Mr. Dilly having informed me, that a new edition is wanted of the *' Minstrel," and the other little poems subjoined to it, I am now revising and cor- recting them for the last time. Will you permit me, madam, to inscribe them to you ? The in- scription shall be short and simple ; and, if you please, in the following terms : To MRS. MONTAGU, These little Poems, Now revised and corrected For the last time. Are, With every' Sentiment of Esteem and Gratitude, Most respectfully inscribed By the AUTHOR. beattie's letters. 109 I have another favour to ask, whicli is, tliat, as I have mentioned the name of our lamented friend. Dr. Gregory, in the conckuling stanza of the second book of the ** Minstrel," you will not forbid me to insert yours in the last stanza of tlie first. 1 had not the honour to be known to you when I pub- lished that first book ; and, intending to put the name of a friend in the last stanza, but being then undetermined with respect to the person, I left in one of the lines a blank space, which has been con- tinued in all the editions. That blank, witli your permission, shall now be filled up; and then the stanza will run thus : Here pause, my Gothic lyre, a little while; The leisure hour is all that thou canst claim : But on this verse if Montagu should smile. New lays ere long shall animate thy frame : And her applause to me is more than fame. For still with truth accords her taste refined. At lucre or renown let others aim ; I only wish to please the gentle mind. Whom nature's charms inspire, and love of human kind. It would give me no little pleasure to see in the same poem the names of Mrs. Montagu and Dr. Gregory; two persons so dear to me, and who had so sincere a friendship for one another. Besides, madam, I beg leave to put you in mind, that the first book of the poem was published at his desire, and the second at yours. So that I have more rea- sons than one for making this request. When this affair is settled, and the volume revised once more, I bid adieu to poetry for ever. I wish 1 could say of my voice what Milton said of his : that it Is 110 BEATTIE*S LETTERS. unchanged To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days. On evil days though fallen. But, alas! I am in the condition of Vifgil's forlorn shepherd, to whom, indeed, it better becomes me to compare myself: Omnia fert atas, animum quoque. Saepe ego longos Cantando puerum memini lue condere soles. Nunc oblita mihi tot carmina : vox quoque Mcerim Jam fugit ipsa. By the bye, I have a ^ood mind to make this a motto to my little poetical volume. CXVII. TO MISS VALENTINE.* Edinburgh, (JSth May, J78*. Many interesting matters have happened since I have been here ; and if 1 had time, I could write a wondrous long letter of news. The election of Scotch peers, the meeting of parliament, the state of parties, the old and the new ministry, Pitt and Fox, the general assembly — all these things are now forgotten; and nothing here is spoken or thought of but Mrs. Siddons, I have seen this wonderful person, not only on the stage, but in pri- vate company ; for I passed two days with her at tlie earl of Buchan's. Her powers in tragedy are beyond comparison great. I tiiought my old friend Garrick fell little or nothing short of theatrical • A niece of Dr. Beattie, and afterwards wife of Mr. Professor Glennie. BEATTIE S LETTERS. Ill perfection ; and I have peen him in liis prime, and in his highest characters : hut Garrick never af- fected me half so mncli as Mrs. Siddons has done. Indeed the heart tliat slie cannot subdue must be made of other materials than flesh and blood. In the " Caledonian Mercury" you will see, from time to time, some critical observations on her action, which are very well written. The enco- miums are high ; but I assure you they are not above her merit. James, too, has seen her, and is transported. He never till now, he says, knew what acting was. It was very difficult to procure places: but by the kind attentions of the duchess of Gordon, and lord and lady Buchan, I was nobly accommodated, and in the very best seats in the house. In private company, Mrs. Siddons is a modest, unassuming, sensible woman ; of the gen- tlest and most elegant manners. Her moral cha- racter is not only unblemished, but exemplary. She is above the middle size, and I suppose about thirt)'-four years of age. Her countenance is the most interesting that can be; and, excepting the duchess of Gordon's, the most beautiful I have ever seen. Her eyes and eye-brows are of the deepest black. She loves music, and is fond of the Scotch tunes ; many of which I played to her on tlie vio- loncello. One of them (" She rose and let me in," which you know is a favourite of mine) made the tears start from her eyes. " Go on," said she to me, " and you will soon have your revenge;" meaning, that I would draw as many tears from her as she had drawn from me. She sung " Queen Mary's Complaint" to admiration; and I had the honour to accompany her on the bass. 112 beattie's letters. CXVTII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES4 London, 1st July, 1781. Our rriend sir Joshua Reynolds is in perfect health and spirits. I dined with him the day after I carae to town, and on Sunday last, when general Paoli, Dr. Johnson, Mr. BoswelJ, and several others were there. Sir Joshua's picture of Mrs. Siddons is one of the greatest efforts of the pencil. He agrees with me, that she resembles Garrick in her coun- tenance. Old ?.Ir. Sheridan, who piques himself not a little on having been instrumental in bring- ing forward that incomparable actress, assured me the other day, that in every comic character, from lady Townly to Nell the cobler's wife, she is as great and as original as in tragedy. I asked Tom Uavies (the author of " Garrick's Life,"} Avhether he could account for Garrick's neglect, or rather discouragement of her. He imputed it to jealousy. *' How is it possible," said I, *' that Garrick could be jealous of a woman ?" '* He would have been jealous of a child," answered he, *' if that child had been a favourite of the public : to my certain knowledge he would." Johnson has got the better of his late illness; but has the look of decline. Wine, I think, would do him good, but he cannot be prevailed on to drink it. He has, however, a voracious appetite for food. I verily believe, that on Sunday last he ate as much to dinner as I have done in all for these ten days past. I sat an hour with Johnson the other day, and he spoke of you witli great kindness ; and sympathised with my beattie's letters. 113 situation in a manner that did honour to his feel- ings. CXIX. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Hunton, near Maidstone, Kent, 14th July, 1784. I AM now, ray dear sir, arrived at a place, where external nature wears a face of the most profound tranquillity ; and sit down to thank you for your two last letters, which came to hand the day before Ileft the town. It is so far fortunate, that Mrs. B's removal to Musselburgh was attended with so little inconvenience. My confidence in your friend- ship and goodness entirely satisfies me that you will soon put matters on a right footing. 1 lament, indeed, that your attention to me and mine should give you so much trouble ; but the cotisciousness of doing good to the unfortunate and forlorn will in part reward you ; and no mind ever possessed that consciousness in a more exquisite degree than yours has reason to do. The hot weather made London so disagreeable, that 1 was obliged to leave it before I had seen all my friends : I must make a longer stay when 1 re- turn thither. 1 wish I had time and capacity to give you a description of this parsonage. It is de- lightfully situated about half-way down a hill front- ing the south, about a mile from Coxheath. My windows command a prospect, extending southward about twelve miles, and from east to west not less, I suppose, than forty. In this whole space I do not see a single speck of ground that is not in the high- est degree cultivated ; for Coxheath is not in sight. The lawns in the neighbourhood, the hop-grounds. 114 beattie's letters. the rich verdure of the trees, and their endless variety, form a scenery so picturesque and so luxuriant, tliat it is not easy to fancy any thing finer. Add to this, the cottages, churches, and villages, rising here and there among the trees, and scattered over the whole country; clumps of oaks, and other lofty trees, disposed in ten tliousand dif- ferent forms, and some of them visible in the hori- zon at tlie distance of more than ten miles ; and you will have some idea of the beauty of Hunton. The only thing wanting is the murmur of running water; but we have some ponds and clear pools, that glitter through the trees, and have a very pleasing effect. With abundance of shade, we have no damp nor fenny ground ; and though the coun- try looks at a distance like one continued grove, the trees do not press upon us : indeed I do not at present see one that I could wish removed. There is no road within sight, the hedges that overhang the highways being very high ; so that we see nei- ther travellers nor carriages, and indeed hardly any thing in motion ; which conveys such an idea of peace and quiet, as J think I never was conscious of before ; and forms a most striking contrast with the endless noise and restless multitudes of Picca- dilly. But what pleases me most at Hunton is not now in view ; for my friend, the bishop of Chester, is gone out a riding. You are no stranger to the cha- racter of this amiable man. Mrs. Porteus is not less amiable. Their house is the mansion of peace, piety, and cheerfulness. The bishop has improved his parsonage and the grounds about it as much as they can be improved, and made it one of the plea- beattie's letters. lir> santest spots in England. The whole is bounded by a winding gravel-walk, about half a mile in cir- cumference. Cloi^e by lives a most agreeable lady, with whom we all breakfasted to-day. She is the widow of sir Roger Twisden ; and, though not more than five-and-twenty, lives in this elegant re- tirement, and employs herself chiefly in the educa- tion of her daughter, a line child of four years of age, who is mistress of her catechism, and reads wonderfully well. I expect soon to see our friend Mr. Langton, as the bishop proposes to send him an invitation, Rochester being only ten miles off. Tunbridge-wells is fifteen miles the other way. CXX. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Hunton, near Maidstone, Kent, 31st July, 1784. VouR last letter having given me the fullest as- surance that the unfortunate object of our atten- tion is now in circumstances as comfortable as lier condition will admit of, I have been endeavouring to relieve my mind, for a time at least, from that load of anxiety which has so long oppressed it ; and I already feel the happy consequences of this en- deavour. My health is greatly improved ; and, if this rheumatism would let me alone, I might al- most say that I am quite well. Certain it is, that I have not been so well any time these four years. The tranquillity and beauty, the peace and the plent}', of this charming country, are a continual feast to my imagination ; and I must be insensible, indeed, if the kindness, the cheerfulness, the piety, and the instructive conversation of my excellent friend the bishop of Chester and liis amiable lady, IH) bkattie's letters. did not powerfully operate in soothing my mind, and improving my heart. Those people of fashion in the neighbourhood, who visit the bishop, and are visited by him, are a small but select society, and eminently distinguished for their piety, polite- ness, literature, and hospitality. Among them, I have found some old friends, whom I formerly knew in London; and have acquired some new ones, on whom 1 set a very high value. ^Mr. Lang- ton and lady Rothes have just left us, after a nsit of two days. You will readily imagine with what regret we parted v.ith them. Our friend Langton is continually improving in virtue, learning, and every other thing that is good. I always admired and loved him ; but now I love and admire him more than ever. We had much conversation about you. I have given the bishop a full account of my family transactions, particularly for the last twelve- month. He highly approves of every thing that has been done; bestows great commendations on my conduct ; and has given me such advices as one would expect from his good sense and knowledge of the world. I have not yet fixed a day for my de- parture from this paradise ; but I fear it must he in the course of next week. My friends urge me to prolong my stay, and I am much disposed to do so; but I must now remember, that the year begins to decline, and I have several other visits to make, and things to do, before I leave England. Mean- while I shall, from time to time, let you know where I am, and what I am doing. Any letter you may favour me with, you will be pleased to put un- der the bishop of Chester's cover. If I could give you an adequate idea of the way in BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 117 which we pass our time at Hunton, I am sure you would be pleased with it. Tliis is a rainy day, and I have nothing else to do at present : why, then, should I not make the trial ? Our hour of breakfast is ten. Immediately before it, the bishop calls his family together, prays with them, and gives them his blessing : the same thing is constantly done after supper, when we part for the night. In the intervals of breakfast, and in the evening, when there is no company, his lordship sometimes reads to us in some entertaining book. After breakfast, we separate, and amuse ourselves as we think proper, till four, the hour of dinner. At six, when the weather is fair, we either walk, or make a visit to some of the clergy or gentry in the neighbourhood, and return about eight. We then have music, in which I am sorry to say that I am almost the only performer, I have got a violoncello, and play Scotch tunes, and perform Handel's, Jackson's, and other songs, as well as I can; and my audience is very willing to be pleased. The bishop and Mrs. Porteus are both fond of mu- sic. These musical parties are often honoured with the company of the accomplished and amiable lady Twisden, of whom I gave you some account in my last. Observe that there are in this part of Kent no fewer than three ladies of that name : but the one I speak of, is lady Twisden of Jennings, in the parish of Hunton ; who, in the course of one year, was a maid, a wife, a widow, and a mother; whose husband, sir Roger, died about tive years ago ; and who, though possessed of beauty and a large for- tune, and not more than twenty-five years of age, has ever since lived in this retirement, employing 118 beattie's letters. herself partly in study, but chiefly in acts of piety and beneficence, and in tlie education of her little daughter, who is, indeed, a very fine child. I have just now before me Miss Hannah More's " Sacred Dramas," which I borrowed from lady Twisden, and in which I observe that she has marked her favourite passages with a nicety of selectioti, that does great honour to her heart, as well as to her judgment. By the bye. Miss More is an author of very considerable merit. My curiosity to see her works was excited by Johnson, who told me, with great solemnity, that she was *' the most powerful versificatrix" in the English language. So much for our week-days. On Sundays, at eleven, we repair to church. It is a small, but neat building, with a pretty good ring of six bells. The congregation are a stout, well-featured set of peo- ple, clean and neat in their dress, and most exem- plary in the decorum with which they perform the several parts of public worship. As we walk up the area to the bishop's pew, they all make, on each side, a profound obeisance, and the same as we return. The prayers are very well read by Mr. Hill, the curate, and the bishop preaches. I need not tell you now, because I think I told you before, that bishop Porteus is, in my opinion, the best preacher, in respect both of composition and of de- livery, I liave ever heard. In this capacity, indeed, he is universally admired, and many of the gentry come to hear him from the neighbouring parishes. After evening service, during the summer months, his lordsljip generally delivers from his pew a cata- chetical lecture, addressed to the children, who, for this purpose, are drawn up in a line before him beattie's letters. liy along the area of the church. In these lectures he explains to them, in the simplest and clearest man- ner, yet with his usual elegance, the fundamental and essential principles of religion and morality; and concludes with an addiess to the more ad- vanced in years. This institution of the bishop's I greatly admire. When children see themselves so much attended to, and so much pains taken in instructing them, they cannot fail to look upon reli- gion as a matter of importance; and, if they do so, it is not possible for them, considering the advan- tages they enjoy, to be ignorant of it. The cata- chetical examinations in the church of Scotland (such of them at least as I have seen) are extremely ill calculated for doing good ; being encumbered with metaphysical distinctions, and expressed in a technical language, which to children are utterly unintelligible, and but little understood even by the most sagacious of the common people. The bishop told me, that he chose to deliver this lecture from his pew, and without putting on lawn sleeves, that it might make the stronger impression upon the children ; having observed, he said, that what is delivered from the pulpit, and with the usual for- malities, is too apt to be considered, both by the young and the old, as a thing of course. On Sun- day evening he sometimes reads to his servants a brief and plain abstract of the Scripture history, somewhat similar so that vi'hich was lately pub- lished by JMrs. Trimmer, and formerly by lady New- haven. In no other district of Great Britain, that I have seen, is there so little the ajjpearance of poverty, and such indications of competence and satisfac- 120 beattie's letters. tiou in the countenance and dress of the common people, as in this part of Kent. In this parish there is only one alehouse, the profits whereof are incon- siderable. The people are fond of cricket-matches, at which there is a great concourse of men, women, and children, with good store of ale and beer, cakes, gingerbread, &c. One of these was solemnized a few nights ago in a field adjacent to the parish church. It broke up about sun-set, with much merriment, but without drunkenness or riot. The contest was between the men of Hunton and the men of Peckham ; and the latter were victorious. CXXI. TO DR. PORTEUS, EISHOP OF CHESTER. Sandleford, near Newbury, Berks, 18th August, 178*. It is but a week since I exchanged the paradise of Hunton for tlie purgatory of London ; and it seems almost a year: so much, during that short period, have 1 suffered fiom heat, and bustle, and bad air, and (what is worst of all) from sorrow of heart at parting with the best of friends. The month which I passed at Hunton was the happiest of my life ; and I dare not flatter myself with the hope of such another. But I shall, as long as I live, derive satis- faction froni recalling the persons, the conversa- tions, and the scenery of it; which now occupy so large a space (if I may so expi-ess myself) in my imagination, that there is hardly room for the in- trusion of any otlier idea. On Saturday and Sunday I was so overpowered by the intolerable heat of tlie town, that on IMonday I was glad to make my escape a second time into the country. I passed the night at Reading, and beattie's letters. 