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 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 unnecesi<ary to trouble you with 
 reading in my words what you find much better ex- 
 pressed in that postscript. I intended to have in- 
 quired into the conveniences and disadvantages of 
 Richardson's manner of writing, compared with 
 that of other novelists ; to have considered the pro- 
 
 • The Reverend Dr. John Ogilvie, minister at Midmar, 
 in Aberdeenshire, author of " Providence," and other 
 poems. This letter was written when Dr. Beattie was it» 
 his twenty-fourth year. 
 
 + To " Clarissa," referred to in the preface of the work, 
 in which several objections are considered by the author.
 
 4 beattie's letters. 
 
 priety or impropriety of the catastroplie ; and to 
 have indulged what other critical reflections might 
 have occurred upon the arrangement of the narra- 
 tions, the length of the work, and a few other par- 
 ticulars. But finding this plan executed, as I said 
 before, in the postscript, and executed in a manner 
 very similar to that which I had designed, I shall 
 trouble you at present only with a few miscellaneous 
 observations upon that celebrated novel. 
 
 The author shows great knowledge of mankind, 
 and of human nature. He possesses an inexhaus- 
 tible fund of original sentiment, a hapi)y talent at 
 some kinds of description, particularly conversation 
 pieces ; he delineates some characters with ma- 
 sterly and distinguishing strokes; he seems to be 
 well acquainted with the human heart, and with 
 the particular emotions that arise in it on particu- 
 lar occasions. The fervour wherewith he recom- 
 mends religion and virtue, intimates that he is truly 
 in earnest, and that his heart goes along with his 
 pen. 
 
 On reading ** Clarissa," we immediately disco- 
 ver that its design is more to instruct than to 
 amuse. The author warns the reader of this in his 
 preface, and again repeats it in the postscript. It 
 is for this reason, that they, who read more for 
 amusement than instruction, will not be so much 
 captivated with " Clarissa,'' as with some other of 
 our English novels. 1 grant tliere are, in the novel 
 before us, a great many passages of the most inter- 
 esting kind, but these passages are few in compa- 
 rison to the extent of the work. I cannot help 
 thinking that our author is often tedious to a fault. 
 In the first volumes there are, if I mistake not, many
 
 beattie's letters. 5 
 
 needless (and I liad almost said nauseating) repeti- 
 tions, I grant, such letters as fall under this censure 
 are generally characteristical, are often humorous, 
 often instructive, and might possibly please, if we 
 were to read the book a second or third time, when 
 we are acquainted with all the characters, and all 
 the particulars of the story. But as there are not 
 many readers who can afford leisure to read so long 
 a romance twice or thrice over, I presume proper 
 care ought to have been taken to blend amusement 
 and instruction in such a manner, as that the one 
 might be a heightening and seasoning to the other. 
 When a stop is put to the progress of the story, in 
 order to give the author room to show his talent 
 for humour, or for moralizing, the readers (especi- 
 ally those of the younger sort, for whom princi- 
 pally such books are intended) will be impatient till 
 they disentangle themselves of these digressions, 
 and fall in again with the story. This, I believe, 
 will generally be the case, if the narrative be deeply 
 interesting; and deeply interesting every narrative 
 of this kind ought to be. One of the rules to be 
 observed in the Aristotelean drama, is, that there 
 be no scene in the piece superfluous. I wish the 
 author of *' Clarissa" had kept some such rule as 
 this in his eye; that he had disposed all the parts 
 of his work in such a manner, as that the reader, 
 though always impatient for the catastrophe, should 
 never be tempted to pass over any part, but should 
 ever find the story rising upon him, so as that his 
 passion for novelty should be fully gratified all 
 along. For my own part, I was often chagrined at 
 his tediousness, and frequently was obliged to turn 
 to the contents of the volume, to relieve my mind a
 
 6 beattie's letters. 
 
 little from tlie nick of unsatisfied impatience; yet I 
 doubt not, if I were now to read " Clarissa" a second 
 time, I should find these tedious parts not the least 
 useful. Whoever rails at Mr. Richardson's tedious- 
 uess, should recollect, that his design is more to 
 instruct than to amuse ; and that, consequently, his 
 tediousness is a pardonable fault, as the motive to it 
 is so laudable. 
 
 With respect to the characters in " Clarissa," 
 they are, I think, in general, particular and distinct 
 enough. There is >omething 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 
 !<omething amiable enough in this character, 5tes 
 what he thinks almost sufficient to engage the affec- 
 tions of Clarissa ; nor does he discover the deep- 
 designing ruffian, till the third volume; and yet so 
 consistent are Lovelace's designs, even then, with 
 that character which he bears at the beginning, 
 that the reader is not disappointed when he comes 
 to trace out his villany. 
 
 It is with some a very strong objection against 
 our author, that he proposes to our imitation what 
 they call a perfect character in the person of Cla- 
 rissa. Clarissa's character is, indeed, exalted, but 
 it is not humanly perfect. And in proposing a cha- 
 racter something more than humanly perfect to our 
 imitation, I cannot, at present, discern any absur- 
 dity : for is it not recommended to those who study 
 to excel in any art or science, that they form them-
 
 BEATTIE S LETFERS. 7 
 
 iselves after the most perfect models, even although 
 it be morally impossible for them ever to attain the 
 perfection of these models? Does not the cele- 
 brated judge of the sublime very strongly recom- 
 mend this rule, when he proposes for the imitation 
 of those who would attempt epic poetry and oratory, 
 no less perfect patterns than Homer and Demosthe- 
 nes ? Nay, (if we may, without profanation, use 
 this other illustration,) does not the Scripture en- 
 join us to imitate the great Original of all perfec- 
 tion ? This rule is founded in nature and reason. 
 If the model be imperfect, the copies must of con- 
 sequence be more imperfect; and so liable to error 
 is the human mind, that we are as prone to imitate 
 the faults as the excellences of what is proposed for 
 ;iu original to us. Now, shall this rule be allowed 
 to every other science, and not to the most import- 
 ant of all sciences — the science of life and man- 
 ners ? I know the grand objection is, that, to give 
 ;i man or woman a perfect character, is out of na- 
 ture. A character absolutely perfect, does Hot, we 
 acknowledge, belong to man. 
 
 But what height of excellence even a human 
 soul may arrive at, we cannot ascertain, till we 
 have left no experiment untried. One who had 
 never seen the tricks of a wire-dancer, would be 
 apt to ridicule as fabulous the first accounts he 
 should hear of those astonishing feats, of which 
 long application and unwearied industry make these 
 performers capable. Who can tell what happy, 
 what glorious effects might be produced, were an 
 equal proportion of industry applied to the regula- 
 tion of the passions, and the strengthening ancl im- 
 proving the reasonable powers ! Let not then the
 
 8 beattie's letter?. 
 
 novelist be censured, if his hero or heroine be pos- 
 sessed of a proportion of virtue superior to what we 
 have discovered in our acquaintunce with mankind; 
 provided the natural genius inherent in the hero oj' 
 heroine, assisted by the improvements of the hap- 
 piest education, be sufficient to render their virtues 
 at least probable. Nature, we must remember, had 
 endowed Clarissa with a genius of the most exalted 
 kind, and a temperament of soul formed to receive 
 the impressions of virtue. This genius, and this 
 disposition, improved by the culture of a liberal and 
 strictly virtuous education, amid the simplicity of a 
 country life, could not fail to produce an admi- 
 rable character. Nor do I think this character (all 
 circumstances considered) stretched beyond the li- 
 mits of humanity. Clarissa's external conduct was, 
 indeed, unblameable, (and I hope, for the liononr 
 of mankind, there are many to be found whose ex- 
 ternal conduct is unblameable,) but she often ac- 
 knowledges her heart was not so. She owns, she 
 was conceited and puffed up in her happy days, and 
 not entirely proof against the suggestions of chagrin 
 and despondency in her adversity. If then, her 
 cliaracter be perfect, we must call it (as we before 
 called it) humanly perfect. 
 
 On the whole, I think Mr. Richardson is, with 
 regard to the manners of his heroine, entirely un- 
 Avorthy of blame. 
 
 You ask. What I think of Richardson's talents 
 for the pathetic? In this respect, I think he has 
 no equals among his own tribe of writers, and not 
 many superiors even among the most celebrated 
 tragedians. I said before, that he seems to be ac- 
 quainted with the particular emotions that arise in
 
 beattie's letters. 9 
 
 fetie human heart on particular occasions. Several 
 passages of his work I could point out in proof of 
 this : I shall only at present give one instance, and 
 that is, Clarissa's delirious letter to Lovelace, 
 vt'hich no person can read without sensible emotion. 
 The starts of phrensy — of phrensy in such a person, 
 under such circumstances, are, I think, hit off in 
 such a manner, as would not have been unworthy 
 of Shakspeare himself. I shall transcribe a few 
 lines from that letter, with which I cannot tell how 
 much I was struck. ** But good, now, Lovelace, 
 " don't set Mrs. Sinclair upon me again. I never did 
 her any harm. She so affrights me when I see her. 
 Ever since — fVhen ivas it ? I cannot telL You 
 can, I suppose." This {When ivas it ?) suggests a 
 great deal to my imagination. It is one of those 
 soul-harrowing expressions which are seldom to be 
 met with but in Shakspeare, and which are infi- 
 nitely preferable to all the laboured harangues and 
 verbose descriptions of a Dryden. I must add, that 
 the full beauty of that phrase cannot be taken in 
 but by one who is well acquainted with this part of 
 the story. The descriptions of the arrest, and of 
 Clarissa's death, are very pathetic : and the au- 
 thor shows, by his account of the infamous Sin- 
 clair's fate, that he has no mean talent at describing 
 scenes of horror. There is something dreadfully 
 striking in the penknife scene, as it is called : but, 
 as it is needless to be more particular, I cannot 
 dismiss this criticism, without taking notice, that, 
 however pathetic the account of the lady's misfor- 
 tunes may be, sorroio will not, I think, be the pre- 
 vailing passion in one who peruses it. If I mistake 
 b2
 
 10 beattie's letters. 
 
 not, indignation at the infernal villany of the ruf- 
 fian who is the author of these misfortunes, will 
 not a little contribute to steel the heart against the 
 softer impressions of sorrow; at least, will render 
 them less penetrating. And yet, perhaps, either of 
 these passions may be prevalent, according to the 
 constitution of the reader. 
 
 Richardson, I think, merits commendation for 
 his carefully avoiding to hint the least anticipation 
 of the catastrophe in the first volumes. The reader 
 is left as much in the dark, with respect to events, 
 as the interested persons themselves. This natu- 
 rally results from the manner of writing which our 
 author has chosen, and is, no doubt, one of the 
 principal excellences of his manner, compared with 
 that of other novelists : but this matter is handled 
 iu the postscript to the work. 
 
 I shall have done with mycriticism on '* Clarissa." 
 To point out faults is a disagreeable task ; I choose 
 rather to insist upon beauties. Richardson, upon 
 the whole, is an original writer ; and deserves well 
 of his countr)', for giving it one of the most useful 
 novels in the English language. 
 