121 yesterday at three o'clock arrived here ; where I found Mrs. Montagu and her nephew in perfect health, and very anxious in their inquiries after the health of Mrs. Porteus and your lordship. I had not been here five minutes, when the wind on a sudden shifted, with a violent squall, to the north- east, and the weather in an instant changed from very hot to very cold, as it still continues to be. This place is much improved since I saw it last. A great deal of brick-building and garden-wall is cleared away, and the lawn is opening very fast on every side. A little rivulet, that used to wander, unheard and unseen, through a venerable grove of oaks, is now collected into two large and beautiful pieces of water, round which the walks and grounds are laid out to very great advantage indeed. The situation is on an eminence, with a gentle slope of a quarter of a mile towards the south ; and from every part of the lawn there is a beautiful prospect, first of a romantic village, called Newtown, and be- yond that of the Hampshire hills, some of which are tufted with wood, and others bare, and green, and smooth to the top. At a distance of about thirty yards from the house of Sandleford, stood formerly an old chapel, (for the place was once a priory,) which, for a century past, or more, had been neglected, or used as a place for lumber. This Mrs. Montagu has trans- formed into a very magnificent room, and joined to the main body of the house by a colonnade ; which, expanding in the middle, and rising to the height of thirty feet at least, forms a noble drawing-room of an elliptical shape. When the doors of these rooms are thrown open, the walk, from end to end, VOL. II. G 122 beattie's letters. is upwards of a hundred feet, and the heighth and breadth proportionable. The dining-room termi- nates in a very large window in the Gothic style, reaching from the floor almost to the roof, and looking into a grove of tall oaks, which, with a happy and very peculiar effect, retire from the eye in four rows, and give to this spacious apartment the appearance of a vast arbour. From this ac- count, if I have done any justice to my idea, you will conclude, and justly too, that there is some little resemblance between this room and the new room at Hunton. CXXII. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Peterhead, Uth October, iWi. 1 ARRIVED at Peterhead the first of October. I went instantly to Mrs. Arbuthnot,* whom I found in tolerable health, sitting solitary by her little fire, and amusing herself, as usual, with a book and her work; both of which she has the art of attending to at the same time. She was the more pleased to see me, as my arrival was unexpected ; for she had not heard that I was returned to Scotland. After she had asked all the customary questions, I told her, without betraying any emotion, or seeming to have any thing in view but her amusement, that if she was at leisure, I would tell her a story. I ac- cordingly began ; and, agreeably to the commission with which you honoured me, made a very long and * The widow of a captain x\ndrew Arbuthnot of Peter- head, on whom Mrs. Montagu bestowed a small annuity. beattie's letters. 123 circumstantial story of it, recapitulating, as far as my memory would enable me, every thing that pass- ed in that conversation at Sandleford, of which she and her aunt, Mrs. Cockburn, were the subject. I saw she was greatly affected with the idea of your thinking so favourably of her aunt, and with your condescension in inquiring so minutely into hei* own story and character ; but I did not throw out a single hint that could lead her to anticipate what was to follow. At last, when I found that her heart was thoroughly warmed, and recollected your observation, that the human heart in that state be- comes malleable, I hastened to the conclusion, which I expressed in the simplest and fewest words possible; so that the whole struck her at one and the same instant. She attempted an exclamation, but it was inarticulate, and almost resembled a scream ; the tears ran down her furrowed cheeks ; and she could only say " O dear, I cannot speak one word!" and seemed almost exhausted with the effort that had produced that short sentence. I de- sired her not to attempt to speak, but to hear me a little farther; and then told her, madam, that sucli acts of beneficence were familiar things to you ; and mentioned some instances that had come to my knowledge, particularly that of Mrs. Williams. She held up her eyes and hands, sometimes in silent adoration of Providence, and sometimes with the most passionate expressions of gratitude to her noble benefactress. In a word, madam, she ac- cepted your bounty in a way that did honour both to her understanding and to her feelings ; and I left her to compose herself by silent meditation. In- deed, I made haste to get away after I had executed ]2i beattie's letters. my commission ; for the scene was so delightfully affecting, that I could stand it no longer. When the news was known next day in the town, it diffused a very general joy ; and many an honest heart invoked the blessing of Heaven upon your head : for Mrs. Arbuthnot's character is exceed- ingly respected by all who know her; and her nar- row circumstances have long been matter of general regret; as the delicacy of her mind was well known, which no doubt discouraged some persons from making a direct offer of their services, though indirectly, 1 believe, tliat some little matters have been done for her benefit. Yet, since her husband's death, which happened four-and-forty years ago, I know not whether she was at any time worth ten pounds a-year. With this small appointment she has constantly maintained the appearance of a gen- tlewoman, and has received the visits of the best people in the town and neighbourhood, whom she was always happy to entertain with a dish of tea ; and among her visitors can reckon the present duchess of Gordon, the countess of Errol, lord Sal- toun's family, sir William Forbes, and many others of the best fashion. What is yet more strange, with this small appointment, she has always found means to be charitable to the poor; and when I have seen her dealing out her alms, which was commonly a handful of oatmeal to each person, I know not how often she has put me in mind of the widow in the Gospel. There are several persons of her name in this town; and, therefore, it may be proper to inform you, that her distinguishing name is Mrs. Andrew Arbuthnot. The name Arbuthnot is frequent in beattie's letters. 125 the neiglibomhood. The great Dr. John Arbuth- not, so eminent for his virtue, his learning, and his wit, was the grandson of a gentleman-farmer, who lived at a place called Scots-mill, three miles fi'om this town ; and Dr. Arbuthnot and captain Andrew Arbuthnot were second cousins. I am afraid Mrs. Arbuthnot will not long stand in need of your bounty; for she is seventy-six years of age, and suffers mucli from a cough and asthma. I was introduced to her about twenty years ago, by hernephew, Mr. Arbuthnot of Edinburgh, and have since been as attentive to her as I could ; of which she is so sensible, that sometimes, in the extrava- gance of her gratitude, she has called me her good genius. She actually gave me that appellation in the first draught of that letter which she wrote to you about a week ago, and which I hope, madam, you have received; but I prevailed with her to change the phrase. Since I came hither I have been seven or eight times in the sea ; and I think I am already the bet- ter for it. Only, for three or four hours after every plunge, I am a little disconcerted by a confusion in the head, and a tremor in the hands ; of which I am afraid you will see too many proofs in this let- ter : but that symptom will probably disappear when I am a little more accustomed to salt-water. I shall remain here a fortnight longer ; and then the business of the college will fix me in Aberdeen for the winter. Permit me now, madam, to thank you for your most obliging letter of the 20th of September, which, after wandering long from place to place, has overtaken me at last. The harvest scenes, 126 beattie's letters. which interest you so much, were also very interest- ing to me in the course of my journey through Eng- land ; for the weather was the finest that could be, and every scythe and sickle, and the waggons, and the gleaners, were all in motion. With peculiar Satisfaction I took notice of that laudable English custom, of permitt'ing the poor and the infirm to glean the fields. How shall I thank you, madam, and my amiable friend, Mr. Montagu, for the kind invitation you gave my son and me to pass some part of the en- suing spring at Sandleford ! Be assured, it will be a grievous disappointment to us both if we cannot get tliat matter accomplished. If my domestic af- fairs continue quiet, as I thank God they are at present, I liope we shall find no difficulty in it. CXXIII. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 31st January, 1785. The sea-bath was of considerable service to me ; and as this has been the most quiet winter I have passed these seven years, I am rather in better liealth than usual, and have of late been making some progress in a little work, of which you saw a sketch at Sandleford, and which you did me the ho- nour to read and approve of. It was your approba- tion, and that of the bishop of Chester and sir Wil- liam Forbes, that determined me to revise, correct, and enlarge it, with a view to publication. When finished, it will make two little volumes, of the size ofMr. Jenyns'sbook on the *' Internal Evidence of Christianity." My plan is more comprebensive beattie's letters. 127 than his, and takes in the external evidence of mi- racles and prophecy, as well as the internal. That you may see, madam, somewhat more distinctly what I intend, I beg leave to transcribe the follow- ing paragraph from my introduction : *' I have met with little practical treatises, called, * Ten minutes advice ' — to those who are about to engage in such or such an enterprise. These per- formances may have their use, though they do not contain a full detail of the business alluded to. I mean to give * Two hours advice ' — to that person, who may be in danger from the books or from the company of infidels, and who is candid enough to desire to be informed, in few words, whether the evidence on the other side be so plausible, as to de- serve the notice of a rational mind. If I shall sa- tisfy him that it is, he will naturally lay me aside, and have recourse, for farther information, to those great authors, who have gone through the whole subject, and illustrated and proved many things, which the narrowness of my plan permits me only to affirm, or, perhaps, only to hint at. And (which is far the most important part of the whole procedure) he will, at the same time, reverently consult those sacred oracles, which contain the his- tory of divine revelation; and which he will find more frequently, perhaps, and more fully, than he is aware of, to carry their own evidence along with them. And when he has done all this, in the spirit of candour, with a humble and docile mind, and with a sincere desire to know the truth and his duty, I may venture to assure him, that he will not regret the time he has employed in the study ; and that, from the writings or conversation of unbe- 128 beattie's letters. lievers, lirs faith will never be in danger any more." Your sentiments of Dr. Arbuthnot agree entirely with mine. He had, I think, more wit and hu- mour, and he certainly had much more virtue and learning, than either Pope or Swift. The eloquence and ostentation of Bolingbroke could never impose on Arbuthnot : he told his son, (whom T once had the honour to converse with at Richmond) that he knew Bolingbroke was an infidel, and a worthless vain man. The doctor was the son of a clergyman of this country, and was educated at the INIaris- chal college. His grandfather lived at a place called Scots-mill, in a romantic situation on the brink of a river, about thi-ee miles from Peterhead j a place which I often visit as classic ground, as being probably the place where the doctor, Avhen a school-boy, might often pass his holydays. I am informed, that the late Dr. Hunter bequeathed an original picture of Arbuthnot to that university at which it should appear that he had been educated. If this be true, it is the property of the INIarischal college. If I knew any thing of Dr. Hunter's ex- ecutors, I would write to them on the subject ; as the picture has never appeared. CXXIV. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 7th February^ 1785. The quiet which I have enjoyed this winter, espe- cially since I received your letter, has not only given me better health than usual, but has also left my mind at leisure to resume that little work on the *' Evidence of Christianity," of which you saw a beattie's letters. 129 sketch last summer. All the introductory part is now written, and the part you saw is extended to double its former size. One entire section is added on the evidence arising from prophecy; and, iii evincing the usefulness of revelation, I have had occasion to make some additional remarks on the insufficiency of the ancient philosophy, and the characters of the philosophers. Whether tins work shall ever be of use to others, I know not ; but this I know, that it has been of considerable benefit to myself: for though, when I entered upon it, I understood my subject well enough to entertain no doubt of the goodness of my cause, yet I find, as I advance, new light continually breaking in upon me. My list of Scotticisms is also very much enlarged. I believe I shall print it here for the convenience of correcting the press, which, in the present state of the post-office, cannot be done by a person at a di- stance. If you see Mr. Creech, please to ask what number of copies I shall send to him. It will be a pretty large pamphlet, and the price shall not ex- ceed a shilling. Dr. Campbell's preliminary dissertations are all finished: they alone will make a large quarto. I have read them all with great pleasure. They are a treasury of theological learning; and written with a degree of candour, as well as precision, of which, in matters of this kind, the world has seen very few examples. G 2 130 BEAT tie's LETTERS/ CXXV. TO THE REV. DR. LAING. Aberdeen, 13th February, 1785. You may believe, that your accounts of Mrs. Ar- buihnot's recovery, so far exceediug what I ex- pected, gave rue the greatest pleasure. I see now, she will soon be what she was before ; which I heartily pray may be the case. I was rather in low- spirits about her when I wrote last to Mrs. JMon- tagu. In tliat lady's last letter to me, dated 21st No- vember, there are some sentences, which I shall set down here, as I know they will give Mrs. Arbuth- not pleasure. " My mind is so much engaged by Mrs. Arbuth- iiot, I cannot think of any thing else. Sometimes I think I am wicked, in not Ijeing thankful enough that I am at last admitted to her friendship. I fret and repine that I had not that happiness many years sooner. Alas ! what presumption is it in me to repine at this! As if I deserved the heartfelt de- light of being in any degree serviceable to one of the best of human beings ! What pleasure should I have had in her correspondence ! VVhile I read your ac- count of her noble and delicate manner of receiving the friendship of one wlio had a high veneration for her and her aunt, I lived along the line, and every word excited a sensation. I am pleased to find, that by her husband she is so nearly allied to my tirst favourite of all the beauj: espritSy Dr. Ar- buthnot. He had none of the peevish jealousies of Mr. Pope, nor the harshness and pride of Dr. Swift. Conscious of more noble endowments, he was not beattie's letters. 131 anxious to obtain the character of a wit. There is such ease, and so natural an air in his writings, as prove him to have been witty without effort or con- trivance. I have heard my old friend, lord Bacli, speak nf him with great affection, as a most worthy and amiable man, and as a companion more plea- sant and entertaining than either Pope or Swift. When I find much to admire in an author, I always wish to hear he has qualities for which I may es- teem and love him ; and 1 have listened with great pleasure to lord Bath's and the late lady Hervey's praises of Dr. Arbuthnot. With what delight must our friend at Peterhead read the works of so ami- able a relation ! but the only real and sincere hap^ piness which remains for her" What follows is a compliment to me, which, as I do not at all deserve, I shall not transcribe. In my answer you will suppose that I did not fail to express my approbation of her sentiments of Dr. Arbuthnot, which coincide exactly with my own. I have told her of Scots-mill, and of my making pilgrimages to it as classic ground ; and I liave told her every thing I know of Dr. Arbuth-. not's history, so far as relates to this country. I believe, however, I omitted to tell her, that he and I are of the same county, and that I had the honour to be born within four miles of the place of his birth. 132 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. CXXVI. TO DR. PORTEUSj BISHOP OF CHESTER. Aberdeen, Cist Oetcber, 1785. I READ lately Sheridan's *' Life of Swift." It is panegyric from beginning to end. Swift had many good as well as great qualities ; but his character was surely, upon the whole, very exceptionable. Mr. Sheridan, however, will not admit that he had any fault. Even his brutality to Stella on her death- bed, which undoubtedly hastened her dissolution, his biographer endeavours to apologize for; and he has a great deal of very unsatisfactory reasoning on the subject of the YaJwos. The question is not, whether that man is not a very odious animal who finds his own likeness in those filthy beings ; but whether Swift did not intend his account of them as a satire on human nature, and an oblique cen- sure of Providence itself in the formation of the human body and soul. That this was Swift's mean- ing, is to me as evident as that he wrote the book : and yet I do not find my own likeness in the Ya- Jwos ; I only know, for I think I could prove, that Swift wished it to be understood, as his opinion, that the human species and the Yahoo are equally detestable. jNIr. Sheridan, too, is not, I think, jQver candid in what he says of lord Orrery ; whose hook, though not free from faults, contains some good criticism, and shows no little tenderness for the character of his hero. I long to see Dr. Johnson's *' Prayers and INledi- tations," and Mr.Boswell's ** Journey to the He- brides ;" but it will be a great while before they find their way to this remote corner. beattie's letters. 133 Has your lordship read Dr. Reid's "Essays ou the Intellectual Faculties of Man ?" Those readers, who have been conversant in the modern philo- sophy of the mind, as it appears in the writings of Des Cartes, Malebranche, Locke, Berkeley, and Hume, will be much entertained with this work, which does great honour to the sagacity and pa- tience of the author. It contains the principles of his former book laid down on a larger scale, and applied to a greater variety of subjects. Ever since Plato, or rather Pythagoras, took it into his head, that the soul perceives only what is contiguous to, or enclosed in, its own substance, and consequently perceives not outward things themselves, but only ideas of them, this ideal system has been increasing in bulk and absurdity ; and it is astonishing to see, that so many men of parts could be the dupes of it. All this rubbish is now cleared away, and a happy riddance it is. Dr. Reid treats his opponents and their tenets with a respect and a solemnity, that sometimes tempt me to smile. His style is clear and simple ; and his aversion to the word idea so great, that I think he never once uses it in deliver- ing his own opinions. That little word has indeed been a source of much perplexity to metaphysi- cians ; but it is easy to use it without ambiguity ; and it has now established itself in the language so effectually, that we cannot w-ell do without it. It was not without reason that the learned Stilling- fieet took the alarm at Locke's indiscreet use of that word. It was indeed an ignis futims to poor Mr. Locke, and decoyed him, in spite of his excel- lent understanding, into a thousand pits and quag- mires. Berkeley it bewildered still more j and it 134 beattie's letters. reduced David Hume to the condition of a certain old gentleman, of wliom we read, that. — Fluttering his pinions vain, Plumb down he dropp'd ten thousand fathom deep. CXXVII. TO ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESQ. Aberdeen, 26th November, 1785. Mr. Bos\^ ell's book* is arrived at last, and I have just gone through it. He is very good to me, as Dr. Johnson always was ; and I am very grateful to both. But I cannot approve the plan of such a work. To publish a man's letters, or his conver- sation, without his consent, is not, in my opinion, quite fair : for how many things, in the hour of re- laxation, or in friendly correspondence, does a man throw out, which he would never wish to hear of again ; and what a restraint would it be on all so- cial intercourse, if one were to suppose that every word one utters would be entered in a register ! ^Ir. Bos well indeed says, that there are few men who need be under any apprehension of that sort. This is true ; and the argument he founds on it would be good, if he had published nothing but what Dr. Johnson and he said and did : for John- son, it seems, knew that the publication would be made, and did not object to it ; but ISIr. B. has pub- lished the sayings and doings of other people, who never consented to any such thing ; and who little thought, when they were doing their best to enter- tain and amuse the two travellers, that a story ♦ " Tour to the Hebrides." beattie's letters. 13d would be made of it, and laid before the public. I approve of the Greek proverb, that says, *' I hate a bottle-companion with a memory." If my friend, after eating a bit of mutton with me, should go to the coffee-house, and there give an account of every thing that hud passed, I believe I should not take it well. Of Dr. Johnson himself, as well as of others, many things are told which ought to have been suppressed ; such, I mean, as are not in any re- spect remarkable, and such as seem to betray ra- ther infirmity or captiousness, than genius or vir- tue. Johnson said of " The Man of the World," that he found little or nothing in it. Why should this be recorded ? Is there any wit in it ; or is it likely to be of any use ? The greatest dunce on earth is capable of saying as good a thing. Of a very promising young gentleman, to whom Dr. Johnson was under the highest obligations, (for he had risked his life in Johnson's service,) and who, to the great grief of all who knew him, unfortu- nately perished at sea about ten years ago, Dr. Johnson said, that it was pity he was not more in- tellectual. Why should this be recorded ? I will allow, that one friend might, without blame, say this to another in confidence ; but to publish it to the world, when it cannot possibly give pleasure to any person, and will probably give pain to some, is, in my judgment, neither wit nor gratitude; and I am sure Mr. Boswell, who is a very good-natured man, would have seen it in this light, i-f he had given himself time to think of it. At Aberdeen the two travellers were most hospitably entertained, as they themselves acknowledge j and when they 136 beattie's letters. left it, they said to one another, that they had heard at Aberdeen nothing which deserved atten- tion. There was nothing in saying tliis : but why is it recorded ? For no reason that I can imagine, unless it be in order to return evil for good. I found so many passages of this nature in the book, that, upon the whole, it left ratlier a disagreeable impression upon my mind ; though I readily own there are many thincs in it which pleased me. The bishop of Chester's thoughts on this sub- ject are so pertinent and so well expressed, that I am sure you wall like to see them : *' You will," says his lordship in a letter which I received yes- terday, *' be entertained with Mr. Bosweil's book, and edified with some of Johnson's prayers ; but you will wish that many things in both those pub- lications had been omitted ; and, perhaps, if they had not existed at all, it v.ould have been better still. Johnson's friends will absolutely kill him with kindness. His ov,n character, if left to itself, would naturally raise him very high in the estima- tion of mankind; but by loading it with panegyric, anecdotes, lives, journals, &c. and by hanging round it even all his little foibles and inlirraities, they will sink it lower in the opinion of the best judges of merit. I saw lately a letter from Mrs. Piozzi, (late Mrs. Tbrale,) in which slie announces her * Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson' to be published this winter ; and after that are to follow his Letters to her, &c. Mr. Boswell also is to give us his Life ; and sir John Hawkins is writing another, to be prefixed to a complete edition of his works. Our modest and worthy friend, Mr.Langton, is the only one who observes a profound silence on this occa- beattie's letters. 137 sion ; and yet no one could speak to better purpose, if he pleased, and if he thought it would answer any good end." Johnson's harsh and foolish censure of Mrs. Montagu's book does not surprise me j for I have heard him speak contemptuously of it. It is, for all that, one of the best, most original, and most elegant pieces of criticism in our language, or any other. Johnson had many of the talents of a cri- tic ; but his want of temper, his violent prejudices, and something, I am afraid, of an envious turn of mind, made him often a very unfair one. Mrs. Montagu was very kind to him ; but Mrs. Montagu has more wit than any body ; and Johnson could not bear that any person should be thought to have wit but himself. Even lord Chesterfield, and, what is more strange, even Mr. Burke, he would not al- low to have wit. He preferred Smollett to Field- ing. He would not grant that Armstrong's poem on *' Health," or the tragedy of " Douglas," had any merit. He told me, that he never read Milton through, till he was obliged to do it, in order to gather words for his Dictionary. He spoke very peevishly of the masque of Comus ; and when I urged that there was a great deal of exquisite poetry in it ; " Yes," said he, '* but it is like gold hid under a rock ;" to which I made no reply; for indeed I did not well understand it. Pray, did you ever see Mr. Potter's " Remarks on Johnson's Lives of the Poets ?" It is very well worth reading. By a Latin letter which T lately received from Holland, I am informed, that Dutch translations of the first part of my last book, and of my ** Re- marks on Laughter," have been published, the one 138 beattie's letters. at Haerlem, the other at Doit. I am greatly ob- liged to the Dutch. The " Essay on Truth" they translated twelve years ago ; and I have a copy of the version, -which, I am told by those who un- derstand the language, is very exact. I become every day more and more doubtful of the propriety of publishing the Scotticisms. Our language (I mean the English) is degenerating very fast ; and many phrases, which I know to be Scot- tish idioms, have got into it of late years : so that many of my strictures are liable to be opposed by authorities which the world accounts unexception- able. However, I shall send you the manuscript, since you desire it, and let you dispose of it as you please. CXXVIII, TO THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER. Aberdeen, 21st July, 1786. Had not my right-hand been disabled by a bruise, of which I have not entirely got the better, I should have sooner returned my grateful acknowledgments to your lordship, for your most obliging letter. Your approbation of my little book * does me the greatest honour, and will have much influence in rendering it successful. Lord Hailes, with whom I passed a day not long ago, is also well pleased with it; and, in general, it seems likely to meet with a reception far more favourable than I had reason to expect. It is indeed a very brief summary; but my fjiends are pleased to think it has on that ac- • ,'' Evidences of the Christian Religion," eeattie's letters. 139 count a better chance, in these days, to be read, than if it had been of a greater size. Before I put it to the press, I was very anxious to see your lordship's '* Sermons," (preached at Lincohi's-inn,) of which I had heard such an ac- count as greatly raised my curiosity. But even the best books find their way slowly into this remote corner. I have read the book once and again with great delight ; and it will be my own fault if I am not the better for it as long as I live. My approba- tion can add nothing to its fame ; yet I must beg leave to say, that I particularly admire your happy talent in expounding difficult texts, and the perspi- cuity, conciseness, and elegance of your style ; which I look upon as the perfection of pulpit-elo- quence ; being equally captivating to the learned, and intelligible to the simple. Though my health will not now permit me to attempt a long journey, yet I still flatter myself with the hope that I shall one day avail myself of your kind invitation, and pay my duty to your lord- ship at Hartlebury. The last time I was in Eng- land I did seriously intend it, but was prevented by illness. CXXIX. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 14th September, 1786. I AM indebted to you for two very affectionate and entertaining letters, and will endeavour to answer them as soon as my head and hand are a little bet- ter settled. At present 1 can hardly hold a pen. I am very happy to hear of your visit to Hunton. 140 beattie's letters. I often wished the bishop of Chester and you ac- quainted. He wrote me word of liis having met with lady Forbes and you, and, of the great satis- faction he had in the hopes of a visit from you. You would like Mrs. Porteus greatly. Her cheer- fulness, good sense, and goodness of heart, make her a most excellent companion for the bishop, and exceedingly beloved by all who know her. As you were but a day at Hunton, you would see but little of lady Twisden, who is as remarkable for modesty as for every other virtue ; but if you had been with her for some days, you would have found her most worthy of that character which I think I formerly gave you of her. We have had much talk about uniting our two colleges.* I was desired to write to you about it long ago ; but would not then trouble you, as lady Forbes was indisposed ; and of late I have not been able to write. The union is much approved of by the country in general ; but it is opposed by the principal and six of the professors of King's Col- lege. I shall tell you more about it very soon, and send you some memorials and other papers. CXXX. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 30th November, 178fi. I AM greatly obliged to you, my dear sir, for your very kind letter of the 16th; no part of which gave me more pleasure, than the account you fa- • The King's and Marischal colleges of Old and New Aberdeen, the scheme of which was subsec^uently aban- beattie's letters. 141 VOKr me with of your son's proficiency. You did very right in sending him to pass some months in England. At his age it is not so difficult, as it comes to be afterwards, to get the better of a pro- vincial dialect; and I am very happy to understand that he has acquired so much of the English pro- nunciation ; Greek and Latin he had in sufficient abundance before. It will likewise be of singular use to him to have been in a strange country for a little time ; for such we may call England, not- withstanding we all live under the same govern- ment; so very different are the customs and modes, both of thinking and speaking, from those of Scot- land. His passing a few months in France next year will tend still more to his improvement, by presenting him with a system of manners still more different from those of his own country, and by preparing him betimes for a correct pronunciation of the French tongue. Youth is the best time both for acquiring languages, and for getting the better of those national prejudices, which are so apt to adhere to the man who has never stirred from home ; and which are equally unfriendly to Chris- tian charity, to true politeness, and, I may add, to the advancement of a man's interest even in this world. The opposition to the projected scheme of uniting the colleges is much to be regretted ; but, as the voice of the country is so clearly on the side of those who favour the union, I would fain hope, that in time the opposition may become more faint, and at last be withdrawn altogether. At present, mat- ters seem to be at a stand. The arguments on both sides have been prosecuted with a minuteness, and 142 beattie's letters. perhaps, too, with an acrimony, which was unne- cessary ; but such things must always be expected in such cases ; and were an union, after all, to take place, I am persuaded, that those altercations would be immediately forgotten, and that we should be better friends than ever. Such revolutions hap- pen in love and friendship; and why may they not happen in a contest like the present ? in which, properly speaking, there is no hostility ; the only thing aimed at being to make both societies more respectable than ever they were before, without injury to any private interest whatever. I have the pleasure to inform you, that Marischal college is this year more crowded with students than it has been any time these fifty years. Our public hall is indeed quite full, so that there is reason to think it was never better filled than at present. The other college is not so flourishing. Their stu- dents are said to be under ninety ; ours to be above a hundred and forty. I will not say that this ac- count is perfectly exact, but have reason to think it is nearly so. I am just now reading lord Hailes's new perform- ance against Mr. Gibbon. There is much learning in it, and great knowledge of the subject; but I wish he would make his reasoning a little more pointed and popular. He often leaves his reader to draw the conclusions from his premises ; which is the most inoffensive way of conducting controversy, but not perhaps the most instructive. It gives me also concern to see so very able and so learned a writer affect sometimes the new-fangled cant style. Your account of sir J. Reynolds's new picture beattie's letters. 