 After allowing this writer so large a share of 
 merit, perhaps it may be thought too trifling to 
 censure his style. It is, indeed, sometimes very 
 expressive. To have raised it above the familiar 
 had been faulty. He has often coined words, which, 
 in a literary correspondence, is allowable. He va- 
 ries his style with great judgment, and adapts it 
 admirably to the different characters. If I were to 
 find fault with it at all, I would only say, that, from 
 an over-affectation of the familiar, he too often
 
 beattie's letters. Tl 
 
 uses the parenthesis ; and, as he seldom unites the 
 latter part of the period with the former, by a 
 recapitulating ivordov two, he lays his reader under 
 the necessity, especially where the parenthesis is 
 long, of reading the sentence onceand again, before 
 he can catch the meaning and intent of the whole, 
 I think the parenthesis ought to be used very 
 sparingly; and, when an author chooses to use it, 
 he should condescend so far to the weakness of his 
 reader's memory, as to unite the disjointed parts of 
 the period by a few recapitulating words, as I ven- 
 ture to call them, prefixed to the latter clause. 
 
 I was surprised to find, at the end of such a work 
 as the '* History of Clarissa," a set of verses so very 
 paltry as those inscribed to the author of" Clarissa." 
 But, I believe, authors are on such occasions often 
 at a loss, and find themselves obliged to prefer, not 
 the quality of the complimentary verses, but the 
 quality of the friendly rhymers themselves ; other- 
 wise I should venture to pronounce Mr. Richardson 
 an inadequate judge of poetical merit. Take the 
 following four lines, and tell me if you have ever 
 seen more prosaic doggerel : 
 
 ■" With streaming eyes, too late, the mother blames 
 Her tame submission to the tyrant, James : 
 Ev'n he, the gloomy father, o'er the hearse 
 Laments his rashness, and recalls his curse,"
 
 12 BEATTIE's LETTEt 
 
 II. TO ROBERT ARBUTHXOT, ESQ.* 
 
 ; Aberdeen, 24th October, I761. 
 
 I AM just now employed in reading the first volume 
 of the " Nouvelle Eloise." The author seems to 
 possess great knowledge of the luunan heart : his 
 rellections, in general, are beautiful, original, and 
 just; his sensibility exquisite, and his eloquence 
 wonderfully affecting. But, though I grant him 
 these excellences, I must be pardoned, when 1 cen- 
 sure either his judgment or his virtue. If he meant 
 to promote the cause of virtue, it was ceitainly a 
 proof of an egregious failure in his judgment, that 
 he made choice of a fable whose tendency seems 
 directly contrary. Vaubrugh, and Congreve, and 
 Rochester, only inflame the imagination ; Rousseau 
 ]>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 rej<?ct 
 others ; as to suppose, that some of the facts re- 
 corded by the evangelists of our Saviour may rea- 
 sonably be disbelieved, and others doubted — when 
 one, I say, has proceeded thus far, we may, with- 
 out breach of charity, conclude, that he has within 
 him a spirit of paradox and presumption, which 
 may prompt him to proceed much farther. Dr. 
 Priestley's doctrines seem to me to strike at the 
 very vitals of Christianity, His success in some of 
 the branches of natural knowledge seems to have 
 intoxicated him, and led him to fancy that he was 
 master of every subject, and had a right to be a 
 dictator in all : for, in this book of his, there is 
 often a boldness of assertion, followed by a weak- 
 ness of argujnent, which no mau of parts would ad-
 
 beattie's letters. 173 
 
 venture upon, wlio did not think that his word 
 would be taken for a law. I am impatient for the 
 appearance of his book against me, as I cannot pre- 
 pare matters for a new edition of the " Essay on 
 Truth," till I see what he has to say against it. 
 
 I have not seen Dr. Gerard's " Essay on Ge- 
 nius." I know the author very well, for I studied 
 philosophy under liim ; he is a man of great worth, 
 learning, and good sense. His *' Essay on Taste" 
 (which you have probably seen) was well received ; 
 and, 1 am confident, there will be many good 
 things in this new work, notwithstanding the un- 
 promising and hackneyed title. 
 
 LXV. TO THE rev. MR. WILLIAM CAMERON.* 
 
 Aberdeen, 2Cd September, 1774. 
 Your judgment of Addison is quite right. His 
 prose is most elegant, and deserves to be carefully 
 studied for the style as well as for the matter ; but 
 his poetry is in general cold, and prosaic, and in- 
 harmonious. Yet his tragedy of *' Cato" has great 
 merit ; and his comedy of *' The Drummer" is, in 
 my opinion, one of the best dramatic pieces in our 
 language. He attempted a translation of Homer, 
 and actually published the first book of it, under 
 Tickell's name, in opposition to Pope's; but the 
 performance is altogether unworthy of Addison, 
 and totally destitute of the fire, and energy, and 
 harmony of Homer. 
 
 * Minister of the parish of Kirk-Newton, in the county 
 of West Lothian. 
 
 I 2
 
 174 beattie's letters. 
 
 Your studies are in an excellent train. Read the 
 classics day and night, till you make yourself master 
 of them. Exercise yourself in frequent composi- 
 tions in English prose. Write your thoughts on 
 every subject, and carefully keep what you write. 
 Attend to the phraseology of the best English wri- 
 ters, with a view to correct and improve your En- 
 glish style. We Scotsmen find it a very difficult 
 matter to get rid of the barbarisms of our native 
 dialect. 
 
 LXVI. TO THE REV. DR. PORTEUS. 
 
 Aberdeen, 4th March, 1775. 
 I HAVE just finished a liasty perusal of Dr. John- 
 son's journey. It contains many things worthy of 
 the author, and is, on the whole, very entertain- 
 ing. His account of the isles is, I dare say, veiy 
 just : I never was there, and therefore can say no- 
 thing of them from my own knowledge. His ac- 
 counts of some facts, relating to other parts of 
 Scotland, are not unexceptionable. Either he must 
 have been misinformed, or he must have misunder- 
 stood his informer, in regard to several of his re- 
 marks on the improvement of the country. I am 
 surprised at one of his mistakes, which leads him 
 once or twice into perplexity and false conjecture : 
 he seems not to have known, that, in the common 
 language of Scotland, Irish and Earse are both used 
 to denote the speech of the Scots Highlanders; and 
 are as much synonymous (at least in many parts of 
 the kingdom) as Scotch and Scottish. Irish is ge- 
 nerally thought the genteeler appellation, and Earse
 
 beattie's letters. 175 
 
 the vulgar and colloquial. His remarks on the 
 trees of Scotland, must greatly surprise a native. 
 In some of our provinces, trees cannot be reared by 
 any method of cultivation we have yet discovered ; 
 in some, where trees flourish extremely well, they 
 are not much cultivated, because they are not ne- 
 cessary : but in others, we have store of wood, 
 and forests of great extent, and of great antiquity^^- 
 I am sorry to see in Johnson some asperities that ' 
 seem to be the effect of national prejudice. If he [ 
 thinks himself thoroughly acquainted with the cha- 
 racter of the Scots as a nation, he is greatly mis- 
 taken. The Scots have virtues, and the Scots have 
 faults, of which he seems to have had no particular 
 information. I am one of those who wish to see 
 the English spirit and English manners prevail over 
 the whole island ; for I think the English have a 
 generosity and openness of nature, which many of 
 us want. But we are not all, without exception, a 
 nation of cheats and liars, as Johnson seems will- 
 ing to believe, and to represent us. Of the better 
 sort of our people, the character is just the reverse. 
 I admire Johnson's genius ; I esteem him for his 
 virtues ; I shall ever cherish a grateful remem- 
 brance of the civilities I have received fiom him : 
 I have often, in this country, exerted myself in de- 
 fence both of his character and writings ; but there 
 are in this book several things which I cannot de- 
 fend. His unbelief, in regard to Ossian, I am not 
 surprised at ; but I wonder greatly at his credulity 
 in regard to the second-sight. I cannot imagine on 
 what grounds he could say, that, in the universi- 
 ties of Scotland, every master of arts may be a doc-
 
 176 BEATTIE S LETTERS. 
 
 tor when he pleases. I never heard of such a thing, 
 and I have been connected with our universities 
 ever since I was a boy. Our metliod of giving doc- 
 tor's degrees I do not approve of; but we proceed 
 on a principle quite different from what Dr. John- 
 son mentions.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 No. Page 
 
 I. To Dr. John Ogilvie 3 
 
 II. To Robert Arbuthnot, esq 12 
 
 III. To the same 13 
 
 IV. To the same J6 
 
 V. To the same 17 
 
 VI. To Mr. Gray 19 
 
 VII. To Sir William Forbes 20 
 
 VIII. To Dr. Blacklock 22 
 
 IX. To Sir William Forbes 2-4 
 
 X. To the same 27 
 
 XI. To Dr. Blacklock 31 
 
 XII. To the Hon. Charles Boyd 34 
 
 XIII. To Sir William Forbes 37 
 
 XIV. To Robert Arbuthnot, esq 41 
 
 XV. To Dr. Blacklock 42 
 
 XVI. To the Rev. James Williamson .... 44 
 
 XVII. To Sir William Forbes 45 
 
 XVIII. To Robert Arbuthnot, esq 47 
 
 XIX. To Dr. Blacklock 49 
 
 XX. To the Hon. Charles Boyd 51 
 
 XXI. To Dr. Blacklock 59 
 
 XXII. To Sir William Forbes 6? 
 
 XXIII. To the same 71 
 
 XXIV. To Captain Mercer 74 
 
 XXV. To the Earl of Buchan 77 
 
 XXVI. To the same 79 
 
 XXVII. To Sir William Forbes 80 
 
 XXVIII. To Dr. Blacklock 03 
 
 XXIX. To Mrs. Inglis 87 
 
 XXX. To Sir William Forbes 92 
 
 XXXI. To Robert Arbuthnot, esq 93 
 
 XXXII. From Dr. John Gregory 94 
 
 XXXIII. To the Rt. Hon. the Dowager Lady Forbes 05
 
 178 INDEX. 
 
 No. Page 
 
 XXXI V. To the Rev. Mr. Williamson 98 
 
 XXXV. To Mrs. Montagu 100 
 
 XXXVI. From Dr. Percy 105 
 
 XXXVII. From Dr. Porteus 107 
 
 XXXVIII. To Mrs. Montagu 108 
 
 XXXIX. To Dr. Porteus 110 
 
 XL. To Mrs. Montagu 112 
 
 XLI. From Dr. Drummond, Archbishop of York 114 
 
 XLII. To Sir WiUiam Forbes 116 
 
 XLIII. To Mrs. Montagu 117 
 
 XLIV. To Sir William Forbes 120 
 
 XLV. To Mrs. Montagu 121 
 
 XLVI. To the same . . . 122 
 
 XLVII. To Dr. Porteus 125 
 
 XLVIII. To Mrs. Montagu 128 
 
 XLIX. To the Earl of KinnouU 130 
 
 L. To Mrs. Montagu 131 
 
 LI. To Sir William Forbes 135 
 
 Lll. To the same 138 
 
 LIII. To the same 144 
 
 LIV. To Mrs. Montagu 145 
 
 LV. To Lady Mayne 148 
 
 LVI. To Robert Arbuthnot, esq l5o 
 
 LVII. To Mrs. Montagu 151 
 
 LVIII. From Lady Mayne 155 
 
 LIX. To Lady Mayne' 158 
 
 LX. To J»Irs. Montagu l60 
 
 LXI. To the same l63 
 
 LXII. From the Rev. Dr. Porteus l65 
 
 LXIII. To the Rev. Dr. Porteus 166 
 
 LXIV. To Mrs. Montagu 171 
 
 LXV. To the Rev. William Cameron 173 
 
 LXVI. To tiie Rev. Dr. Porteus 174 
 
 THE END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Printed by T. Davison, Whitcfriavs.
 
 THE 
 
 or 
 JAMES BEATTIE, 
 
 ,^^5C 
 
 :S5feT' 
 
 ( 
 
 " JOBS aHAETE.PICCADItEV. 
 1830.
 
 THE 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 JAMES BEATTIE, LL.D. 
 
 CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED 
 
 SIR W. FORBES'S COLLECTION. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 WDCCCXX.
 
 Printed by T. Daviso.v^ 
 Whitefriars.
 
 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 
 
 LXVII. TO SIR WILLIAM TORBES. 
 
 Gatton-Park, near Ryegate, £7th June, 177.5. 
 I WOULD have written to you long ago, if I liad had 
 time to write a long letter ; but, for six or seven 
 weeks after I came to town, I was so constantly 
 engaged with company, that I had no leisure at all. 
 The greatest part of that time I lodged v.ith my 
 friend Dr. Porteus, at Lambeth, who did every 
 thing in his power to amuse and entertain me. His 
 conversation is cheerful, and occasionally even 
 sportive : he is warm and zealous as a friend ; 
 kind, gentle, and polite, as a companion. He is 
 now gone to reside at one of his livings in the 
 country, whither he earnestly wished us to follow 
 him ; but I am afraid we shall see him no more 
 this gummer. AVe are now with sir William iMayne, 
 at one of the finest places I have ever seen ; a place 
 adorned with every charm that hill and dale, lawn 
 and grove, wood and water, can bestow, and which 
 wants nothing but cataracts, precipices, barren 
 mountains, and a view of the sea, to make it super- 
 eminent in every rural beauty. But, though we
 
 4 BEATTIE S LETTER^. 
 
 have not the sea, we have a boundless prospect of 
 a j-ich country, extending upwards of thirty miles. 
 Here 1 have made it ray business to be as idle as 
 possible, in order to indemnify myself for the fa- 
 tigue dnd bustle of London ; and, since I came hi- 
 ther, my health has improved greatly. Mrs. Beat- 
 tie is also much better. But we must soon think 
 of returning to the North, as we wish to be in 
 Aberdeen early in August, and have many visits to 
 make by the way. 
 
 During my stay in London, I visited most of ray 
 old friends, and made several new acquisitions, par- 
 ticularly araong the bishops and clergy, who all 
 showed me a degree of attention far superior to 
 my de.-ervings. I have been at court too, where 
 the king (who knew me at first sight) was pleased 
 to speak to me %'ery graciously, asking me several 
 (luestions about my studies, and observing, that I 
 looked much better than when he saw me last. 
 
 You will no doubt be curious to hear something 
 of Priestley. I have not yet met with, nor heard 
 of, one single person, who does not blame his book 
 against Dr. Reid and me. Even those of his ad- 
 mirers, who think favourably of his arguments, 
 condemn the spirit of that performance. But the 
 book has attracted very little notice, and would 
 seem at present to be in a fair way of being speedily 
 forgotten, notwithstanding the pains taken by its 
 author to puff it away in newspapers. My inclina- 
 tion was (as I told you) to publish a pamphlet in 
 direct answer to it. But I now begin to think, 
 that will be unnecessary, and will only give scope 
 to further controversy. Dr. Priestley having already 
 declared, that he will answer whatever I may pub-
 
 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 5 
 
 Hsli in my own vindication ; and being a man who 
 loves bustle and book-making, he wishes above all 
 things that I should give him a pretext for continu- 
 ing the dispute. To silence him by force of argu- 
 ment, is, I know, impossible. He would still fall 
 upon new modes of misrepresentation, and would 
 still find it an easynnatter to make a book, which 
 should seem plausible to his implicit admirers, or 
 to those who had entered but slightly into the sub- 
 ject. All my friends here have been urging me not 
 to answer him ; and have told me, what I know is 
 true, that his work cannot possibly do me any harm ; 
 that it has been little read, and will soon be for- 
 gotten ; that he is a man of that sort, that it is 
 even creditable (on moral and religious subjects at 
 least) to have him for an adversary ; and timt I 
 cannot gratify him more, than by writing against 
 him. All this, I say, I know to be true ; yet I am 
 not entirely of their opinion, who think that l 
 ought to neglect him altogether. 1 therefore pro- 
 pose to take a middle course : and, without making 
 any formal answer to Dr. Priestley, to write some- 
 thing by way of general answer to those ohjections 
 to my doctrine that have appeared hitherto in 
 pamphlets or newspapers ; observing, at the same 
 time, that I do not think it worth while to reply to 
 the abuse that has been thrown out against me, or 
 to those misrepresentations of my meaning^ which 
 some authors, particularly Dr. Priestley, have thought 
 proj)er to obtrude upon the world.
 
 Cx BEATTIE S LETTERS. 
 
 LXVIII. TO THE REV. DR. TORTEUS. 
 
 St. James's Square, July gth, 1775. 
 Dr. Majendie has just retuiued to me the letter I 
 wrote, declining the offer of the cliurch-living. I 
 send it to you enclosed. He gave it to the queen, 
 who condescended to read it over from heuinning 
 to end, and was then j)leased to say, " That it was 
 a very sensible letter, and did me much honour." 
 I was anxious, that my reasons for choosing to 
 continue a layman should be known at court ; as a 
 report has been circulating, that I declined church- 
 preferment in England, because I couh. not recon- 
 cile myself to the doctrines and discipline of the 
 church ; — a report which those who knovr me best 
 know to be ill-founded. I admire the church of 
 England on many accounts. I think I could, with 
 a clear conscience, live and die a member, or even 
 a minister of it. Its doctrines seem to me to be 
 those of Christianity; its rites and ceremonies 1 
 greatly approve of ; and the constitution of its 
 hierarchy is equally favourable to the interests of 
 religion, and the civil government of this country. 
 
 LXIX. TO MRS. MONTAGU. 
 
 Aberdeen, ) 7th August, 17T5. 
 After passing a few days with our friends at Edin- 
 burgh, we proceeded northwards, and arrived here 
 in safety about ten days ago. The last stage of our 
 journey was distinguished by an accident, which, 
 if Providence had not interposed, would have made 
 it the last stage of our life. The iron axle of the
 
 BEATTIE'a LETTERS. 7 
 
 fluvise snapped suddenly in two, and the carri-age was 
 thrown upon its side, within two feet of the brink 
 of a precipice, tliirty yards deep. Here we lay for 
 a few moments, with the horses flouncing about iis, 
 till at last, partly by the harness giving way, and 
 partly by tlie activity of the postilion, they were dis- 
 engaged from the carriage, and went off at full 
 speed. An English gentleman, on horseback, was 
 then in sight, behind us, who immediately galloped 
 up, and, in the most humane manner, inquired 
 whether he could be of any service ; and, having 
 seen us fairly rescued from our shattered vehicle, 
 remounted his horse, galloped back to the inn, and 
 soon returned with another chaise. 
 
 I have begun my transcribing, which, even if I 
 had nothing to do in the way of correction, would 
 take up some hours of every day for months to 
 come. I have made many attempts at a preface to 
 my quarto volume ; but have not, as yet, been able 
 to plccise myself. It seems to me, that the best 
 way to obviate all objections, and to prevent mis- 
 takes, in regard to this publication, is to give a 
 short and honest account of the plain matter of 
 fact. This I have endeavoured to do in the en- 
 closed paper, with which, if you approve of it, I 
 intend to begin my preface. The sequel will con- 
 tain some account of the additional essays, and of 
 the improvements in this edition of the " Essay on 
 Truth." 
 
 To make some amends for the terrifying inci- 
 dent-recorded in the first part of this letter, I 
 shall now mention a pleasing one, which was told 
 me by a gentleman of this country, a friend of 
 mine, who lately went to Stratford upon Avon, to
 
 8 eeattie's letters. 
 
 pay his duty at the shrine of the man of fVarwkk- 
 shire. You certainly know, that Garrick erected a 
 statue of Shakspeare, in a niche in tlie wall of the 
 town-house, facing the street. As my friend was 
 contemplating this statue, he saw, perched on olne 
 of the hands, a dove, which, at first, he took for 
 an emblem, as the creature was quite motionless ; 
 but which, in a little time, began to move, and 
 scramble upwards, till it reached the bosom of the 
 statue, in which, as in its home, it nestled, with 
 great appearance of satisfaction. Charles Boyd, 
 lord Erroll's brother, has, I hear, composed a little 
 poem on the subject, of which I shall send you a 
 copy, as soon as I have seen the author. If Mr. 
 Garrick comes in your way before you leave Eng- 
 land, I am sure he will be pleased with this little 
 narrative. 
 
 The day after I returned home, I visited the lit- 
 tle man, whose magnanimity you are pleased to 
 reward in so generous a manner. I found him in 
 great want of clothes, and very infirm ; for he is 
 now of a great age. I told him, that a lady in 
 England had desired me to give him some money. 
 This very interesting news he received with much 
 composure, but implored, with great fervour, the 
 blessing of Heaven upon his benefactress. I have 
 not seen him since that time. Since the days of 
 chivalry, T do not suppose that any lady has had so 
 complete a dwarf, as you, madam, have now at 
 your service ; for I cannot think that he is full 
 three feet high.
 