143 is very entertaining. It is an unpromising sub- ject ; but sir Joshua's invention will supply every thing.* CXXXI. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 22d January, 1787. jMiss Bowdler's " Essays" are just corae to hand, and give me a very high idea both of the head and of the heart of the excellent author. Such exam- ples of piety and resignation rarely occur ; and the person who publishes them does an important ser- vice to mankind. The preface too, though short, is admirably written, and gives such an emphasis to what follows in the book, as cannot fail to recom- mend religion to the most inattentive, if they will only take the trouble to read this truly valuable work. I was wonderfully struck and pleased with the beauty and propriety of the motto from Ariosto ; and it brings tears into my eyes, when I consider it as an apostrophe to a departed saint. I beg you will return my most grateful and affectionate ac- knowledgments to the lady who honours me with this present, which I value more than I can express, which I trust has already done me good, and which I am sure will do me a great deal more if it is not my own fault. I am no stranger to the character of this lady's family, having often heard of it from Mrs. Montagu : and, if I mistake not, a brother of hers once did me the honour to sup at my house in • The infant Hercules strangling the Serpents ; a large picture, painted for the late empress of Russia. l44 beattie's letters. Aberdeen, in company with Mrs. Montagu's ne- phew, Mr. Robinson. He seemed to be an excel- lent young man, and I was much pleased with his conversation. I should be very happy to hear that he is alive and well. I have had two letters lately from the bishop of Chester, in both which he and IMrs. Porteus desire to be particularly remembered to lady Forbes and you. He informs me, that the subscription price of the new edition of Shakspeare, adorned with drawings by the best hands, from designs by the best painters, will not be less than one hundred guineas for each copy. At this rate, one shall give the price of an ordinary book for a sight of this. However, magnificent works of this kind do honour to the nation that produces them, and raise a laudable emulation among artists, and at the same time serve to give foreigners a high idea of the genius, in honour of whom they are undertaken. The French pique themselves, and very justly, on a splendid and ele- gant edition of La Fontaine's *' Fables," which is sold for twelve or fourteen pounds ; but that work will be nothing to this. Clarke's edition of" Caesar" was lately sold by auction in London for forty-eight pounds : it is indeed a most splendid work, and the " Spectator" speaks of it as the gloi7 of the British press ; but the original price was only twelve pounds. The finest copy I ever saw of this edition is in the library at Gordon-castle. beattie's letters. 145 CXXXIl. TO the HON, MR. BARON GORDON, Aberdeen, 5th March, 1787. I AM happy to inform you, that on the first of March you were unanimousiy re-elected lord-rector of Marischal college for the ensuing year. Your assessors are also re-elected ; and major Mercer is re-elected dean of faculty. This matter was con- ducted with the greatest unanimity. All the col- lege, students as well as professors, are very sensi- ble of the obligations they are under to you for your constant attention to the interests of the so- ciety. You are very partial, my dear sir, to my son's little attempt in Latin poetry; which, however, I acknowledge to be rather extraordinary, considering his years and opportunities. It may show, that classical learning is not quite so much neglected at Marischal college as some of our southern neigh- bours would wish the public to believe. He has employed himself, during this winter, in a variety of compositions, both Latin and English, both prose and verse ; all which he will be solicitous to lay before his rector, when a proper opportunity oc- curs. Finding that he is fond of a studious and acade- mical life, I have been revolving a plan for him, which to you, as a friend, and as the first acting magistrate in the university, I would have men- tioned two or three weeks ago, if I had been able to write. I have laid it before the college, in a letter, a copy whereof I beg leave to send you : VOL. II. H 146 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. ** To the Principal and other Professors of Mari- schal college. " Gentlemen, " I TAKE the liberty to address you on a subject, wliich is interesting to me, and of some importance to the college; and I do it in writing, because it is reasonable that ye should deliberate upon it when I am not present. " The state of my health for some time past, though it has not as yet hindered me from perform- ing the duties of my office, has however been such as leads me often to think both of an assistant and of a successor ; and many obvious reasons make me wish that one and the same person may serve in both capaci ties. It is natural for nie to prefer my sou to others in a matter of this kind, as he likes an academical and studious life; and as he is, if not sufficiently qualified, at least as well qualified for the office as I was, after I had been seven years a professor. " It is by no means my intention to give over teaching. On the contrary, I will never permit any body to teach my class, as long as I am able to teach it. For habits of seven-and-twenty years standing are not easily got the better of; and I find so much amusement in this business, which on all ordinary occasions gives me no trouble, that, if I were to retire from it, I am certain that my health would be much worse than it is. ** But it would be a great relief to my mind to know, that, in the event of my being confined by illness, the business of the class would suffer no beattie's letters. 147 interruption : and I presume, that if my assistant were to appear in it us a professor, it would be no difficult matter for him, with my advice and influ- ence, to establish Iiis authority. If he live to see the beginning of next session, my son will be in the twentieth year of his age. *' Of his behaviour and proficiency while at col- lege, I need not say any thing; as that is sufficiently known to those professors under whom he studied, and from whom he received so many marks of par- ticular attention and kindness. It may be proper, however, that I lay before the college some things concerning him, which they cannot be supposed to know : and, in doing this, I do nothing njore for him than justice would require me to do for any other young man in his circumstances, and whom I equally well knew. *' Having for some years had this employment in view for him, I took pains to give such a direction to his studies, as might imperceptibly prepare him for it. And I am well enough pleased to find, that, though he has been a very assiduous student in all the parts of learning that are taught here, the bent of his genius seems to lie towards theology, clas- sical learning, morality, poetry, and criticism. In Greek, he has read Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, the Batrachomyomachia, and a great part of Hesiod, the greatest part of Xenophon, the Phasdo of Plato, six or seven books of Euclid, Arrian's History of Alexander, two Plays of Sophocles, part of Hero- dotus and Plutarch, of the Septuagint and New Testament, the Ethics and Poetics of Aristotle, Longinus, several of the Odes of Pindar, &c. Latin 118 beattie's letters. he understands better than any other person of his years I have ever known ; he wrote it pretty cor- rectly when he was a boy; and, as I have some- times conversed with him in that language, I know that, with a little practice, he could speak it easily : he is also making good progress in the French tongue. From his early years I accustomed him to read no books but good ones, and to study every thing he read with grammatical and critical accu- racy. The moral sciences, as far as I teach them, he knows very well ; and, as he has a methodical head and ready elocution, I flatter myself a little practice would make him a good teacher. Speci- mens of his composition, both Latin and English, both verse and prose, shall be laid before the col- lege, if they desire it. *' To all this it may not perhaps be impertinent to add, that as he has passed part of several sum- mers in Edinburgh, and two in London, and other parts of England, and visited wherever I visited, he may be supposed to have seen a little of the world; of which, though he is rather silent in company, I find he has been no inaccurate observer. *' If the college agree to recommend him to his majesty, as a person fit to be appointed my assistant and successor, I would farther request, that it may be done as soon as possible. This, I think, would be an advantage to the college, as well as to him and me. For if he were once sure of the place, I would make him lay other studies aside for some time, and employ himself in preparing a course of lectures ; v/hich, as all my papers are open to him, h& would not find it a diflicult matter to do. I beattie's letters. 149 could also teacli him how to make many improve- ments in my plan, which I have long had in view, but could never execute for want of health. ** I need not suggest to my colleagues the pro- priety of keeping this affair secret. Were it to be talked of, and after all to miscarry, it would hurt my son's interest, and make him feel the disap- pointment the more heavily. He knows nothing of this application ; nor do I intend that he shall know any thing of it, till I see what the issue is likely to be. I am," &c. To this letter the college returned a very polite answer, to this purpose : That they were so well satisfied with my son's proficiency and character, that they would immediately, notwithstanding his youth, grant the recommendation I requested, if it were not for the present critical state of the busi- ness of the union. They therefore desired me to let the matter rest a little, till the issue of that affair could be more certainly foreseen. In this I thankfully acquiesced. However, that I might, if possible, secure a ma- jority, in the event of the union taking place, I mentioned my scheme to I\ir. Professor *****. He entered very warmly into my views, and men- tioned the thing in confidence to Dr. ***** and Mr. *****. They were as favourable as I could have expected ; and, though they made no pro- mise, which, indeed, was not solicited, they spoke in very strong terms of what Ihey were pleased to call the delicacy of my conduct with respect to ray colleagues' and to them. They seemed to think, that I might have carried my point by a private applica^ 150 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. tion to tlie cvown iu my own name. This miglit per- haps be true ; but I would not do a thing so disre- spectful totlie Marischal college. I threatened you with a long letter, and you see I have kept my word. But, as my almanack tells me that your terras are over, I hope you v.ill excuse me. You are interested in this business in more respects than one ; for I took the liberty some time ago to execute a deed, in which you and sir Wil- liam Forbes, and some other gentlemen, are named the guardians of my two boys, as I think I told you before. CXXXIII. TO MISS VALENTINE. London, CCth July, 1787. I AM just returned from Windsor, where I passed three days. I went thither, partly to see some friends, but chiefly that I might pay my respects to the king and queen. They both received me in the most gracious manner. I saw the kins tirst on the Terrace, where he knew me at lirst sight, and did me the honour to converse vritli me a considerable time. Next morning I saw him again at prayers in his chapel, where he was pleased to introduce me to the queen, who inquired very kindly after my health ; observed, that many years had passed since she saw me last ; regretted the bad weather which I had met with at Windsor, (for it rained incessantly,) v-hich, said she, has made your friends see less of you than they wished ; and, after some other conversation, her majesty and the princess Elizabeth, who attended her, made a slight curtsy, and stepped into the carriage that waited forthem at tlie chapel-duor. Tlie king remained with us for beattie's letters. 151 some time longer, and talked of various matters, particularly the union of the colleges. He asked whether I was for or against it ? I told him I was a friend to the union. " But lord KinuouU," said he, " is violent against it :" (this, by the bye, I did not know before.) The king spoke jocularly of my having become fat : *' I remember the time," said he, " when you were as lean as Dr. * * * * there," pointing to a gentleman who was standing by, *' You look very well," said his majesty to me, *' and I am convinced you are well, if you would only think so : Do, Dr. Heberden," said the king, " convince Dr. Beattie that he is in perfect health." (Dr. Heberdeu was also standing by.) " I have been endeavouring, sir," returned the doctor, ** to do so." After two such attestations of my health, as those of the king and Dr. Heberden, I suppose I need not say more on that subject. The truth is, I am better than I was. The giddiness has not trou- bled me but one day since I came to Loudon. At Windsor I met with several other friends, particularly lady Pembroke, JMrs. Delany, ]Mr. and Mrs. De Luc ; and I svas often with the famous Miss Burney, author of" Cecilia," who has got an office in the queen's household, and is one of the most agreeable young women I have met with ; has great vivacity, joined with a most unassuming gen- tleness and simplicity of manners. I passed an afternoon, a few days ago, with lord Rodney. 1 was very glad to meet with that cele- brated veteran, and much pleased with his conver- sation. He is of the middle size, rather lean, has handsome features for an old man, piercing blue eyes, and is very well bred. 152 beattie's letters. cxxxiv. to sir william forbes. Hunton, near Maidstone, 7th August, 1787. I CAME to Huntou the 28th of last month. Of the scenery of that beautiful place I need say nothing to you, who are well acquainted with it. Every thing is so exactly the same that it was, and my memory of every thing is so accurate, that the three years which have intervened since I was last here, seem to have dwindled into as many days. The bishop and Mrs. Porteus are perfectly well, and desire their best respects to lady Forbes and you. Last week we had a visit from a gentleman, (Mr. Boissier,) in whose history there are some particu- lars, which 1 think will entertain you. He is a man of fortune, and of a French family, about fifty years of age, was born in England, and commonly re- sides at Bath, but has passed a great part of his time abroad, where it is evident that he has kept the very best company. He speaks Italian, Spanish, and French, and is well conversant in literature; and has so much of the French vivacity, that if he had not spoken English with the propriety of a na- tive, I should have taken him for a Frenchman. As Moses was trained up in all the wisdom of the Egyptians, it was this gentleman's chance to be educated in all the folly of French philosophy : he was, indeed, an avowed, nay a barefaced infidel. In this temper of mind he went to hear the bishop of Chester preach at Bath, about two years ago. The text was, *' Truly this was the Son of God." He was so much struck with the bishop's eloquence and reasoning, that he made no scruple to declare beattie's letters. 153 to his friends, that his mind was changed, and that he was determined to study the Christian religion with candour, and without delay. An acquaintance soon took place between the bishop and him, and they were mutually pleased with each other. Books were put into his hands, and among others my lit- tle book.