 BEATTIE S LETTERS. d 
 
 LXX. TO MRS. MONTAGU. 
 
 Aberdeen, 17th September, 1775. 
 Your reflections on the little disaster with which 
 our journey concluded, exactly coincide with mine. 
 I agree with Havvkesworth, that the peril and the 
 deliverance are equally providential ; and I wonder 
 lie did not see, that both the one and the other may 
 be productive of the very best effects. These little 
 accidents and trials are necessary to put us in mind 
 of that superintending goodness, to which we are 
 indebted for every breath we draw, and of which, 
 in the hour of tranquillity, many of us are too apt 
 to be forgetful. But you, madam, forget nothing 
 which a Christian ought to remember ; and, there- 
 fore, I hope and pray, that Providence may defend 
 you from every alarm. By the way, there are seve- 
 ral things, besides that preface to which I just now 
 referred, in the writings of Hawkesworth, that 
 show an unaccountable perplexity of mind in re- 
 gard to some of the principles of natural religioH. 
 I observed, in his conversation, that he took a 
 pleasure in ruminating upon riddles, and puzzling 
 questions, and calculations ; and he seems to have 
 carried something of the same temper into his mo- 
 ral and theological researches. His " Almoran and 
 Hamet*' is a strange confused narrative, and leaves 
 upon the mind of the reader some disagreeable im- 
 pressions, in regard to the ways of Providence ; 
 and from the theory oi pity, which he has given us 
 somewhere in " The Adventurer," one would sus- 
 pect that he was no enemy to the philosophy of 
 Hohbes. However, I am disposed to impute all 
 b2
 
 10 beattie's letters. 
 
 this rather to a vague way of thinliing, than to any 
 perversity of heart or understanding: only I wish, 
 that, in liis last work, he had been more ambitious 
 to tell the plain truth, than to deliver to the world 
 a wonderful story. I confess^, that, from the first, 
 I was inclined to consider his vile portrait of the 
 manners of Otaheite as in part fictitious ; and [ 
 am now assured, upon the very best authority, that 
 Dr. Solander disavows some of those narrations, or 
 at least declares them to be grossly misrepresented. 
 There is, in almost all the late books of travels I 
 have seen, a disposition on the part of the author 
 to recommend licentious theories. I would not ob- 
 ject to the truth of any fact that is warranted by 
 the testimony of competent witnesses. But how 
 few of our travellers are competent judges of the 
 facts they relate ! How few of them know any thing 
 accurately of the language of those nations, whose 
 laws, religion, and moral sentiments, they pretend 
 to describe ! And how few of them are free from 
 that inordinate love of the marvellous, which sti- 
 mulates equally the vanity of the writer and I he 
 curiosity of the reader! Suppose a Japanese crew 
 to arrive in England, take in wood and water, ex- 
 change a few commodities, and, after a stay of 
 three months, to set sail for their own country, 
 and there set forth a history of the English govern- 
 ment, religion, and manners : it is, I think, highly 
 probable, that, for one truth, they would deliver a 
 score of falsehoods. But Europeans, it will be said, 
 have more sagacity, and know more of mankind. 
 Be it so : but this advantage is not without incon- 
 veniences, sufficient, perhaps, to counterbalance it. 
 When a European arrives in any remote part of
 
 beattie's letters. 11 
 
 the globe, the natives, if they know any thing of 
 his country, will be apt to form no favourable opi- 
 nion of his intentions, with regard to their liber- 
 ties ; if they Ivnow nothing of him, they will yet 
 keep aloof, on account of his strange language, 
 complexion, and accoutrements. In either case, 
 he has little chance of understanding their laws, 
 manners, and pi-inciples of action, except by a long 
 residence in the country, which would not suit the 
 views of one traveller in five thousand. He, tliere- 
 fore, picks up a few strange plants and animals, 
 which he may do with little trouble or danger ; 
 and, at his return to Europe, is welcomed by the 
 literati as a philosophic traveller of most accurate 
 observation, and unquestionable veracity. He de- 
 scribes, perhaps, with tolerable exactness, the 
 soils, plants, and otlier irrational curiosities of the 
 new country, which procures credit to what he has 
 to say of the people; though his accuracy in de- 
 scribing the material phenomena is no proof of his 
 capacity to explain the moral. One can easily dig 
 to the root of a plant, but it is not so easy to pene- 
 trate the motive of an action ; and, till the motive 
 of an action be known, we are no competent judges 
 of its morality, and in many cases the motive of an 
 action is not to be known without a most intimate 
 knowledge of the language and manners of the 
 agent. Our traveller then delivers a few facts of 
 the moral kind, which, perhaps, he does not un- 
 derstand, and from them draws some inferences 
 suitable to the taste of the times, or to a favourite 
 hypothesis. He tells us of a Californian, who sold 
 his bed in a morning, and came with tears in his 
 eyes to beg it back at night j whence, he very
 
 12 beattie's letters. 
 
 wisely infers, that the poor Californians are hardly 
 one degree above the brutes in understanding, for 
 that they have neither foresight nor memory eufR- 
 cient to direct their conduct on the most common 
 occasions of life. In a word, they are quite a dif- 
 ferent species of animal from the European ; and 
 it is a gross mistake to think, that all mankind are 
 descended from the same first parents. But one 
 needs not go so far as to California, in quest of 
 men who sacrifice a future good to a present grati- 
 fication. In the metropolis of Great Britain, one 
 may meet with many reputed Christians, who would 
 act the same part, for the pleasure of carousing 
 half a day in a gin-shop. Again, to illustrate the 
 same important truth, that man is a beast, or very 
 little better, we are told of another nation, on the 
 banks of the Orellana, so wonderfully stupid, that 
 tliey cannot reckon beyond the number three, but 
 point to the hair of their head, whenever they 
 would signify a greater number; as if four, and 
 four thousand, were to them equally inconceivable. 
 But, whence it comes to pass that these people 
 are capable of speech, or of reckoning at all, even 
 so far as to three, is a difficulty of which our histo- 
 rian attempts not the solution. But till he shall 
 solve it, I must beg leave to tell him, that (he one 
 half of his tale contradicts the other as effectually, 
 as if he had told us of a people who were so weak 
 as to be incapable of bodily exertion, and yet, that 
 he had seen one of them lift a stone of a hundred 
 weight. — I beg your pardon, madam, for running 
 into this subject. The truth is, I was lately think- 
 ing to write upon it ; but I shall not have leisure 
 these many months.
 
 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 16 
 
 Take no farther concern about your dwarf. Tlie 
 person wlioni you honour with your notice, I shall 
 always think it my duty to care for. f have let it 
 be known in the town what you have done for him ; 
 which, I hope, will be a spur to the generosity of 
 others. He has paid me but one visit as yet. ' His 
 wants are few ; and he seems to be modest as well 
 as magnanimous. Both virtues certainly entitle 
 him to consideration. 
 
 LXXI. TO THE HONOURABLE MR. BARON GORDON.* 
 
 Aberdeen, 6th February, 1776. 
 I HAVE been very much employed in preparing some 
 little things of mine for the press ; otherwise I 
 should sooner have acknowledged the favour of 
 your most obliging letter. 
 
 The last time I read Virgil, I took it into my 
 head, that the tenth and eleventh books of the 
 JEue'id were not so highly finished as the rest. 
 Every body knows, that the last six books are less 
 perfect than the first six ; and I fancied that some 
 of the last six came nearer to perfection than others. 
 I cannot now recollect my reasons for this conceit ; 
 but I propose to read the ^neid again, as soon as 
 I liave got rid of this publication ; and I hope I 
 shall then be in a condition to give something 
 of a reasonable answer to any question you may 
 do me the honour to propose in regard to that 
 matter. 
 I do not mean that the tenth or eleventh books 
 
 * Cosmo Gordon of Cluny, in Aberdeenshire, one of the 
 barons of his majesty's court of exchequer in Scotland.
 
 14 beattie's letters. 
 
 are at all imperfect ; I only mean that they fall 
 short of Vlrgilian perfection. And many passages 
 there are in both, which Virgil himself could not, 
 in my opinion, have made better. Such are the 
 story of Mezeutius and Lausus, in the end of the 
 tenth book ; and that passage in the eleventh, 
 where old Evander meets the dead body of his son. 
 Mezeutius is a character of Virgil's own contri- 
 vance, and it is extremely well-drawn : an old 
 tyrant, hated by his people, on account of his im- 
 piety and cruelty, yet graced with one amiable vir- 
 tue, which is sometimes found in very rugged minds, 
 a tender affection for a most deserving son. Filial 
 affection is one of those virtues which Virgil dwells 
 upon with peculiar pleasure ; he never omits any 
 opportunity of bringing it in, and he always paints 
 it in the most lovely colours. iEneas, Ascanius, 
 Euryalus, Lausus, are all eminent for this virtue ; 
 and Turnus, when he asks his life, asks it only for 
 the sake of his poor old father. Let a young man 
 read the ^Eneld with taste and attention, and then 
 be an uudutiful child if he can. I think there is 
 nothing very distinguishing in Camilla. Perhaps 
 it is not easy to imagine more than one form of that 
 character. The adventures of her early youth are, 
 however, highly interesting, and wildly romantic. 
 The circumstance of her being, when an infant, 
 thrown across a river, tied to a javelin, is so very 
 singular, that I should suppose Virgil had found it 
 in some history; and, if 1 mistake not, Plutarch 
 has told such a story of king Pyrrhus. The battle 
 of the horse, in the end of the eleventh book, is 
 well conducted, considering that Virgil was there 
 left to his shifts, and had not Homer to assist him.
 
 beattie's letters. 15 
 
 The speeches of Drances and Turnus are highly 
 animated ; and nothing could be better contrived 
 to raise our idea of iEneas, than the answer which 
 Diomed gives to the ambassadors from the Italian 
 army. 
 
 I ought to ask pardon for troubling you with 
 these superficial remarks. But a desire to approve 
 myself worthy of being honoured with your com- 
 mands, has led me into a subject, for which I am 
 not at present prepared. When 1 have the pleasure 
 to pay my respects to you at Cluny, which, I hope, 
 will be early in the summer, I shall be glad to talk 
 over these matters, and to correct my opinions by 
 yours. 
 
 LXXII. TO THE REV. MR. CAMERON. 
 
 Aberdeen, 22d February, 1776. 
 The objections to the ** Essr.y on Truth," which 
 you hint at, have been often urged by the Edin- 
 burgh critics. The reasons, it is not difficult to 
 discover, which make them particularly severe on 
 that performance ; but I have met with more can- 
 dour and less prejudice elsewhere. Even in Edin- 
 burgh, there are many worthy and learned persons, 
 who have done me the honour to approve what I 
 did, with a sincere purpose to advance the cause of 
 truth, and do good to society. 
 
 Your good principles and your good heart will 
 secure you against the sneers and sophistries of per- 
 sons, who dislike religion out of prejudice, and are 
 dissatisfied with the evidence of it, which they do 
 not understand, because they have never examined 
 it. Bear always in mind this truth, which admits
 
 16 beattie's letters. 
 
 of the most satisfactory proof : no person of a good 
 heart miderstands Cliristianity without wishing it 
 to be true ; and no person of a good judgment ever 
 studied its evidence, impartially, and with a sincere 
 wish that it might be true, who did not really find 
 it so. 
 
 LXXUI. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. 
 
 Aberdeen, 2d August, I776. 
 Your manuscript is perfectly safe. I have read 
 it through, and have written a few remarks (very 
 slight ones indeed) on the first part of it. You 
 have treated of some subjects that are highly im- 
 portant, and withal very difficult. That of Provi- 
 dence I have chiefiy in my eye. You treat it with 
 great accuracy and clearness ; but you seem to me 
 rather too anxious to get to the bottom of it, and 
 explain it in such a way as shall leave few or no 
 difficulties unsolved. Now, I presume, this is not 
 necessary. The mysteries of Providence are per- 
 haps unsearchable, in some degree, to all created 
 beings. We are not obliged in these matters to 
 be wise above ichat is icritteii; and I know not 
 whether a habit of thinking too deeply on certain 
 points, may not rather tend to darken than to il- 
 luminate the understanding. It certainly produces 
 a facility of devising objections, which, though we 
 see they are frivolous, may give us a great deal of 
 trouble. I wish my son to believe what the Scrip- 
 ture declares concerning Providence ; but I would 
 not wish him to enter so far into the subject, as 
 ever to be puzzled in his attempts to reconcile 
 divine decrees v\ith contingency, or the divine
 
 BEATTIE*S LETTERS. 17 
 
 prescience with human liberty. This, however, is 
 only my opinion : I would not urge it upon you ; 
 and perhaps, if I shall ever regain ray former health 
 and spirits, I may have less disinclination to these 
 subjects than I have at present. But I will endea- 
 vour to explain myself on this point more intelligi- 
 bly hereafter. 
 