* To shorten my story, he is now a sin- cere Christian ; and is just going to publish a " Vindication of Christianity," which he has trans- lated from the French of Mons. Bonnet. This work I have seen, and think very highly of it, as I do of the author and translator, who is truly a v€ry agreeable, sensible, well-bred man. The sermon which, by the providence of God, was the cause oi this conversion, the bishop, at my desire, preached to us last Sunday. I never in my life heard more animated eloquence, or a more forcible piece of ar- gumentation ; and the bishop exceeded himself in the delivery of it.f CXXXV, TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 17th November, 3787. After having been for so many months a wanderer, I am at last become stationary, and sit down to give a brief account of what has befallen me since I tore myself away from Sandleford. The chief reason of my leaving, so soon as I did, that delightful place, and still more delightful society, was, though I did not then mention it, the state of my son's health. • ** Evidences of the Christian Religion." • This discourse here mentioned is the J4th in the second volume of the bishop of London's " Sermons." h2 154 beattie's letters. He had, at that time, symptoms of approaching illness, particularly an unconquerable sensation of cold in his hands and feet ; which made me anxious to put him, as soon as possible, under the care of my medical friends in London. He was taken ill, as I expected, first more slightly, and afterwards with such violence, and so many alarming appear- ances, that for several days he seemed to be in great danger. INIy friend, Dr. Lettsom, attended him with his usual humanity; and, as scon as he thought it safe to remove from London, advised me to begin my journey. We travelled very slowly, and had every advantage that could be derived from good roads and good weather; but, though he bore the motion of the carriage well enough, he conti- nued to be so weak, that I was often at a loss to determine whether I should proceed or stop. He himself wished to get forward, especially to get to Morpeth, where Dr. Keith lives, a particular friend of ours, of whose affectionate temper and medical abilities we both have the highest opinion. At JNlorpeth we arrived at last, and were so lucky as to find our friend at home, who ordered something which did much good ; but the weakness still con- tinued, and the disorder appeared to be only alle- viated, but by no means removed. At Edinburgh, where we rested ten days, I was advised to take him to Peterhead, which I did accordingly; and the air and mineral- water of that place had so good an effect, that, by the end of October, when we were obliged to return home, I thought him, and he thought himself, perfectly recovered. He has been regularly inducted into his uew office : but I do not intend that he shall have any thing to do beattie's letters. 155 this year, bat to amuse himself, and recover strength^ as I find myself well enough to manage all the busi- ness without difficulty. Indeed I have now better health than I remember to have enjoyed for some years : and it would be strange if it were other- wise, considering the very great attention and kind- ness which I met with at Sandleford and Kunton; and, since my return to the North, at Gordon- castle, where [ made a visit of three weeks, while my son was at Peterhead. The duchess desired me to present to you her best respects; which, how- ever, I presume her grace will deliver in person, as she is now on her way to London, where she means to pass the winter. At Peterhead I gave Mrs. Arbuthnot the money which you committed to my care, and I was happy to find her wonderfully well, considering her great age. I need not tell you with what gratitude she acknowledged your bounty, nor how anxiously mi- nute she was in her inquiries after your health, and that of Mr. and Mrs. Montagu, and their lovely child. She is naturally of an inquisitive turn, as solitary people of good parts generally are ; but, where her heart and affections are engaged, there is no end of her interrogatories. It gives me no little pleasure to observe, Ijow much to the better her poor old house is changed since she has had the honour to be under your patronage. The roof, which was entirely decayed, has undergone a tho- rough repair; her moth-eaten tables and chairs, which were on the point of falling to pieces by their own weight, have given place to a set of new ones, not fine indeed, but neat and substantial ; the 156 beattie's letters. smoky roofs of her few apartments are cleaned and whitewashed, and the mouldiness of her walls con- cealed by a decent covering of printed paper. In her dress I perceive little or no change ; for in that respect, even in her worst days, she always con- trived to appear like a gentlewoman. I learned a few days ago, by a letter from his lordship, that onr excellent friend, the bishop of Chester, is promoted to the see of London. Few things could have given me so much pleasure. This is a station in which his great talents for business and for doing good will find ample scope; yet so, as not to take him to such a distance from his friends, or subject him to such bodily fatigue, as the duties of his former diocese often made ne- cessary. CXXXVI. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 10th December, 1787. 1 WISHED to have written to you by Mr. *****, but when he was here I was ill. JMy son on that occasion took upon him, for the first time, the ma- nagement of that class, and acquitted himself not only to my satisfaction and theirs, but also to his own. It was not my intention that he should ap- pear in his new character till next winter; but I am glad he has had this trial, as it has satisfied him that he is equal to his business. However, I do not mean that he shall either assist or succeed mc, as long as I can prevent it. He is greatly obliged to you for your kind concern about him, and desires to otfer his humble service. His health was im- beattie's letters. 1q7 proved by Peterhead ; but he is not robust, and I am obliged to exert my authority in moderating his application to study. Every body must approve greatly of your sending Mr. Forbes abroad, previously to his entering on business. Next to a good conscience, nothing tends more to the happiness of life than habits of acti- vity and industry begun in early youth, so as to settle into a permanent disposition before one arrives at manliood : and I never see, without pity, a young man of fortune who is bred to no busi- ness. The friends you inquire after, sir Joshua Rey- nolds, Mr. Langton, &c. were all well when I left London; but I did not this year see so much of them as usual, as my health would not permit me to be much in town. T regret exceedingly my not having had an opportunity to pay my respects to Miss Bovvdler. The passage in the " Lounger," to which she objects, seems to me to be not very accurate ; and I am not sure that I understand it. There are men, and those too of masculine minds, who pre- fer Virgil to Homer; Mr. Burke is one : and there are others who prefer Metastasio to Shakspeare, and Tasso to Milton. Johnson told me he never read Milton through till he read him in order to gather words for his " Dictionary ;" and though he has spoken c'wUly of him in his *' Lives," it is well known that he did not do so in conversation. On the otlier hand, I have known women, whose sen- timents were the same with mine, and I suppose with the '' Lounger's," in regard to those great authors; and who, for all that, had minds as deli- 158 beattie's letters. cate, and as truly feminine, as any of their sex. Few women liare the means of judging with precision of the comparative merit of Virgil and Homer; for, in order to do that, it is absolutely neces^-ary to throw ail translations aside, and read them in their own language. Pope's translation is a very pleasing poem, and I believe a great favourite with the fair sex; but has nothing of Homer, except the story and the characters, the manner being totally dif- ferent : Dryden's " Virgil" is not a very pleasing book, and conveys not any tolerable idea of the original; of whose tenderness, patlios, and deli- cacy, and uniform majesty of expression and num- bers, Dryden had no just relish, and whose lan- guage he did not understand so perfectly as he ought to have done. Of the superiority of male to female minds, much has been said and written, but perhaps in too gene- ral terms. In what relates to the peculiar business and duty of either sex, the genius of that sex will, I believe, be found to have the superiority. A man, though he could suckle, would not make so good a nurse as a woman ; and though the woman were iu bodily strength equal to the man, there are in her constitution many things which would make her less fit than he is for what may be called the ex- ternal economy of a family. JNIatters of learning, taste, and science, are not more the na/ural pro» viuceof the one sex than of the other; and, with regard to these, were they to have the same educa- tion and opportunities, the minds of the two sexes would be found to approach more nearly to equa- lity. The same education, however, they cannot have, because each must be trained up for its own beattie's letters. 159 peculiar business ; nor tlie same opportunities^ be- cause many scenes of observation are open to men, from which women are, by their reserve and mo- desty, exchided ; and some open to women, to which men are, witli great propriety, tliougli for a dif- ferent reason, denied aihnittance. If one were to enter into the detail of all these particulars, 1 ima- gine it would not be difficult to say what sorts of writing and parts of learning the two sexes might cultivate with equal success, and in what women would be superior to men,>i.and men superior to women ; and tlie inferences, as they occur to me at present, would, if I mistake not, receive confirma- tion from the history of literature. CXXXVII. TO SIR, WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 5th March, 1788. I SCARCE remember when- my attention was so much engrossed by a number of little matters, as it has been for the last two months. This must be my apology for not sooner acknowledging the re- ceipt of your very kind and affecting letter. After what Dr. Hay told me last summer, I had no hopes of your son's recovery ; but the account of his death gave me pain, as I well knew what lady Forbes and you would suffer on that occasion. You have been tried with many severe afflictions of the same kind, but have borne them as became you ; so that they will, in their consequences, prove matter of ever- lasting triumph. It is with great pleasure I see your name in the newspapers, subjoined to a petition to the house of 160 bkattie's letters. commons in behalf of tlie poor negroes. The so- ciety to which I belong, resolved some time ago to present a similar petition, but the thing is delayed till we hear from our chancellor on the subject; and he is now very infirm, so that I fear we shall be too late in our application. I wrote a " Dis- course on Slavery," particularly that of the negroes, about ten years ago, and had thoughts lately of re- vising and publishing it. So much was I in earnest, that I had actually transcribed about a fourth part of it; when, having occasion to consult some au- thorities, which were not at hand, I foresaw that, let me be ever so diligent, the fate of Mr. Wilber- force's intended motion on this subject would, in all probability, be determined before my little book could begot ready; and so I dropped the scheme, at least for the present : which I have the less rea- son to regret, as I had little to say which has not been said by others, who may be thought to have better means of information. I earnestly pray that our legislature may have the grace to do something effectual in this business, so as to clear the British character of a stain, which is, indeed, of the black- est dye. The freest nation and best-natured people on earth are, as matters now stand, the patrons of slavery, and of a slavery more severe than is war- ranted by the laws of France or Spain, or of any other country in Europe. What an inconsistency is this ; and what a reproach ! I am not, however, one of those who think that our negroes ought im- mediately to be made free. That would be danger- ous, and is, I fear, impracticable. But to miti- gate in the mean time the horrors of their slavery, beattie's letters. 161 and to prepare matters for a gradual abolition of it, seems to me to be neither dangerous nor dif- ficult. I have been looking into Dr. Reid's book on '* The Active Powers of Man." It is written with his usual perspicuity and acuteness ; is in some parts very entertaining ; and to me, who have been obliged to think so much on those subjects, is very interesting throughout. The question concerning Liberty and Necessity is very fully discussed, and very ably; and, I think, nothing more needs be said about it. I could have wished that Dr. Reid had given a fuller enumeration of the passions, and been a little more particular in illustrating the duties of morality. But his manner is, in all his writings, more turned to speculation than to practical philo- sophy; which may be owing to his having employed himself so much in the study of Locke, Hume, Berkeley, and other theorists; andpartly, no doubt, to the habits of study and modes of conversation which were fashionable in this country in his younger days. If I were not personally acquainted with the doctor, I should conclude, from his books, that he was rather too warm an admirer of Mr» Hume. He confutes, it is true, some of his opi- nions ; but pays them much more respect than they are entitled to. I have the pleasure to inform you that we have heard from our chancellor, who approves highly of our declaring our sentiments with respect to the slave-trade, in a petition to the house of com- mons. No time was lost. I had prepared the petition ; which was instantly signed, and sent off hy last post. 162 beattie's letters. Mr. Boissier has published his " Translation of M. Bonnet's Inquiries concerning Christianity," and has done me the honour to send me a copy ; which I shall read as soon as I can command a day's leisure. In liis preface lie mentions bishop Por- teus as the first *' who traced out to him the road which leads to truth." From what I have seen of this book, I should be ap])rehensive that the au- thor's manner is rather abrupt, and too abstruse to be popular, at least in this country. However, the world is under obligations to him, and to his worthy translator, for declaring themselves in so explicit a manner the friends of religion; and as M. Bonnet's character is very high in France, I hope his book will do a great deal of good. At my spare hours, which have been very few this winter, I am preparing to do, what, if circum- stances had permitted, I ought to have done long ago, — to print an abridgement, (a very brief one) of my lectures on moral philosophy and logic. It is intended for no other purpose but to assist the me- mory of thofe students who attend my class ; and, therefore, though I shall print, I am in doubt whe- ther I should publisli it. The students, by paying for their copies, will, in time, indemnify me for print and paper, which is all I shall ask in the pe- cuniary way. Isotwithstanding all my care to be concise, I find it wij^ extend to two octavos; the first of which will contain " Elements of Moral Science," and the second, " Elements of Logic." Under logic I comprehend, not only the philosophy of evidence, but likewise every thing that i-elates to language, composition, and criticism. Hitherto it has been my way, as it was that of my predecessor, beattie's letters. 163 to make the students take down in writing an abs- tract of the lectures and conversations ; and this method is not without its advantages; but such abstracts, being written in great haste, were not always correct, and took up a good deal of time. The time which 1 shall save by using a printed text book, I intend to employ in commenting upon classic authors, and other profitable exercises.* You will be glad to hear that Sunday schools are likely to do good here. Eight have been set a-going, and are supported by subscription. JNIy son desires his best respects. My cough has obliged me to employ him more frequently, in the morning meeting at eight, than I wished to do : but he likes the business, and has now had experi- ence of almost all the varieties of it. He has also been composing some lectures, one of which, ac- companied with a model in pasteboard, is an ac- count of Raymond Lully's mill for making books, alluded to by Dr. Campbell in the " Philosophy of Rhetoric." He got Raymond's book in the college library, and made the mill exactly according to the author's directions. CXXXVIII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Peterhead, 3d May, J788. The book I have in view will not be a mere sylla- bus, like the pamphlet which Dr. Blair published; • This abridgement of his lectures, Dr. Beattie published under the title of "Elements of Moral Science;" the first volume in the year 1790, the second volume in the year 1793. 164 beattie's letters. nor a collection of aphorisms, like Dr. Ferguson's " Institutes :" in its plan it will more resemble Dr. James Gregory's " Conspectus JMedlcbics The- oreticcs ;" only it will be in English. If I live to execute my purpose, it will comprehend the sub- stance of all my lectures and conversations, (for I often teach in the Socratic method, by question and answer,) with the omission of such illustrations, facts, and reasonings only, as cannot be expressed in few words. The first volume will contain the " Philosophy of the Human Mind; Principles of Natural Religion; :Moral Philosophy ; and Politics :" and the second, " Logic, or the philosophy of en- dence; and Rhetoric, or the Belles Lettres." About one hundred and forty large quarto pages of the first volume are written ; and I hope, if my health does not prevent me, to have it in the press before the end of the year. The same post that brought your last most agree- able favour, brought also a letter, with two pam- phlets, from the bishop of London. The bishop is very urgent with me, as you arc, to publish my pa- pers on the slave trade. He says they will come in good season if they appear before the next session of parliament, for that nothing in that business will be done this session. The privy-council, he says, have been at uncommon pains to ascertain the exact nature of the African slave trade, and the state of the slaves in our West India islands. His lordship also wishes me to subjoin, as an appendix to my papers, an examination of an extraordinary pamphlet, which has just appeared, to prove the lawfulness, or, as the author calls it, the Ikitness of the slave trade, from the Scriptures of the Old beattie's letters. 