 LXXIV. TO THE REV. MR. CAMERON. 
 
 Aberdeen, 4th August, 1776. 
 I APPROVE greatly of your design of versifying some 
 passages of Scripture, for the enlargement of our 
 psalmody."* You cannot employ your Muse in a 
 way more honourable to yourself, or more useful to 
 your country. The specimen you sent to me I 
 think extremely good. I returned it, as you de- 
 sired, to the gentleman, after marking, with a pen- 
 cil, a few criticisms which then occurred to me. 
 You judge very rightly in regard to the style that is 
 most proper in these compositions. It should be 
 perfectly simple and perspicuous, without any 
 quaintness, and free from all superfluous epithets : 
 at the same time, it should be harmonious and ele- 
 gant, and equally remote from rusticity and affec- 
 tation. In a word, it should have dignity to please 
 the best judges, and a plainness adapted to the 
 meanest capacity. 
 
 I received a letter some time ago, from the secre- 
 tary of the committee for the enlargement of the 
 
 * Dr. Beattie here alludes to a plan then in agitation of 
 an improved poetical version of the Psalms, for the use of 
 the church of Scotland.
 
 18 beattie's letters. 
 
 psalmody, to which I meant to have returned an 
 answer, but have hitherto been prevented by bad 
 health, and an unusual hurry of business. The 
 business is now almost over, bat, unhappily, I have 
 not recovered my health ; and therefore, I fear, it 
 will be a considerable time before I be in a condi- 
 tion to write that answer, which will be a pretty 
 long one, and contain some remarks on the several 
 English versions of the Psahus, with a proposal for 
 a new version to be made, by collecting all the best 
 passages of the other versions. 
 
 The ground-work of this new version ought, I 
 think, to be that which we now use in the church 
 of Scotland, and which, according to my notions in 
 these matters, is the best that has yet appeared in 
 English ; though it is neither so elegant in the lan- 
 guage, nor so perspicuous in the meaning, as it 
 might easily be made. Tate and Brady are too 
 quaint, and where the psalmist rises to sublimity 
 (which is very often the case,) are apt to sink into 
 bombast ; yet Tate and Brady have many good pas- 
 sages, especially in those psalms that contain simple 
 enunciations of moral truth. Sternhold and Hop- 
 kins are in general bad, but have given us a few 
 stanzas that are wonderfully fine, and which ought 
 to be adopted in this new version. Watts, though 
 often elegant, and in many respects valuable, is too 
 paraphrastical : from him, I would propose, that a 
 good deal should be taken ; but I would not follow 
 him implicitly. King James's version, which is 
 the basis of that which we use in Scotland, is, con- 
 sidering the age and the author, surprisingly good ; 
 and in many places lias the advantage of ours, not- 
 withstanding that this was intended as an improve-
 
 beattie's letters. 19 
 
 ment upon it. Now my scheme is, to talie the best 
 passages of these versions, and out of them to 
 make a nev/ version. You say, it would be a motley 
 piece of work, if so many authors were concerned 
 in it. I answer, No, if the collection were judi- 
 ciously made. Besides, the Psalms themselves arc 
 the work of several authors, David, Asaph, Moses, 
 &c. Where then is the absurdity of translating 
 them in the manner I hint at ? The version I 
 speak of, I mean only to propose, and give some 
 hints for conducting it; I am not at all qualified 
 for such a work. INIy ignorance of the Hebrew 
 tongue is alone sufficient disqualification. 
 
 I had no hand in the collection of Paraphrase!^ 
 of some passages of Scripture, published about 
 twenty or thirty ycari? ago, and sometimes printed 
 in the end of our psalm-books. That collection ap- 
 peared long before I was of age to attempt any sort 
 of composition, either in verse or prose. 
 
 LXXV. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. 
 
 Peterhead, 10th September, 1776- 
 You judge very rightly of Dr. Campbell's book :* it 
 is, indeed, a most ingenious performance, and con- 
 tains more curious matter, on certain topics of cri- 
 ticism, than any other book I am acquainted with. 
 Loid Monboddo's third volumef I have not yet 
 seen. It will certainly be full of learning and in- 
 genuity ; but, perhaps, the author's excessive admi- 
 
 * Philosophy of Rhetoric. 
 
 t Origin and Progress of Language.
 
 20 beattie's letters. 
 
 miration of tlie Greek writers may lead him into 
 some paradoxes, and mal^e him too insensible to 
 the merits of modern literature. I have a great 
 respect, for lord Mo nboddo ; I know him to be a 
 learned and a worthy man ; and 1 am greatly con- 
 cerned to see him adopt some opinions, which, I 
 fear, are not very salutary. 
 
 But I know nobody that has less occasion than 
 yourself to study these authors, with a view to tlie 
 formation of a good style. I beg your partiality to 
 me may not so blind you to the faults of mine, as 
 ever to make you think of studying it for a pattern. 
 You are pleased to pay me compliments on this 
 head, which I do not by any means deserve. The 
 style of my letters, (whatever you and Mr. Arbuth- 
 not may say,) is not a good style ; it has nothing of 
 that accuracy, that ease, or that simplicity, which 
 it ought to have. Nay, in the prose I have printed, 
 my expression, after all the pains I have taken 
 about it, is not what I wish it to be : it is too pom- 
 pous, and, I fear, too visibly elaborate ; and there 
 is often a harshness and a stiffness in it, wliich I 
 would fain avoid, but cannot. Even provincial im- 
 proprieties, I know, I am not proof against, though 
 few people have been more careful to keep clear of 
 them. The longer I study English, the more I am 
 satisfied that Addison's prose is the best model ; 
 and if I were to give advice to a young man on the 
 subject of English style, I would desire him to read 
 that author day and night. I know not what may 
 be the opinion of others ; but, in my own judgment, 
 that part of my writings,^ which in the article of 
 style has the least demerit, is " An Essay on Laugh- 
 ter," which is now in the press ; yet, perhaps, my
 
 beattie's letters. 21 
 
 partiality to it may be owing to this circumstance, 
 that it is the last thing I corrected. 
 
 LXXVI. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. 
 
 Aberdeen, 22d January, 1777« 
 I SHALL not attempt, my dear sir, to tell you, what 
 a transition from grief to happiness I lately experi- 
 enced, on occasion of your illness and recovery. 
 Your own heart will teach you to conceive it, but 
 I have no words to express it. 
 
 The account you give me of your thoughts and 
 feelings, when your disorder was at the height, is 
 very interesting. That imensibility which you com- 
 plain of, and blame yourself for, is, I believe, com- 
 mon in all similar cases ; and a merciful appoint- 
 ment of Providence it is,-- By deadening those 
 affections, to which life is indebted for its principal 
 charm, it greatly alleviates the pangs of dissolution. 
 In fact, the pains of death to a man in health ap- 
 pear much more formidable than to a dying man. 
 This, at least, is my opinion ; and I have been led 
 into it by what has been observed, of some people's 
 displaying a fortitude, or composure, at the hour of 
 death, who had all their lives been remarkably 
 timorous and weak-minded. The proximate cause 
 of this, I take to be that same ^^wjoor which gradu- 
 ally steals upon our senses as our dissolution draws 
 near. And that the approach of death should pro- 
 duce this ■^tupovy need not surprise us, when we 
 consider, that the approach even of sleep has some- 
 thing of the same effect ; and that the keenness of 
 our passions and feelings, in general, depends very 
 much, even when we are in tolerable health, upon
 
 22 beattie's letters. 
 
 our bodily habit. If sleep is found to disorder our 
 reason, and give a peculiar wildness to our fancy ; 
 if memory may be hurt, as it certainly has been, by 
 a blow on the head ; if a superabundance of certain 
 bodily humours give rise to certain passions in the 
 mind ; if drunkenness divest a man, for a time, of 
 his character, and even of many of his favourite 
 opinions (for I have known a staunch Presbyterian 
 who was always a Roman Catholic in his liquor ;) 
 if even a full meal gives a languor to the mind, and 
 impairs a little our faculties of invention and judg- 
 ment — we have good reason to think, that the con- 
 nexion between our soul and body is very intimate; 
 and may, therefore, admit the probability of what 
 I now advance ; namely, that when the powers and 
 energies of the luiman body are disordered by the 
 near approach of death, it is scarcely possible that 
 the soul should perceive or feel with its wonted 
 acuteness. The stupor, therefore, you mention, 
 was something in which your will had no part, but 
 the natural and necessary effect of a cause purely 
 material. I ask pardon for all this philosophy; 
 which, however, I cannot conclude, without one 
 remark more ; which is, that this doctrine, if true, 
 ought to be matter of comfort to a good man, as 
 well as an alarm to such as are not of that cha- 
 racter. To the former, it promises an easy disso- 
 lution ; and it ought to teach the latter, that, of all 
 places on earth, a death-bed is the most improper 
 for devotion or repentance. 
 
 You smile, perhaps, at the seriousness of these 
 remarks ; but I am led into them by reading your 
 letter, and considering the occasion of it. I must 
 repeat, that you are a very severe judge of yourself.
 
 beattie's letters. 23 
 
 You are conscious, you say, of many faults which 
 the world does not see in you. But you ought to 
 remember, that every man is frail and fallible ; and 
 the virtue even of the best man must, in order to 
 appear meritorious at the great tribunal, have 
 something added to it, which man cannot bestow. 
 
 I must put a stop, however, to these grave re- 
 marks ; and, to descend at once from a very import- 
 ant to a most trifling subject, I shall now speak a 
 word or two concerning my own works. 
 
 It is very kind in you to speak so favourably of 
 these "Essays."* You will see I have not laid 
 claim to much originality in these performances* 
 My principal purpose was to make my subject plain 
 and entertaining, and, as often as I could, the ve- 
 hicle of moral instruction ; a purpose to which 
 every part of the philosophy of the human mind, 
 and, indeed, of science in general, may, and ought, 
 in my opinion, to be made in some degree subservi- 
 ent. I was very much on my guard against para- 
 doxes ; yet I expect that many of my opinions, 
 those especially that relate to music and classical 
 learning, will meet with opposition. Mr. Tytler* 
 writes me word, that he cannot admit all my doc- 
 trine on the subject of music : but, if I rightly 
 understand what he has said very briefly on that 
 subject, I should imagine, that, if he would favour 
 that part of my book with a second perusal, he 
 would find that his notions and mine are not very 
 
 • On Poetry and Music, on Laughter and Ludicrous Com- 
 position, and on the Utility of Classical Learning. 
 
 t Alexander Fraser Tytler, esq, afterwards lord Wood- 
 houselee.
 
 24 beattie's letters. 
 
 different. To me, indeed, they do not seem to 
 differ at all. I should be sorry if they did; as I be- 
 lieve he knows more of that, as well as of other 
 matters, than I do. I am already sensible of seve- 
 ral inaccuracies and defects in my book ; for I was 
 in a most miserable state of health when I sent it to 
 the press ; and 1 know not how it is, that I can 
 never judge rightly of my own style till 1 see it in 
 print. If the book comes to a second edition, and 
 if I have health to make any alterations, there are 
 many things which must be corrected. I should 
 be glad to hear how it takes with your people in 
 general. 
 
 You may believe Dr. Porteus's advancement* 
 gives me great pleasure. It was what I did expect, 
 though I am sure he did not. He says in his last 
 letter, ** I have reason to believe, that I owe this 
 advancement principally to the goodness of their 
 majesties, who have been graciously pleased to 
 think me deserving of much higher honours than I 
 had ever the presumption to look up to." When I 
 was in England in 1775, the doctor told me, that he 
 was- not particularly known to the king at that 
 time ; but I told him I had good reason to believe 
 that his majesty esteemed him very highly. In- 
 deed, I know no man that better deserves to wear 
 the mitre. He is not older than I am ; and, I think, 
 he looks much younger : but he is exemplary in the 
 discharge of his duty as a clergyman, a cheerful 
 pleasant companion, and of the gentlest manners ; 
 he is, withal, an excellent scholar, a most elegant 
 writer, and a man of business. He, and Dr. Kurd, 
 
 * To the bishopric of Chester.
 
 BEATTiE's LETTERS. 25 
 
 bishop of Lichfield,* are, I think, the best preach- 
 ers I ever heard. Indeed, before I heard them, I 
 cannot say that 1 distinctly knew what true pulpit- 
 eloquence waf. The king seems determined to 
 promote to the episcopal bench such clergyujen 
 only as are most distinguished for piety and learn- 
 ing. Dr. Markham, now archbishop of York, and 
 the present bishops of Chester and Lichfield, had 
 ijot originally any other influence than what their 
 own merit gave them. Dr. Hurd was never at 
 court till he went to kiss the king's liand, on being 
 nominated to the see of Lichfield. 
 
 LXXVII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. 
 
 Aberdeen, IQth February, I777. 
 1 HAVE now, my dear sir, read over your papersf 
 with all the attention I am capable of, and have 
 nsade a few, and a very few, slight remarks in the 
 ujargin. The perusal has given me very great plea- 
 sure, and I beg you will send me the rest as toon as 
 youronveniently can. Every thing you say in regard 
 to the evidence of religion has my most heart) con- 
 currence ; one or two sentences or phrases excepted, 
 which are not at all material. What these are, you 
 will see when I return the papers. I am clearly of 
 opinion, that these papers will make a most valu- 
 able addition to the book. Mv. Jenyns's late trea- 
 tise, I observe, is a favourite of yours. There is, 
 
 * Afterwards bishop of Worcester. 
 
 t " Letters on the Religious Belief and Practical Duties 
 of a Christian," written by sir William Forbes for the in- 
 struction of his children. 
 
 VOL. II. C
 
 26 " beattie's letters. 
 
 indeed, a- great deal in it of very solid and ingenious 
 remark ; and, I am convinced, it will do much good. 
 It were, perhajis, to be wished, that the author had 
 made fewer concessions to the adversary, aiid spo- 
 ken with more respect of the external evidences. 
 But when one takes up a favourite hyi.othesis, or 
 argument, it is liardly possible to avoid carrying it 
 rather too far; — such is the weakness of human 
 nature. I mean not to object to Mr. Jenyns's fa- 
 vourite argument; it is surely most satisfactory to 
 every candid mind; and he has done it more justice 
 .than any other author I am acquainted with. I 
 only wish his plan would have allowed him to touch 
 tipon the external evidences, which ought never to 
 be overlooked by those who would acquit themselves 
 as the champions of Christianity. I began a little 
 treatise, some years ago, on the evidences of our 
 religion, but have never finished it ; and, indeed, 
 Mr. J's treatise has in part superseded mine. My 
 meaning was, to make the subject plain and enter- 
 taining, and suited to all capacities, especially to 
 those of young people. Like l\Ir. Jenyns, 1 intended 
 only a little book: but it must have been larger 
 than his, because I would have considered both the 
 external and the internal evidence.* 
 
 LXXVIIl. TO DR. PORTEUS, BISHOP OF CHESTER. 
 
 2d October, 1777. 
 I AM much obliged to your lordship for your en- 
 tertaining account of the ancient city of Chester and 
 
 • This he afterwards accomplished in his ♦' Evidences 
 of the Christian Religion," published in 1780
 
 BEATTIE S LETTERS. 27 
 
 its neighbourhood. It must certainly be, as you 
 observe, well worthy the traveller's attention ; and 
 if ever it is my fortune to revisit the West of Eng- 
 land, 1 shall be inexcusable if I do not direct my 
 course to a place, which I am now, on many ac- 
 counts, ambitious to be acquainted with. 
 
 Of literary matters I can say nothing. The doc- 
 tor commanded me, on pain of death, to abstain 
 wholly from writing, and to read nothing but 
 novels, or such books as require no attention. I 
 have followed the prescription most punctually; 
 and, since my fever in the spring, have not written 
 half a dozen pages, (letters included,) nor read any 
 thing but *' Don Quixote," Spenser's " Fairy 
 Queen," and " Horace,'' which last I have read 
 over three times. As I have not read Dr. Robert- 
 son's last work, I cannot form any opinion about 
 it. Lord Kaimes has published a book of agricul- 
 ture, which, they say, is the best of all his works. 
 Dr. Campbell lately printed another excellent ser- 
 mon, preached at Edinburgh before the *' Society 
 for propagating Christian Knowledge." The sub- 
 ject is, "The success of the first preaching of the 
 Gospel a proof of its truth." 1 shall have the ho- 
 nour to send your lordship a copy of this sermon as 
 soon as I return to Aberdeen. I have read captain 
 Cooke's preface, which gives me a very high opinion 
 of the author : I wish for an opportunity to read 
 the whole book. When a man of sense and spirit 
 publishes the history of his own affairs, the world 
 is a thousand times better instructed than by the 
 most elaborate compositions of the mere book- 
 maker.
 
 BEATTIE S LETTERS. 
 
 LXXIX. TO SYLVESTER DOUGLAS, ESQ.* 
 
 Aberdeen, 5th Januarj', 1778. 
 I AM aiucli entertained with your plan of writii:g 
 npou the Scottish barbarisms, accent, &c. It is a 
 very extensive one ; aud, in your hands, will be 
 very entertaining and useful. Most of the topics 
 you mention, have occasionally engrossed my atten- 
 tion. I have written many sheets upon Scotticism, 
 and the structure and rules of our verse, and how 
 far the English tongue is attainable by a native of 
 Scotland, aud in what respects it is not attainable, 
 (I mean a person v.ho does not go to live in Eng- 
 land till he is grown up.) I once intended to 
 pnhUsh something on English prosody and versi- 
 fication, but, I believe, my literary pursuits are all 
 over. 
 
 The greatest difficulty in acquiring the art of 
 writing English, is one of which I have seldom 
 heard our countrymen complain of, and which I was 
 never sensible of till I had spent some years in la- 
 bouring to acquire that art. It is, to give a verna- 
 cular cast to the English we write. I must explain 
 myself. We who live in Scotland are obliged to 
 study English from books, like a dead language. 
 Accordingly, when we write, we write it like a 
 dead language, which wc understand, but cannot 
 speak j avoiding, perhaps, all ungrammatical ex- 
 pressions, and even the barbarisms of our country, 
 but, at the same time, without coniraui.'.catingthat 
 
 « Now lord Glenbervie.
 
 beattie's letters. 29 
 
 neatness, case, and softness of phrase, wliicli ap- 
 pears so conspicuously in Addison, lord Lyttelton, 
 and other elegant English authors. Our style is 
 stately and unwieldy, and clogs the tongue in pro- 
 nunciation, and smells of the lamp. We are slaves 
 to the language we write, and are continually afraid 
 of committing ^ro.y.? blunders ; and, when an easy, 
 familiar, idiomatical phrase occurs, dare not adopt 
 it, if we recollect no authority, for fear of Scotti- 
 cisms. In a word, 7i-e handle English, as a person 
 who cannot fence handles a sword; continually 
 afraid of hurting ourselves with it, or letting it fall, 
 or making some awkward motion that shall betray 
 our ignorance. An English author of leaining is 
 the master, not the slave, of his language, and 
 wields it gracefully, because he wields it with ease, 
 and with full assurance that hd' has the command 
 of it. -_ 
 
 In order to get over this difficulty, which I fear is, 
 in some respects, insuperable after all, I have been 
 continually poring upon Addison, the best parts of 
 Swift, lord Lyttelton, &c. The ear is of great service 
 in these matters ; and I am convinced the greater 
 part of Scottish authors hurt their style by admiring 
 and imitating one another. At Edinburgh, it is cur- 
 rently said by your critical people, that Hume, Ro- 
 bertson, &c. write English better than the English 
 themselves ; than which, in my judgment, there 
 cannot be a greater absurdity. I would as soon be- 
 lieve that Thuanus wrote better Latin than Cicero 
 or Caesar, and that Buchanan was a more elegant 
 poet than Virgil or Horace. In my rhetorical lec- 
 tures, and whenever I have occasion to speak ou
 
 30 beattie's letters. 
 
 this subject to those who pay any regard to my opi- 
 uion, I always maintain a contiary doctrine, and 
 adrise those to study English authors, who would 
 acquire a good English style, 
 
 I agree with you, that many of the vulgar words 
 used in Scotland may be tiaced to the Saxon. Ger- 
 man, Dutch, &c. The Fiench too, and the Erse, 
 come in for their share, especially the former. 
 French etymologies abound most in the counties to 
 the south of Aberdeen, in Mearns, Angus, &c. 
 where, you know, the natives, in their pronuncia- 
 tion, have the sound of the French TJ. I know of 
 no etymological dictionary of this dialect ; but a 
 great deal of the knowledge to be expected in sucli 
 a dictionary may be found in Ray's " Collection of 
 English Proverbs," but especially in Huddiman's 
 " Glossary to Bishop Douglas's Virgil." This 
 last is a most learned piece of lexicography. You 
 will see it in that edition of "Gavin Douglas," 
 which is printed at Edinburgh, in folio, in 1710. I 
 need not tell you, that the Scottish dialect is dif- 
 ferent in almost every province. The common 
 people of Aberdeen speak a language that would 
 scarce be understood in Fife ; and how much the 
 Buchan dialect differs from that of Lothian, maybe 
 seen by comparing Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd" 
 with " Ajax's Speech to the Grecian Knabbs," 
 which you will no doubt remember to have seen in 
 your youth, I have attended so much to this mat- 
 ter, that I think I could know by his speech, a na- 
 tive of Banffshire, Buchan, Aberdeen, Dee-side 
 Mearns, Angus, Lothian, and Fife, as well as of 
 Ross-shire and Inverness.
 
 beattie's letters. 31 
 
 I am inclined to think, that Erse was once the 
 universal language of Scotland ; for you find, all 
 over the Lowlands, that the names of the old places 
 are almost derived from that language. It is re- 
 markable, that on the northern side of that great 
 hollow, or strath, which we call the How of the 
 MearnSy the names of places are generally Erse, 
 and on the south side English or Saxon. This 
 seems to prove, that the former district was first 
 inhabited, which is, indeed, probable from other 
 circumstances; for it fronts the sun, and is shel- 
 tered from the north wind by the Grampian moun- 
 tains. 
 