1C5 and New Testament. This pamphlet he has sent me, but I have not yet got time to read it. It is the work of a Spanish Jesuit of the name of Harris, who, it seems, is connected with the slave mer- chants of Liverpool, by whose means he hopes to obtain preferment in the church of England, to which he is willing to conform : his pamphlet is dedicated to the mayor, aldermen, &c. of Liver- pool. The slave dealers exult in this champion, and say that his vi'ork is unanswerable; but the bishop of London says it is mere Jesuitical sophistry. From what I have seen of it, I should think it an easy matter to answer it ; but whether I shall be able to do this, I know not. My health is a great hinderance to all my projects. The other pamphlet which the bishop sent me, is a " Pastoral Letter to the English Clergy in the West Indies," who are all, it seems, subject to his ecclesiastical jurisdiction. It is short, but very elegant, and very like himself and his station. It relates chiefly to two things : the conversion and education of the negroes, which he earnestly and powerfully recommends ; and the qualifications which he insists on finding in all those West In- dians who may apply to him for holy orders. My little book of " Evidences," is one of those which his lordship is pleased to recommend to their at- tention. CXXXIX. TO DR. PORTEUS, BISHOP OF LONDON. Peterhead, 3d July, 1788. •As soon as it is in my power I shall give the Rev. Mr. Harris a fair hearing, and let your lordship 166 beattie's letters. know my opinion. I have seen a little of hira, and think liini a tolerable sophister. His arguments might pass, for argument's sake, in a school-dispu- tation upon a thesis ; but can have no influence upon a candid and rational mind, except, perhaps, to provoke indignation : for the matter is too so- lemn for laughter. He pretends to piety, reverence of the Scripture, and zeal for the rights of huma- nity ; and all the while he is labouring to pervert Scripture, in order to vindicate one of the most impious and inhuman practices that ever disgraced the sublunary creation. He, good man ! would not for the world offer an apology for any injustice, op- pression, or cruelty, that may have been practised by dealers in slaves; he would only justify what he calls " the African slave trade in the abstract." I know not whether I understand this. But if he will remove all oppression, cruelty, and injustice from that trade, I promise him I shall not object to his abstract notions : the trade will then be a mere idea ; as harmless as those now are, to which we give the names of ostracism, crusade, &c.; and will no more make negroes miserable, and slave- mongers cruel, than the second book of the *' ^neid" will burn their towns. The misfortune is, that from this vile traffic, oppression, injustice, and cruelty, are inseparable. These crimes have, from the beginning of it, formed its basis, and without them it can no more subsist than a house without a foundation. " If you have any music that makes no noise," says a clown in Shakspeare to a company of tiddlers, " pray let us have it ; but we cannot endure any other." So say I to Mr. Harris : If you can give us an African slave trade. BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 167 that has nothing cruel, oppressive, or unjust in it, with all my heart ; let it be set a-going as soon as possible. To such a trade the British legislature will have no objection ; and I trust they will never tolerate any other. They have entered into this business with a generous alacrity that does them infinite honour; and will soon, I hope, make such regulations as will render my zeal and my argu- ments unnecessary, and even unseasonable. CXL. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Peterhead, 10th July, 1788. I AM much obliged to you for the quotation from Mrs. Piozzi's letters, and to that lady for speaking of me with so much kindness.* I was introduced to her and Mr Thrale by Dr. Johnson, and received many and great civilities from both. Mi-. Thrale was a most respectable character ; intelligent, mo- dest, communicative, and friendly : and I greatly admired his wife for her vivacity, learning, affabi- lity, and beauty : I thought her, indeed, one of the most agreeable women I ever saw ; and could not have imagined her capable of acting so unwise a part as she afterwards did. What she says of Goldsmith is perfectly ti-ue. He v/as a poor fretful creature, eaten up with affec- • The paragraph in question was as follows: " Dr. Be- attie is as charming as ever Every body re- joices that the doctor will get his pension. Every one loves him but Goldsmith, who says he cannot bear the sight of so much applause as we all bestow upon him. Did lie not tell us so himself, who would believe he was so exceedingly ill- natured ?" 168 beattie's letters. tation and envy. He was the only person I ever knew who acknowledged himself to be envious. Id Johnson's presence lie was quiet enough ; but in his absence expressed great uneasiness in hearing him praised. He envied even the dead ; he could not bear that Shakspeare should be so much ad- mired as he is. Thei'e might, however, be some- thing like magnanimity in envying Shakspeare and Dr. Johnson ; as in Julius Caesar's weeping to think, that at an age at which he had done so little, Alexander should have done so much. But surely Goldsmith had no occasion to envy me; which, however, he certainly did, for he owned it (though, when we met, he ^vas always veiy civil ;) and I re- ceived undoubted information, that he seldom miss- ed an opportunity of speaking ill of me behind my back. Goldsmith's common conversation was a strange mixture of absurdity and silliness ; of silli- ness so great, as to make me sometimes think that he affected it. Yet he was a genius of no mean rank : somebody, who knew him well, called him an inspired idiot. His ballad of "Edwin and An- gelina" is exceedingly beautiful, and well con- ducted j and in his two other poems, though there be great inequalities, there is pathos, energy, and even sublimity. CXLI. TO THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. Aberdeen, 8th August, 1788. It delights me to hear that lord Huntly is to go to Oxford or Cambridge. An English university is the best place on earth for study; and, what is of still greater consequence, especially to a person beattie's letters. 169 of higli rank, it supplies the best opportunities of contracting those early connexions of friendship, which one remembers with exquisite pleasure to the end of life ; and which often contribute, more than any thing else, to a great man's influence and popularity. ]\lr. Pitt, great as he is by hereditary right, and greater still by his own genius and virtue, would, I am persuaded, readily acknowledge how much he owes to Cambridge. There he was from the first a general favourite ; and there he found many valuable friends, who, I am told, still adhere to him with a fen-ency of zeal, in which it is difficult to say, whether admiration or fondness be the most powerful ingredient. Such attachments do honour to human nature, and are equally delightful and lasting. The duke will be at no loss to determine whether Oxford or Cambridge is to be honoured with lord Huntly's residence. It is natural for mc to have a partiality to the former : but in most things they are, I believe, pretty equal. Oxford is a place of greater resort and more brilliancy ; but the quiet of Cambridge is, perhaps, more salutary to the student. Each has produced such a number of great men, as no other seminary in the ancient or modern world can boast of. The duke of Glou- cester's son, if I mistake not, is gone to Cam- bridge. My son is greatly honoured by the notice you take of him, and desires to offer his humble sei-vice. His health is quite re-established, but he is too studious to be robust. He has gone pretty deep in the theory of music, and now begins to practise a little. The organ is his favourite instrument j and, VOL. ir. I 170 beattie's letters. as he has something of a mechanical turn, and needs to be decoyed from his books sometimes, I have made him employ his leisure at Peterhead, in super- intending the building of an organ, under the au- spices of Dr. Laing. It is now ahuost finished, and can already, as Hamlet says, Discourse most eloquent music. The workmanship is good, and the tones are very pleasing. CXLII. TO the duchess OF GORDON. Aberdeen, 20th November, 1788. * * * The late dreadful news from Windsor must have been most distressing to your grace.* Blessed be God, the danger seems now to be over; other- wise I shoi^ld not be able to write on that, or any other subject. For these ten days past I have thought myself in a dark, confused, feverish dream, with nothing before me but danger and horror. The agitation and anxiety I have undergone, are, indeed, such as it is impossible to describe, and such as I shall not soon get the better of. But may God restore the health of the best of sovereigns, and the best of men ! and it matters not what be- comes of me. Your grace must have the most au- thentic intelligence, otherwise I would tell you of a letter which I had to-day from sir William Forbes, which mentions one received from the highest au- • The king's ilhiess. beattie's letters. 171 tliority, certifying, that his majesty is in a fair way of recovery ; and that the slowness of the recovery is, in the opinion of the physicians, very much in his favour. Sir William Fordyce too, in a letter which arrived here yesterday, gives the same ac- count, and says that the delirium is gone. I hope the king will soon have the exquisite satisfaction to know, from what his subjects have suffered on this occasion, that he is, as he deserves to be, the most beloved prince that ever sat on the British throne. You desire to know my opinion of Mr. Gibbon. I can say very little about him ; for such is the affec- tation of his style, that I could never get through the half of one of his volumes. If any body would translate him into good classical English, (such, I mean, as Addison, Swifr, lord Lyttelton, &c. wrote,) I should read him with eagerness ; for I know there must be much curious nmtter in his work. His cavils against religion, have, I think, been all con- futed ; he does not seem to understand that part of his subject : indeed, I have never yet met with a man, or with an author, who both understood Christianity, and disbelieved it. It is, I am told, the fashion to admire Gibbon's style : my opinion of it, however, is supported by great authorities, of whom I need only mention lord Mansfield, the pre- sent bishop of London, Mrs. Montagu, and major Mercer. In the bishop's last letter to me there is the following passage : ** We have been much amused this summer with Keate's * Account of the Pelevv Islands :' and it is almost the only summer book we have had j for Gibbon's three bulky quartos 172 beattie's letters. are fit only for the gloom and horror of wintry storms : his style is more obscure and affected than ever; and his insults on Christianity not less oiFensive," CXLIII. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 25th March, 1789. * * * My friend -Dr. Campbell's great work (a new Translation of the Gospels, with preliminary Dissertations, and Notes critical and explanatory, in two volumes 4to.) is published at last, I care- fully read the whole in manuscript, and wrote many a sheet of remarks and criticisms upon it ; and have no scruple to say, that it is one of the most import- ant publications in theology, if not the most im- portant, that has appeared in my time. It will give the public, at least the rational part of the public, a very high idea of the learning, acote- ness, industry, candour, and piety of the author, who is my next neighbour, and with whom I have lived in the same society, upon the most intimate terms, for almost thirty years. It is about forty years since he engaged in this important work ; and yet I am afraid he will not get so much by it as Mr, Sheridan did by the comedy of the ** Duenna." beattie's letters. 173 CXLIV. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Peterhead, 25th May, 17S9. I CONGRATULATE you, madam, on the late proceed- ings of the commons in behalf of humanity and jus- tice. The account of Mr. Wilberforce's speech that appeared in the papers is no doubt very ini perfect ; but it does him infinite honour, and I have read it once and again with great delight. It confirms a number of facts which I find in my papers on ne- gro slavery, but of which I had of late become somewhat distrustful, having forgotten the autho- rities on which I had recorded them. The truth is, I have been collecting materials on that subject for upwards of twenty-five years ; and, as far as my poor voice could be heard, have laboured, not alto- gether unsuccessfully, in pleading the cause of the poor Africans. This, at least, I can say with truth ; that many of my pupils have gone to the West Indies, and, I trust, have carried my principles along with them, and exemplified those principles in their conduct to their unfortunate brethren. A good deal of my information, with respect to the negroes, I received from a most worthy old gentle- man, a particular friend of mine, who had been long in one of our West India islands ; and having acquired a competent fortune, returned to his own country, and devoted the last thirty years of a long life to philosophy and literature. He was one of the most learned men I have ever met with, a sin- cere Christian, and one who held all injustice, op- 174 BEATriE'S LETTERS. piesslon, and every sort of iuhumanity, in utter de- testation. Mrs. Arbuthnot is surprisingly well. She was at church yesterday. I need not tell you with what raptures of esteem and gratitude she speaks of you. I observe your benevolent intention of making an addition to your bounty to her; but will take it upon me to say, that it is quite unnecessary, as I know she considers herself as raised by your good- ness to a state, not only of competence, but of opulence. She speaks of writing to her patroness very soon. CXLV. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Peterhead, 31st July, 1789. I AM very happy to hear, that the lord-primate of Ireland* has not forgotten me, and beg leave to offer my humble respects to his grace. The en- dowing of an university at Armagh, with a library and astronomical apparatus, is a work worthy of his benevolent, liberal, and magnificent mind, 'lliough the college of Dublin be, as I have been told it is, abundantly flourishing, it is certainly not extensive enough for so populous a country as Ire- land ; one proof of which is the great number of Irish students that every year resort to Glasgow ; a circumstance which gives no little uneasiness to the people of Dublin, if I may judge from some of their pamphlets; in which not Glasgow only, but the • The most reverend Dr. Richard Robinson, lord arch- bishop of Armagh. beattie's letters. 175 other Scottish universities, are attacked with ran- corous asperity, and such a total disregard to truth as is hardly credible. I once had thoughts of an- swering one of the most malicious of those pam- phlets, but changed my mind on considering that the abuse was anonymous, and, in respect of style and composition, so void of merit, that there was no chance of its gaining any attention. 1 sincerely wish success to the archbishop's noble foundation at Armagh. Every friend to humanity must regret that his health is so precarious. 1 made Mr. Creech very happy, by transmitting to him your and his grace's approbation of the " Comparative View of Edinburgh." One knows not what to say of this wonderful re- volution that is likely to take place in France, As I wish all mankind to be free and happy, I should rejoice in the downfall of French despotism, if I thought it would give happiness to the people ; but the French seem to me to be better fitted for that .sort of government which they want to throw off, than for any other that they could adopt in its •stead. Till of late, the glory of the monarch was the supreme wish of a Frenchman's heart; and that principle, though in the day of trouble and tu- mult it may admit of a temporary suspension, will not soon or easily give way to the cooler and more ])hilosophic notions that have long been familiar to the British politician. It is true, the political ideas of the French have been in a state of improvement ever since the time of Montesquieu, who first gave his countrymen a sketch of the constitution of Eng- land : but political liberty is a thing, which, even 176 beattie's letters. amoDg us who have long enjoyed it, is not univer- sally understood, and which Harrington, Sydney, and Locke understood very imperfectly. I dare say, that the bulk of the French nation at this mo- ment suppose, as the North-Americans seem to do, that liberty consists in tlie privilege of doing what they please, or, at least, of being subject to no laws but those of their own making; and yet it is cer- tainly neither the one nor the other. The first would be anarchy, the worst sort of slavery ; and the other is not compatible with any plan of policy that was ever yet devised by man. Political liberty I take to be, that state of society, in which men are so governed by equitable laws, and so tried by equi- table judges, tliat no man can be hindered from doing what the law allows him to do, nor liave rea- son to be afraid of any man so long as he does his duty. But I apprehend it will be long before a na- tion, emerging from despotism, and assuming a popular form of policy, can hit upon the proper way of establishing such a state of things ; and till that be done, convulsions are to be expected, which will sometimes endanger liberty, and some- times tend to the subversion of legal authority. If the revolution in France be made effectual, it will probably be beneficial to the poor negroes ; for I am told that M. Neckar and the national assembly have explicitly declared themselves for the aboli - tion of the slave trade. beattie's letters. 