 LXXX. TO ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESQ. 
 
 Aberdeen, 22d July, 1778. 
 Mr. Craig does me too much honour.* I am 
 proud to be thought of so favourably by so inge- 
 nious an artist, and by the nephew of a man who 
 was an honour to his country and to mankind ; and 
 to whose writings I am under very particular obli- 
 gations: for if I have any true relish for the beau- 
 ties of nature, I may say with truth, that it was 
 from Virgil and from Thomson that I caught it. 
 The memory of this amiable poet cannot be dearer 
 to any person than it is to me ; and I should be 
 heartily sorry, if the monument, to be erected for 
 
 * A project had been formed by Mr. Craig, an architect, 
 and a nephew of Thomson the poet, to erect a monument 
 to his memory; and Dr. Beattie had been requested to 
 write an inscription for it.
 
 32 beattie's letters. 
 
 him, were not such, in every respect, as he himself 
 ■would have approved. Mr. Craig will, I am sure, 
 make it such in the architecture ; and if he follow 
 his ow'i ideas, in the inscription too. But, since 
 he does me the honour to desire to have my opi- 
 nion, I shall give it with tlie cieatest sincerity. I 
 think, then, that all pub.ic inscriptions, wliether 
 intended for tombs, or cenotaphs, or bridges, or 
 any other public building, are made with a view to 
 catch the eye of the traveller, and convey to him, 
 not the wit of the composer, but some authentic 
 information in regard to the object that draws his 
 attention, and is supposed to raise his curiosity. 
 On this principle, all such writings ought to be 
 perfectly simple and true, and as concise as the 
 subject and language will admit. This is the cha- 
 racter of the Greek and Roman inscriptions, which 
 it is a pity the moderns have so rarely imitated; 
 for, in my mind, nothing is more barbarous than 
 those mixtures of verse and prose, of Latin and Eng- 
 lish, of narration and common-place morality, 
 Avliich appear in our churches and church- yards, 
 and other public places. A gothic arch, suj)ported 
 by Corinthian pillars, or a statue with painted 
 cheeks and a hat and wig, is not a greater absurdity. 
 To set up a pillar, with a Latin inscription, for the 
 information of those who understand no language 
 but English; is not less absurd. I never heard of a 
 Greek inscription at Rome, nor of a Latin one at 
 Athens. Latin is, perhaps, a more durable lan- 
 guage than English, and may, therefore, be used in 
 those inscriptions that are put on the foundation- 
 stones of bridges, and hid under ground ; for these.
 
 beattie's letters. 33 
 
 it may be presumed, will not be read till a thousand 
 years hence, when all our modern languages will 
 probably be unintelligible. But I cannot but think, 
 that an English inscription, exposed to wind and 
 weather in this climate, wiU be understood as long 
 as it can be read. I would, therefore, humbly pro- 
 pose, that what is intended for Thomson's monu- 
 ment should be in English, the tongue which he 
 spoke, and to which his writings do so much ho- 
 nour, and the tongue which all travellers who visit 
 Ednam may be supposed to understand : that it 
 should be simple and concise, not in verse, (for 
 this appears more like ostentation of wit than an 
 authentic record,) but in prose, well modulated, 
 totally free from all quaintness, superfluous words, 
 and flowery ornaments, — something to the same 
 purpose with the following, and in a similar style. 
 But observe, that as I do not mean to enter the 
 lists with either of the two great writers* who 
 have already prepared inscriptions for this work, I 
 offer the following rather as a hint towards one, 
 than as a finished performance. And let me re- 
 mark, by the way, that I have been more devoted 
 to this simplicity of style in public inscriptions, ever 
 since I read a verbose and flowery one in Latin, 
 near the banks of Loch Lomond, to the memory of 
 Dr. Smollett. 
 
 • Who these were, does not appear. 
 
 c2
 
 34 beattie's letters, 
 
 james thomson, 
 
 Author of " The Seasons," and other excellent Poems, 
 
 Which promote 
 
 Piety, Patriotism, Benevolence, and the Love of Nature, 
 
 Wherever the Enghsh Tongue is understood. 
 
 Was born in this Village, Uth September, 1700, 
 
 Died 27th August, 1748, 
 
 And is buried in the Church of Richmond in Surrey. 
 
 To do honour to the Place of his Birth, 
 
 And as a Testimony of veneration 
 
 For so amiable a Poet, 
 
 And so illustrious a Kinsman, 
 
 This Monument* is erected 
 
 By his Nephew, James Craig, Architect. 
 
 I would have no quotations or verses on the mo- 
 nument; and I beg leave to say, that the four 
 which you have taken from the epilogue, are not so 
 very elegant in the expression as might be wished, 
 though the meaning is good, and perfectly true. 
 
 I beg my best respects to sir William Forbes, to 
 whom I will write soon, but cannot at present ; as 
 he will see this letter, I consider myself as writing 
 to you both. I am much obliged to you for giving 
 me so candidly your opinion of my two psalms. It 
 has determined me to lay aside all thoughts of a 
 project, whicb, though my health forbade me to 
 undertake it, had been too much in my head of late. 
 For I see now, that my plan, even though executed 
 to my mind, would not please those whom I most 
 wished to please, who best deserved to be pleased, 
 and who, from their partiality to me, would not be 
 
 • Or pillar.
 
 beattie's letters. 35 
 
 easily displeased with any work of mine. I am not 
 sure whether I sliail ever publish the letter to Dr. 
 Blair, uuless I were to make some additions to it, 
 to justify the preference which I give to the Assem- 
 bly's metre psahus :* I mean to their plan ; for the 
 execution has all the faults that sir William Forbes 
 mentions. In England, they commonly make use 
 of a corrected edition of Sternhold and Hopkins ; 
 and I confess I must agree with them so far, as to 
 think that rudeness, which is the effect of simpli- 
 city, more pardonable4lw«rrTiose finical embellish- 
 ments that are owing to affectation. But 1 cannot, 
 at present, enter upon the reasons that would de- 
 termine me to reject all paraphrastical additions 
 iind flowery ornaments in a version of the Psalms, 
 and adhere to that manly (I ought to have said 
 divine) and most expressive simplicity, which cha- 
 racterise the original. 
 
 LXXXI. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. 
 
 Aberdeen, 2Vd November, 1778. 
 During this long confinement, I have often been 
 forced to have recourse to my pen and ink, in order 
 to forget my anxiety for a few minutes. But though 
 I could transcribe and correct a little, I was in a very 
 bad state for composition. However, since March 
 last, I have written, in a fair hand, about 370 pages. 
 In this collection, there are (besides other matters) 
 three essays, on " Memory," on "Imagination," and 
 on ** Dreaming," on which I set some value. I shall 
 
 • That version authorised by the General Assembly of 
 the church of Scotland.
 
 36 beattie's letters. 
 
 read them to my class very soon: they will make 
 about ten lectures, of an hour each. In treating of 
 Memory and Imagination, I have endeavoured, not 
 only to ascertain their phenomena and laws, but 
 also to propose rules for improving the former fa- 
 culty, and for regulating the latter. The view I 
 have taken of dreaming is new, so far as I know. I 
 have attempted to trace up some of the appearances 
 of that mysterious mode of perception to their 
 proximate causes ; and to prove, that it is, in many 
 respects, useful to the human constitution. On all 
 subjects of this nature, I have constantly received 
 more information from my own experience than 
 from books. 
 
 One of the next faculties that come in ray way, 
 is conscience, or the moral faculty; on which I 
 have, in writing, a great number of untinishtd ob- 
 servations. If I live to tinish what 1 intend on 
 this subject, I shall probably attempt a confutation 
 of several erroneous principles that have been 
 adopted by modern writers of morals, but without 
 naming any names; and it is not unlikely, that I 
 may interweave the substance of what I wrote long 
 ago, at greater length, on the Unchangeableness of 
 ^ioral Truth. But winter will be over before 1 can 
 seriously set about it ; and, perhaps, the state of my 
 health may oblige me to drop the scheme alto- 
 gether. However, I do not repent what I have 
 hitherto done, in transcribing and correcting my 
 lectures; for I have been careful to make it an 
 amusement rather than a task; whence I have 
 reason to think, that my health has not been in- 
 jured by it. 
 
 I have been reading lately a most extraordinary
 
 beattie's letters. 37 
 
 work, which I did read once before, but (I know 
 not how) had totally forgotten : the " History of 
 Benvenuto Cellini," a Florentine goldi^miih and 
 designer, translated from the Italian, by Thomas 
 Nugent. There is something in it so singnlarly 
 characteristical, that it is impossible to reject the 
 whole as fabulous, and yet it is equally injpossible 
 not to reject a great part of it as such. To recon- 
 cile this, I would suppose that the work itself 
 strongly evinces, that the author must have been an 
 ingenious, hot-headed, vain, audacious man ; and 
 that the violence of his passions, the strength of his 
 superstition, and the disasters into which he plunged 
 himself, made him mad in the end. We know that 
 the Italians of the sixteenth century were very in- 
 gedious in every thing that relates to drawing and 
 designing; but it cannot be believed that popts, 
 emperors, and kings were so totally engrossed with 
 those matters as" signor Cellini represents them. 
 If you have never seen the book, I would recom- 
 mend it as a curiosity, from which I promise that 
 you will receive amusement. Nay, in regard to the 
 manners of those times, there is even some in- 
 struction in it. 
 
 LXXXII. TO THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. 
 
 Aberdeen, 10th January, 1779. 
 Major Mercer made me very happy with the news 
 he brought from Gordon-castle, particularly when 
 he assured me that your grace vvas in perfect liealth. 
 He told me, too, that your solitude was at an end
 
 38 beattie's lettkrs. 
 
 for some time; which, I confess, I whs uot sorry to 
 liear. Se-isons of recollection may be useful ; but 
 when one begins to tincl pleasure in sighing over 
 Young's " Night's Though.ts" in a corner, it is time 
 to shut the book, and return to the company. I 
 grant that, while the mind is in a certain state, 
 those gloomy ideas give exquisite delight ; but their 
 effect resembles that of intoxication up!<n the body ; 
 they may produce a temporary fit of feverish ex- 
 ultation ; but qualms, and weakened nerves, and de- 
 pression of spirits, are the consequence. I have 
 great respect for Dr. Young, both as a man and as 
 a poet; I used to devour his "Night Thoughts" 
 with a satisfaction uot unlike that which, in my 
 younger years, 1 have found in walking alone in a 
 church-yard, or in a wild mountain, by the light of 
 the moon, at midnight. Such things may help to 
 soften a rugged mind ; and I believe I might have 
 been the better for them. But your grace's heart 
 is already " too feelingly alive to each fine imjiulse;" 
 and, therefore, to you I would recommend gay 
 thoughts, oheerful books, and sprightly company : 
 I m.ight have said rompamj without any limitation, 
 for wherever you are the company must be sprightly. 
 Excuse this obtrusion of advice. W'e are all phy- 
 sicians who have arrived at forty; and, as I have 
 been studying the anatomy of the human mind these 
 fifteen years and upwards, I think I ought to be 
 something of a soul-doctor by this time. 
 