177 CXLVI. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 3d August, 1790. My son continues, as he has been for these four weeks past, without either gaining ground, or ap- parently losing any.* His debility is extreme ; and his cough a little troublesome, but not very painful ; and to me it does not seem to have that hollow sound which is generally heard in consumptive cases. He continues his milk diet ; the greatest part of which is goats' milk. I am well aware of the propriety of your advice, and will endeavour to profit by it. To torment ourselves with unavailing anxieties about possible, or even probable evils, is not only imprudent, but unlawful; for our religion expressly forbids it. But I have not now the command of my thoughts. Ever since the commencement of our vacation, I have been passing, without intermission, from oue scene of perplexity and sorrow to another. But let me not trouble you with things of this nature. It would become me better to speak of the manifold blessings which Providence has conferred upon me, than of any trials which may have fallen to my lot. These will all terminate well if it is not my own fault; and even for these I ought to be thankful; for I can say, from the fullest conviction, that " it is good for me to have been afflicted." I am glad that you approve of my slight annota- tions upon Addison. I have not yet got a sight of * He had been suffering from Illness for several month>, i2 178 beattie's letters. the new edition of his prose works ; but I should like to see it, having almost forgotten what I wrote, of which I kept no copy. I am greatly obliged to miss Bowdler for her favourable opinion ; and am well pleased to find that she approves of my senti- ments with respect to the present rapid decline of the English language. I begin to fear it will be im- possible to check it ; but an attempt would be made, if I had leisure, and a little more tranquillity of mind. I have been reading, with all the attention that my bewildered mind is capable of, bishop Newton's ** Dissertations on the Prophecies." The sim- plicity of the style and manner is very characteris- tical of its author, whom I well knew, and who was the most saint-like Nathauael I ever saw. It is a veiy learned and pious work, and should be read by every body : for though all the reasonings are not equally satisfying, (a thing not to be expected in such a work) it contains many acute and striking observations, which, though they should not over- come the obstinacy of the infidel, can hardly fail to confirm the faith of the Christian. It contains a very great variety of historical information, and throws a surprising light on many obscure passages of Scripture. CXLVII, TO THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. Aberdeen, 1st December, 1790. Knowing with what kindness and condescension your grace takes an interest in every thing that concerns me and my little family, I take the liberty eeattie's letters. 179 to inform you that my son James is dead ; that the last duties to him are now paid ; and that I am en- deavouring to return, with the little ability that is left me, and with entire submission to the will of Providence, to the ordinary business of life. I have lost one who was always a pleasing companion ; but who, for the last five or six years, was one of the most entertaining and instructive companions that ever man was blessed with : for his mind com- prehended almost every science; he was a most attentive observer of life and manners ; a master of classical learning; and he possessed an exuberance of wit and humour, a force of understanding, and a correctness and delicacy of taste, beyond any other person of his age I have ever known. He was taken ill in the night of the 30tb of No- vember, 1789; and from that time his decline commenced. It was long what physicians call a nervous atrophy: but towards the end of June, symptoms began to appear of the lungs being af- fected. Goats' milk, and afterwards asses' milk, were procured for him in abundance; and such ex- ercise as he could bear he regularly took : these means lengthened his days, no doubt, and allevi- ated his sufferings, which, indeed, were not often severe : but, in spite of all that could be done, he grew weaker and weaker, and died the 19th of No- vember, 1790, without complaint or pain, without even a groan or a sigh ; retaining to the last mo- ment the use of his rational faculties: indeed, from first to last, not one delirious word ever es- caped him. He lived twenty-two years and thir- teen days. Many weeks before it came, he saw 180 beattie's letters. death approaching; and he met it with such com- posure and pious resignation, as may no doubt be equalled, but cannot be surpassed. He has left many things in writing, serious and humorous, scientific and miscellaneous, prose and verse, Latin and English ; but it will be a long time before I shall be able to harden my heart so far as to revise them. I have the satisfaction to know that every thing has been done for him that could be done, and every thing according to the best medical advice that Scotland could afford. For the last five months I kept in my family a young medical friend, who was constantly at hand ; and from the begin- ning to the end of my son's illness, I was either al- ways by him, or within call. From these circum- stances, your grace will readily believe that I de- rive no little satisfaction: but my chief comfor arises from reflecting upon the particulars of his life, which was one uninterrupted exercise of piety, benevolence, filial affection, and, indeed, of every virtue which it was in Ids power to practise. I shall not, with respect to him, adopt a mode of speech which has become too common, and call him my poor sot} : for I must believe that he is infinitely happy, and will be so for ever. ^lay God grant every blessing to your grace, your family, and all your friends. The duke of Gordon has done me the honour, ac- cording to his wonted and very great humanity, to write me a most friendly and sympathetic letter on this occasion. beattie'3 letters. 181 CXLVIII, TO THE REV. DR. LAING. Aberdeen, 14th December, 1790. I KNOW you are anxious to hear from me ; and I wish, as I have much to say, to write you a long letter ; but that is not in my power at present. There is only one subject on which I can think j* and my nerves are so shattered, and my mind feels (if I may so express myself) so sore, that I can hardly attend to any thing. You may be assured, that to the will of God I am perfectly resigned : and, in the late dispensation of his Providence, I see innumerable instances of the divine benignity, for which I can never be sufficiently thankful. Mr. **** would tell you many particulai^s, which I need not recapitulate. Since the last duty was paid, I have thrice a-day attended my business in the college ; the doing of which is, in the present circumstances, painful and laborious, but, perhaps, salutary. I sleep irregularly; the pain in my side is frequently troublesome ; and the dizziness in my head is so great, as would alarm and astonish me, if I had not been used to it : but, upon the whole, I am as well as I had any reason to expect. I have had very kind letters of condolence from all ray friends. I know not whether you will, as a physician, ap- prove of what I am doing at my hours of leisure — writing an account of the life, character, education, « The recent loss of his eldest son, who died on the IQth of November preceding. 182 beattie's letters. and literary proficiency, of our departed friend. I sometimes think it gives relief to my mind, and soothes it. At any rate, it is better than running into company, in order to drive him, as much as possible, out of my remembrance. With all the tenderness that writing on such a subject necessa- rily occasions, it yields also many consolations so pleasing, that for the world I would not part with them. I know not what I shall do with this narra- tive when it is finished: I have thoughts of print- ing a few copies of it, and sending them to my par- ticular friends. I have ordered a marble slab to be erected over his grave ; with an inscription, of which I enclose a copy. In some things I think it falls below the truth ; but rises into nothing above it, so far as I can judge. Monumental inscriptions I consider as belonging, not to poetry, but to history; the wri- ters of them should give the truth, if possible the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I wrote this inscription in Latin ; thinking that language more suitable than English, to his character as a scliolar and philosopher. The papers he has left are many; but few of them finished. In little notes and memorandums, some Latin and some English, I find strokes of character greatly to his honour, forms of devotion, pious resolutions, hints for writing essays, &c. BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 1&3 CXLIX. TO THE REV. DR. LAING. Aberdeen, 31st January, 1791. My heart is likely to receive very soon another deep wound. Our principars life is in the most extreme danger. The disorder began with what was sup- posed a cold only, but has become a most violent asthma with fever, and in the night time such ex- treme distress, that JNIrs. Campbell told me to-day, in an agony of grief, that it would be better for him to be at rest. This morning he expressed great anxiety to see me. I went immediately, and was a quarter of an hour alone with him. He told me lie was dying, with other matters which I cannot mention ; and gave me directions with respect to some things in which lie is interested. I endea- voured to raise his spirits ; and when I left him, he was better than when I went in. But Dr. ***** has little or no hopes of him : Mrs. Campbell has none. I thought his pulse not bad; but he told me he had always a very slow pulse. A person so amiable and so valuable, and who has been my in- timate and affectionate friend for thirty years, it is not a slight matter to lose : but I fear I must lose him. His death will be an unspeakable loss to our society. The monument, with the inscription, is now erected in the church-yard ; so that all that matter is over. I often dream of the grave that is under it. I saw with some satisfaction, on a late occasion, that it is very deep, and capable of holding my coffin 184 beattie's letters. laid on that which is already in it. I hope my friends will allow my body to sleep there. CL. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 31st January, 1791. I HAVE too often sent you letters that must have given you pain : I am happy in havhig it in my power to send one that will give you pleasure. I beg you will let Mr. Baron Gordon and Mr. Arbuth- not know the contents of it. Our principal Campl>eirs disorder has taken an unexpected and very favourable turn. I sat with him half an hour to-day, and found, to my inex- pressible satisfaction, that his fever is gone, that he has little to complain of, and that he now be- gins to have hopes of recovery. I have seldom seen him more cheerful ; and he would willingly have talked much more than I would allow him to do. Few tilings have ever happened to me in life that gave me more satisfaction than the prospect of his recovery : it is a blessing to the public, of inesti- mable benefit to Marischal college, and to me a very singular mercy. In consequence of it, I feel my heart more disengaged and light than it has been these many long months. May God confirm his recovery, and presene him ! The physicians also entertain sanguine hopes. You, my dear sir, .and I, have seen several in- stances of the power of Christianity in triumphing over death. I saw many instances of it on a late occasion, that nearly affected me. I must give you a little anecdote, ■which Mrs. Campbell told me to- beattie's letters. 185 day. At a time when Dr. Campbell seemed to be just expiring, and had told his wife and niece that it was so, a cordial happened unexpectedly to give him relief. As soon as he was able to speak, he said, that he wondered to see their countenances so melancholy, and covered with tears, in the ap- prehension of his departure. At that instant, said he, 1 felt my mind in such a state, in the thoughts of my immediate dissolution, that I can express my feelings in no other way, than by saying, that I was in a rapture. The feelings of such a mind as Dr. Campbell's, in such an awful moment, when he certainly retained the full use of all his faculties, deserve to be attended to. When will an infidel die such a deatii ? I have a thousand things to say ; but, after what I said last, every thing else is impertinent. Adieu ! May God bless lady Forbes and your family. CLl. TO THE duchess OF GORDON. Aberdeen, 7th March, 1791. After the patient hearing which your grace has done me the honour to grant to several of my opi- nions, I presume you will not be at a loss to guess what I think of Mr. Burke's book on the French revolution. I wished the French nation very well ; I wished their government reformed, and their re- ligion ; I wished both to be according to the Bri- tish model : and I know not what better things I could have wished them. But (with the skill and temper of that surgeon, who, in order to alleviate 186 CEATTIE'S LETTERS. the toothache, should knock all his patieut's teeth down his throat) they, instead of reforming po- pery, seem to liave resolved upon the abolition of Christianity ; instead of amending their govern- ment, they have destroyed it ; and instead of advi- sing their king to consult his own and his people's dignity, by making law the rule of his conduct, they have used him much more cruelly than our Charles I. was used ; they have made him a prisoner and a slave. They will have a democracy indeed, and no ari- stocracy 1 They know not the meaning of the words. A democracy, in which all men are supposed to be perfectly equal, never yet took place in any nation, and never can, so long as the distinctions are ac- knowledged of rich and poor, master and servant, parent and child, old and young, strong and weak, active and indolent, wise and unwise. They will have a republic; and of this word too they misun- derstand the meaning; they confound republic with levelling : and a levelling spirit, generally diffused, would soon overturn the best republican fabric that ever was reared. They must also have a monarchy (or at least a monarch) without nobility ; not knowing, that without nobility a free monarchy can no more subsist than the roof of a house can rise to and retain its proper elevation, while the walls are but half built ; not knowing, that where there are only two orders of people in a nation, and those the regal and the plebeian, there must be per- petual dissension between them, either till the king get the better of the people, which will make him (if he pleases) despotical, or till the people get the liEATTIE's LETTERS. 187 better of the king, which, where all subordination is^bolished, must introduce anarchy. It must be the interest of the nobility to keep the people in good humour, these being always a most formida- ble body; and it is equally the interest of the no- bles to support the throne ; for if it fall they are crushed in its ruins. The same house of commons that murdered Charles I. voted the house of lords to be useless : and when the rabble of France had imprisoned and enslaved their king, they imme- diately set about annihilating their nobles." Such things have happened ; and such things must al- ways happen in like circumstances. These princi- ples I have been pondering in my mind these thirty years ; and the more I learn of history, of law, and of human nature, the more I become satisfied of their truth. But there seems to be just now in France such a total ignorance of human nature and of good learning, as is perfectly astonishing; there is no consideration, no simplicity, no dignity; all is froth, phrensy, and foppery. In iMr. Burke's book are many expressions, that might perhaps, with equal propriety, have been less warm : but against these it is not easy to guard, when a powerful eloquence is animated by an ar- dent mind. There are also, no doubt, some things that might have been omitted without loss : and the arrangement of the subject might perhaps have been more convenient for ordinary readers. But the spirit and principles of the work, I, as a lover of my king and of the constitution of my country, do highly approve ; and within my very narrow circle of influence I shall not fail to recommend it. 188 beattie's letters. ^ It came very seasonably ; at a time, when a consi- derable party among us are labouring to introduce into this island the anarchy of France ; and when some seem to entertain the hope that the carnage of civil war will soon deluge our streets in blood: But no matter, say they, provided Ivings, and no- bles, and bishops are exterminated ; and Maho- metans, Pagans, and atheists obtain universal to- leration. I once intended to have attempted to write some- thing on the subject of jMr. Burke's book, and nearly according to his plan : and, had my mind been a little more at ease during the last summer, I believe I should have done it. But when I heard that INIr. Burke had the matter in hand, I knew any attempt of mine would be not only useless, but im- pertinent. He has done the subject infinitely more justice than it was in my power to do. At a time when your grace has so many mat- ters of importance to attend to, I would not have troubled you with so long a letter, if you had not desired me to give my opinion of Mr. Burke's book. But this led me into some digressions, which, though your judgment may blame, I know your goodness will pardon. CLII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Fulham Palace, 7th June, 179I. The bishop of London, who brouglit me out of town on Saturday last, urges me to go to Bath ; in which he is joined by Miss Hannah More, who is beattie's letters. 189 here just now, though she commouly resides at Bath. She is to draw up a paper of directions for me. I know not whether you have seen her. She is one of the most agreeable women I know : to her genius and learning you are no stranger. Fulham Palace is a noble and venerable pile, and so large that I have not yet learned to find my way in it. The grounds belonging to it, which are per- fectly level, and comprehend twenty or thirty acres, are of a circular form nearly, and surrounded by a moat supplied with water from the Thames ; and round the whole circumference, on the inside of the moat, there is a fine gravel walk, shaded with four or five rows of the most majestic oaks, elms, &c. that are any where to be seen. Of the build- ings, which form two square courts, (besides of- fices,) some are ancient, and some comparatively modern. Many of the apartments are magnificent, particularly the dining-room (which was the work of bishop Sherlock) and the library. There is also a very elegant chapel, in which the whole family meet to prayers at half past nine in the morning, and where the bishop preached to us on Sunday evening, from the second article of the creed, I never heard, even from him, a finer sermon j and Montagu, who is a .sort of critic in sermons, was in utter astonishment at the energy and elegance of his pronunciation. I read yesterday the debate on the slave-trade, which fills a two-shilling pamphlet. The speeches of Mr. Wilber force, Mr. Pitt, Mr. W. Smith, and Mr. Fox are most excellent, and absolutely unan- swerable. The friends to the abolition are very lyO BEATTlfe's LETTEKS. sanguine in their hopes that this diabolical com- merce will in two or three years be at an end. Cilll, TO ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESQ. Aberdeen, 17th April, 1793. I AM veiy happy in your and Mr. Fraser Tytler's approbation of ray book;* as also sir William Forbes's, and our principal's, who read it in manu- script. General approbation I do not expect. The plainness of the style will, by our fashionable wri- ters, be termed vulgarity ; the practical tendency of the whole will satisfy our speculative metaphysi- dans, that the author must be shallow and superfi- cial, and a dealer in common-place observations ; laid the deference that is paid in it to the doctrines of Christianity will, by all our Frenchified critics, be considered as a proof that he is no philosopher. You observe, very justly, that the science of mora- lity has not often, at least in modern times, been so treated, as to show its connexion with practice ; but I have always considered morality as a practi- cal science ; and, in every other part of literature, 1 do not see the use of those speculations that can be applied to no practical purpose. It may be said, that they exercise the human faculties, and so qua- lify men for being casuists and disputants ; but casuistry and disputation are not the business for wliich man is sent into the world ; although I grant, that they may sometimes, like dancing and playing at cards, serve as an amusement to those * " Elements of Moral Science." beattie's letters. 191 wlio have acquired a taste for them, and have no- thhig else to do. CLIV. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 1-ith March, 1796. Our plans relating to Montagu* are uU at an end. I am sorry to give you the pain of being informed that he died this morning at five. His disorder was a fever, from which at first we had little apprehen- sion ; but it cut him off in five days. He himself thought from the beginning that it would be fatal ; and, before the delirium came on, spoke with great composure and Christian piety of his approaching dissolution ; he even gave some directions about his funeral. The delirium was very violent, and continued till within a few minutes of his death, when he was heard to repeat in a whisper the Lord's prayer, and began an unfinished sentence, of which nothing could be heard but the words in- corruptible glory. Pious sentiments prevailed in his mind through life, and did not leave him till death ; nor then I trust did they leave him. Not- withstanding the extreme violence of his fever, he seemed to suffer little pain either in body or in mind, and as his end drew near, a smile settled upon his countenance. I need not tell you that he had every attention that skilful and affectionate physicians could bestow. I give you the trouble to notify this event to Mr. Arbuthnot. I would have written to him, but have many things to minrl, and • His only surviving child. 192 beattie's letters. but indliferent health. However, I heartily ac- quiesce in the dispensations of Providence, which are all good and wise. God bless you and your family. He will be much regretted ; for wherever he went he was a very popular character. CLV. TO THE REV. DR. LAING. Aberdeen, 10th April, II06. I WISHED to answer your kind letter as soon as I received it, or as soon after as possible ; but the very interesting and painful suspense I was kept in by Dr. Campbell's illness, disqualified me for wri- ting, and every thing else. His illness was so vio- lent, that, considering his age and enfeebled state, and some other disorders which I knew he was afflicted witli, I did not at first imagine that he could live two days. To the surprise of every body, however, he held out almost a week, though un- able to speak, and for a great part of the time de- lirious. His death at last was easy, and he died as he had lived, a sincere Christian : we yesterday paid our last duties to his remains. He and I were intimate friends for about thirty-eight years, with- out any interval of coldness or dissatisfaction. His instructive and cheerful conversation was one of the greatest blessings of my life, and I shall cherish the remembrance of it, with gratitude to the Giver of all good, as long as I live. His death was looked for, and by himself much desired. ISIontagu's came upon me in a different manner. His delirium, which was extremely nolent. beattie's letters. 193 ended in a state of such apparent tranquillity, that 1 was congratulating myself on the danger being over, at the very time when Dr. ***** came, and told me, in his own name, and in that of the other two physicians that attended Montagu, that he could not live many hours : this was at eleven at night, and he died at five next morning. I hope I am resigned, as my duty requires, and as I wish to be ; but I have passed many a bitter hour, though on those occasions nobody sees me. I fear my rea- son is a little disordered, for I have sometimes thought of late, especially in a morning, that Mon- tagu is not dead, though I seem to have a remem- brance of a dream that he is. This you will say, what I myself believe, is a symptom not uncommon in cases similar to mine, and that I ought, by all means, to go from home as soon as 1 can. I will do so when the weather becomes tolerable. Incli- nation would draw me to Peterhead ; but the into- lerable road forbids it, and I believe I must go southward, where the roads are very good ; at least, I hear so. Being now childless, by the will of Providence, (in which 1 trust 1 acquiesce) I have made a new settlement in my small affairs j the only particular of which that needs to be mentioned at present is, that the organ, built by my eldest son and you, is now yours. I am much obliged to the kind friends who sym- pathise with me. Montagu was indeed very popu- lar wherever he went. His death was calm, re- signed, and unaffectedly pious ; he thought himself dying from the first attack of his illness. ** I could VOL. 11. K 191 beattie's letters. Wish," said he, " to live to be old, but am neither afraid uor unwilling to die." CLVI. TO SIR MILLIAM FORBES. Aberdeen, 17th April, 1796. I HAVE been these many days resolving to write to you and Mr. Arbuthuot, to thank you for your very kind and sympathetic letters, but various things have come in my Avay to prevent it. I need not pretend a hurry of business, for every body knows I am not capable of any. A deep gloom hangs upon me, and disables all my faculties; and thoughts so strange sometimes occur to me, as to make me ** fear that I am not," as Lear says, " in my perfect mind." But I thank God I am entirely resigned to the divine will ; and, though I am now childless, I have friends whose goodness to me, and other virtues, I tind great comfort in recollecting. The physicians not only advise, but entreat, and indeed command me, to go from home, and that without farther delay: and I do seriously resolve to set out for Edinburgh to-morrow. As I shall travel slowly, it will perhaps be a Aveek or more before I see you. At another time, and in different circumstances, I should have had much to say on the loss of our friend. Dr. Campbell ; but that sub- ject, as well as some others, I must defer till we meet. CLVII. TO MRS. MONTAGU. Aberdeen, 17th April, I796. 1 THANK you most cordially for your letter, so full beattie's letters, 195 of kindness and sympathy, and by consequence of comfort, to my bewildered mind. I trust that in resignation to the will of the supremely wi?*e and good Disposer of all events, I am not deficient ; but my frailties are many, and I cannot yet counteract the pressure that bears so hard upon me. Time and recollection will, I hope, give some strength to my faculties, and restore to me the power of com- manding my thoughts. The physicians, who see how it is with me, not only advise, but command me to go from home, without farther delay : and I intend to begin to-morrow, to try at least what I can do in the way of travelling. My first course will be towards Edinburgh, where I shall stay two or three weeks ; and if I find I am able, I shall probably after that go a little way into England : but whether I shall find it adviseable to proceed as far as London, I cannot as yet determine. My son JNIontagu sleeps in his brother's grave; the depth of which allows sufficient room for both. The inscription I have enlarged a little, and en- close a copy: its only merit is its simplicity and truth. MONTAGU. BEATTIE. Jacobi. Hay. Beattie. Frater. Ejusque. "Virtutum. et. Studioruin. ^Emulus. Sepulchrique Censors. Variarura. Peritus. Artium. Pingendi. imprimis. Natus. Octavo. Julii. MDCCLXXVIII. Multum. Defletus. Obiit. Dceimo. Quarto. Martii. MDCCXCVI. 196 beattie's letters. clviii. to robert arbuthnot, esq. Aberdeen, gth February, I797. If I could have said any tiling that would mitigate your grief for the loss of a most deserving son,* your own heart will testify for me that I would not have been so long silent. But I have had too much experience not to know, that the only sources of comfort, in a case of this kind, are submission to the divine will, aided by the slow and silent opera- tion oi time. God grant that these may be effec- tual for the alleviation of your sorrow ! Think on the many other blessings you enjoy; and think that the most enviable of all deaths is that which we now bewail, an honourable death in the service of our country. I beg leave to offer my best wishes and sympathy to Mrs. Arbuthnot and the rest of your family ; and shall be happy to hear that you and they are as well as it is reasonable to expect. I sometimes make an excursion to major Mercer's, which is the only sort of visit I ever attempt ; and he and I are, I hope, beneficial to each other ; though his affliction is, I fear, in some respects, heavier than either yours or mine, Alas ! how many things occur in this world, which are worse than death ! * A very deserving officer of artillery, who died at this time in the West Indies, BEATIIF.'S LETTERS. 197 CLIX. TO THE REV. DR. LAING. Aberdeen, 7th March, 1799- I HAVE just now heard, by the post of this day, a piece of news that affects me very much, the death of my excellent friend Mrs. Montagu. Her age was not less than fourscore, so that on this point she is not to be regretted. But many people de- pended on her; and to me, on all occasions, ever since 1771, when I first became acquainted with her, she has been a faithful and affectionate friend, especially in seasons of distress and difficulty. You will not wonder, then, that her death afflicts me. For some years past a failure in her eyes had made writing very painful to her ; but for not less than twenty years she was my punctual correspondent. She was greatly attached to Montagu, who re- ceived liis name from her, and not less interested in my other son, and in every thing that related to my family. 1 need not tell you what an excellent ■writer she was : you must have seen her book on Shakspeare, as compared with the Greek and French dramatic writers. I have known several ladies eminent in literature, but she excelled them all; and in conversation she had mure ivit than any other person, male or female, whom I have ever known. These, however, were her slighter accom- plishments : what was infinitely more to her ho- nour, she was a sincere Christian, both in faith and in practice, and took every proper opportunity to show it ; so that by her example and influence she did much good. 1 knew her husband, who died K 2 198 beattje's letters. in extreme old age, in the year 1775, and by her desire had conferences with him on the subject of Christianity ; but, to her great concern, he set too much value on mathematical evidence, and piqued himself too much on his knowledge in that science. He took it into his head, too, that I was a mathe- matician, though I was at a great deal of pains to convince him of the contrary.* ♦ Not long after this the sufferings of Dr. Beattie drew towards a close. In the beginning of April, 1799. he had a stroke of the palsy, which so affected his speech, that he could not make himself understood ; and he even forgot some of the most important words in every sentence. At different periods after this, he had several returns of the same afflicting malady ; and at length expired, without pain or any apparent struggle, on the J 8th of August, 1803, in the sixty-eighth year of his age. INDEX. Ko. Page LXVII. To Sir William Forbes 3 LXVIIl. To the Rev. Dr. Porteus 6 LXIX. To Mrs. Montagu ib. LXX. To the same 9 LXXI. To the Hon. Mr. Baron Gordon . . . 13 LXXI I. To the Rev. Mr. Cameron 15 LXXIII. To Sir William Forbes J6 LXXIV. To the Rev. Mr. Cameron 17 LXXV. To Sir William Forbes 19 LXXVI. To the same 21 LXXVII. To the same 25 LXXVIII. To Dr. Porteus, Bishop of Chester ... 26 LXXIX. To Sylvester Douglas, esq 28 LXXX. To Robert Arbuthnot, esq 3L LXXXI. To Sir William Forbes 35 LXXXII. To the Duchess of Gordon 37 LXXXIII. To Sir William Forbes 41 LXXXIV. To the Rev. Dr. Laing . 45 LXX XV. To Mrs. Montagu 47 LXXXVI. To the Duchess of Gordon ib. LXXXVII. To Sir William Forbes 48 LXXXVIII. To the Duchess of Gordon 51 LXXXIX. To Sir William Forbes 52 XC. To the same 54 XCI. To the Duchess of Gordon 55 XCII. To Mrs. Montagu 57 XCIII. To the Duchess of Gordon 6o XCIV. To Major Mercer 63 XCV. To Dr. Porteus, Bishop of Chester ... 64 XCVI. To Sir William Forbes 67 XCVII. To the Duchess of Gordon 70 200 INDEX. No. Page XCVIII. To Sir William Forbes 73 XCIX. To the DuchesR of Gordon T5 C. To the Rev. Dr. Laing 76 CI. To the Duchess of Gordon 78 CII. To Sir "William Forbes 82 CIII. To the Duchess of Gordon 84 CIV, To Sir William Forbes 86 CV. To the Duchess of Gordon 88 CVI. To Sir William Forbes QO CVII. To the Duchess of Gordon 91 CVIII, To the Rev. INIr. Williamson 92 CIX. To the Duchess of Gordon 9^ ex. To Sir William Forbes 97 CXI. To Mrs. Montagu 98 CXII. To Sir William Forbes 102 CXIII. To the Duchess of Gordon 104 CXIV. To the Hon. Mr. Baron Gordon ... 105 CXV. To the Bishop of Worcester 106 CXVl. To Mrs. Montagu 108 CXVII. To Miss Valentine liO CXVIII. To Sir William Forbes 112 CXIX. To thesarae 113 CXX. To the same 115 CXXI. To Dr. Porteus, Bishop of Chester . . .120 CXXII. To Mrs. Montagu 122 CXXIII. To the same 126 CXXIV. To Sir William Forbes 1?8 CXXV. To the Rev. Dr. Laing l.?0 CXXVI. To Dr. Porteus, Bishop of Chester . . . 132 CXXVII. To Robert Arbuthnot, esq 134 CXXVIII. To the Bishop of Worcester 138 CXXIX. To Sir William Forbes 139 CXXX. To the same 140 CXXXI. To the same .143 CXXXII. To the Hon. Mr. Baron Gordon . . . .145 CXXXIII. To Miss Valentine . . 150 CXXXIV. To Sir William F^orbes .152 CXXXV. To Mrs. Montagu . 153 INDEX. 201 No. Page CXXXVI. To Sir William Forbes 156 CXXXVII. To the same 159 CXXXVIII. To thesame l63 CXXXIX, To Dr. Porteus, Bishop of London . . l65 CXL. To Sir William Forbes iGj CXLI. To the Duchess of Gordon JfilJ CXLII. To the same 170 CXLIII. To Mrs. Montagu )72 CXLIV. To the same 173 CXLV. To the same 174 CXLVl. To Sir William Forbes 177 CXLVII. To the Duchess of Gordon 178 CXLVIII. To the Rev. Dr. Laing 181 CXLIX. To the same 1B3 CL. To Sir William Forbes 18* CLI. To the Duchess of Gordon 185 CLII. To Sir William Forbes 188 CLIII. To Robert Arbuthnot, esq IQO CLIV. To Sir William Forbes lyi CLV. To the Rev. Dr. Laing 192 CLVL To Sir William Forbes 194 CLV II. To Mrs. Montagu ib. CLVIIL To Robert Arbuthnot, esq 196 CLIX. To the Rev. Dr. Laing IQT THE END. Printed by T. Davison, Whitefriars. ^1^^ UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY B 000 000 980 3 k