 When I first read Young, my heart was broken to 
 think of the poor man's afflictions. Afterwards, I 
 took it in my head, that where there was so much 
 lamentation, there could not be excessive suffering ;
 
 beattie's letters. 39 
 
 and I could not help applying to him sometimes 
 tho*:e lines of a sony, 
 
 Believe me, the shepherd but feigns ; 
 He 's wretched, to show he has wit. ^ 
 
 On talking with some of Dr. Young's particular 
 friends in England, I have since found that my con- 
 jecture was right ; for that, while he was composing 
 the " Night Thoughts," he was really as cheerful a^ 
 any other man. 
 
 I well know the effect of what your grace ex- 
 presses so properly, of a cold yes returned to a warm 
 sentiment. One ireets with it often in company; 
 and, in most companies, with nothing else. And 
 yet it is perhaps no great loss, upon the whole, 
 that one's enthusiasm does not always meet with 
 an adequate return. A disappointment of this sort, 
 now and then, may have upon the mind an effect 
 something like that of the cold bath upon the body ; 
 it gives a temporary shock, but is followed by a very 
 delightful glow as soon as one gets into a society of 
 the right temperature. They resemble, too, in an- 
 other respect. A cool companion may be disagree- 
 able at first, but in a little time he becomes less so ; 
 and at our first plunge we are impatient to get out 
 of the bath, but if we stay in it a minute or two, we 
 lose the sense of its extreme coldness. Would not 
 your grace think, from what I am saying, or rather 
 preaching, that I was the most social man upon 
 earth ? And yet I am become almost an hermit : 
 I have not made four visits these four mouths. Not 
 that I am running away, or have any design to run
 
 "10 beattie's letters. 
 
 away, from the world: it is, I rather think, the 
 world that is running away from me. 
 
 No cliaracter was ever more fully or more con- 
 cisely drawn than that of major Mercer* by your 
 grace. I was certain you would like him the more 
 the longer you knew him. With more learning than 
 any other man of my acquaintance, he has all the 
 playfulness of a sclioolboy; and unites the wit and 
 the wisdom of Montesquieu with the sensibility of 
 Rousseau, and the generosity of Tom Jones. Your 
 grace has, likewise, a very just idea of Mrs. Mercer. 
 She is most amiable and well-accomplished ; and, 
 in goodness and generosity of nature, is not inferior 
 even to the major himself. I met her the other 
 day, and was happy to find her in better health 
 than I think she has been for some years. This 
 will be most welcome news to the major. Pray, 
 docs your grace think that he blames me for not 
 writing to him this great while ? The true reason 
 is, that I have not had this great while any news to 
 send him but what I knew would give him pain; 
 and therefore I thought it better not to write, espe- 
 cially as we have been in daily expectation of see- 
 ing him here these several weeks. Will your grace 
 take the trouble to tell him this .' There is no man 
 to whom I have been so much obliged ; and, with 
 one or two exceptions, there is no man or woman 
 whom I love so well. 
 
 • At that time major of the duke of Gordon's regiment.
 
 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 41 
 
 LXXXIU. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. 
 
 Aberdeen, 18th January, 1779. 
 You are right in your conjecture, that a metrical 
 version of the Psalms, formed upon that plan of 
 severe simplicity which I recommend, would be a 
 very difficult work. There is a great deal of cant 
 in the style of poetry, especially of modern poetry: 
 a set of epithets, and figures, and phrases, which a 
 certain set of versifiers bring in upon all occasions, 
 in order to make out their verses, and prepare their 
 rhymes. If a poet has got a good stock of these, 
 and a knack of applying them, and is not very so- 
 licitous about energy, consistency, or truth of sen- 
 timent, he may write verses with great ease and 
 rapidity; but such verses are not read above once 
 or twice, and are seldom or never remembered. 
 Their tawdry and unnecessary ornaments make 
 them as unwieldy to the memory as a herald's coat 
 is to the body. Besides, where language is much 
 ornamented, there is always a deficiency in clcai'- 
 ness as well as in force ; and, though it may please 
 at its first appearance, it rarely continues long in 
 fashion. The favourite authors in every language 
 are the simplest. They have nothing but what is 
 necessary or useful; and such things are always \\\ 
 request. My reasons, therefore, for i-ecoramending 
 a very simple metrical version of the Psalms, are 
 chiefly these: 1st, Such a version will approach 
 more nearly than an ornamental one to the style of 
 the original; which, I think, will be allowed to be 
 an advantage. 2d, It will be better understood by 
 the common people ; for, when poetical language is
 
 42 beattie's letters. 
 
 set off with many ornaments, it must be iu a great 
 measure unintelligible to unlearned readers. 3d, It 
 will continue intelligible and in fashion for a much 
 longer time; for such is the natural and necessaiy 
 effect of elegant plainness. 4th, It will take a faster 
 hold of the memory. One of my reasons for tole- 
 rating a metrical version of the Psalms is, tliat it 
 makes them more easily remembered : and Horace, 
 when speaking on a subject not unlike this, has 
 very well observed, 
 
 Omne supervacuum plerxo de pectore raanat : 
 
 Superfluities of style perish from the memory like 
 water poured into a vessel that is already full. 5th, 
 The simplicity I contend for requires a concise ex- 
 pression, and consequently conveys much meaning 
 in few words; and this is particularly necessary in 
 words intended to be sung with understanding : 
 for singing is of necessity (or at least ought to be) 
 slower than speaking ; and, therefore, if the matter 
 is not very close, it will happen sometimes that the 
 singer shall be sounding notes to which his mind 
 annexes no definite idea. One of my objections to 
 Merrick's Psalms would be (if they are all like the 
 specimen you favoured me with) their unnecessary 
 and paraphrastical difFuseness. His first psalm con- 
 sists of thirty-four lines ; and yet I am certain, that 
 the whole meaning of that psalm might, with equal 
 harmony, with equal elegance, and with superior 
 clearness, be expressed in twenty-four. Tate and 
 Brady's second psalm consists of forty-eight lines, 
 and my version of that psalm of thirty-six : if the 
 two vei'Dions be in all other respects only equal,
 
 beattie's letters. 43 
 
 I believe that which has fewest words would be 
 thought the better. The last reason I shall assign 
 is, that the modish tricks and ornaments of verse 
 appear to me not vei'y graceful in serious poetry of 
 any sort ; but in sacred poetry I consider them as 
 worse than ungraceful, as even indecent. A high- 
 priest of the Jews, officiating at the altar in ruffles 
 and a laced waistcoat, or a clergyman in the pulpit, 
 with the airs and dress of a player, are incongruities 
 of the same kind with these, which, in a poetical 
 version of the Psalms, ought to be avoided. Is it 
 right, think you, for a Christian on Sunday, in the 
 church, to sing. 
 
 His rains from heaven parch'd hills recruit. 
 That soon transmit the liquid store ; 
 
 Till Earth is burthen'd with her fruit. 
 And Nature's lap can hold no more ? 
 
 The harshness of the first line, and the half non- 
 sense of the first couplet, might be excused ; but 
 what shall we say to the Pagan allusion in the last 
 line ? 
 
 After what you know of my mind on this subject, 
 I am sure I need not say, that it is far from my 
 purpose to recommend a rude or clownish simpli- 
 city, whereof I confess that there are innumerable 
 instances in the version that is in most common use 
 in Scotland ; and yet, in the present case, rusticity 
 is better than finicalness. 1 would rather see in the 
 pulpit a sun-burnt face than a painted one ; and a 
 coat out at elbows than one overlaid with em- 
 broidery. The middle way, you will say, is best ; 
 and I allow it : and, between ourselves, I think it
 
 44 beattie's letters. 
 
 peculiarly honourable to the chuj-ch of England, 
 that, while .she keeps at a distance from the pa- 
 geantries of the Romish church, she also avoids that 
 ritual, which might do very well with pure spirits, 
 but which is too apt to produce iistlessness and 
 coldness in creatures weighed down with flesh and 
 blood. I would have every thing neat and plain, 
 and as elegant as is consistent with plainness, in 
 the public services and in the language of religion : 
 or, if now and then I were to introduce a little 
 pomp, which I believe I should often be inclined to 
 do, I would still make it simple and plain ; which, 
 if I mistake not, would heighten its magnificence, 
 and give permanency to its effects. Elegant and 
 pure simplicity is the cliaracteristic of the true 
 pulpit-style, as it is now established by the best 
 models, both ancient and modern ; the same thing 
 liclds true of the prayers of the church of England ; 
 only these have (v.hat they ought to have) some- 
 thing of a more elaborate and more dignified com- 
 position than becomes the sermon. 
 
 I know not whether there be any thing new in 
 my papers on the *' Origin of Evil," and the ** Evi- 
 dences of Christianity." It will be a considerable 
 time before I get forward to those subjects. At 
 present I confine myself to such as are most amusing, 
 and, withal, least connected with those topics whicli 
 formerly engrossed me to a degree that ruined my 
 health. How much my mind has been injured by. 
 certain speculations you will partly guess, when I 
 tell you a fact, that is now unknowi. to all the 
 world, — that, since the "Essay on Truth" was 
 printed in quarto, in the summer of 1776, I have 
 never dared to read it over. I durst not even read
 
 beattie's letters. 45 
 
 the sheets, to see whether there were any errors in 
 the print, and was obh^ed to get a frit ud to do that 
 office for nie. Not that I am in the least dissatis- 
 fied with the sentiments : every word of my own 
 doctrine I do seriously believe ; nor luive I ever seen 
 any objections to it which I couki not easily answer. 
 But the habit of anticipating and obviating argu- 
 ments, upon an abstruse and interesting subject, 
 came in time to have dreadful effects upon my ner- 
 vous system ; and I cannot read what I then wrote 
 without some degree of horror, because it recals to 
 my mind the horrors that I have sometimes felt, 
 after passing a long evening in those severe studies. 
 You will perhaps understand me better when I have 
 told you a short story. One who was on board the 
 Centurion, in lord Anson's voyage, having got some 
 money in that expedition, purchased a small estate, 
 about three miles from this town. I have had se- 
 veral conversations with him on the subject of the 
 voyage, and once asked him whether he had ever 
 read the history of it ? He told me, he had read all 
 the history, except the description of their suffer- 
 ings during the run from Cape Horn to Juan Fer- 
 nandez, which, he said, were so great, that he durst 
 not recollect or think of them. 
 
 LXXXIV. TO THE REV. DR. LAING. 
 
 Aberdeen, 31st January, 1779. 
 1 L ATELY met with what I consider as a great cu- 
 riosity in the mn.vical way. Take the history as 
 follows: Mary, the consort of king William, was a 
 great aduiirer of a certain Scots tune, wliicli in
 
 46 beattie's letters. 
 
 Eugland they call Cold and Raw, but which in 
 Scotland is better known by the name of Up in the 
 Morning early. One day, at her private concert, 
 where Purcel presided, the queen interrupted the 
 music, by desiring one Mrs. Hunt, who was present, 
 to sing the ballad of Cold and Raw. The lady sung 
 it; and it is said that Purcel was a little piqued at 
 being obliged to sit idle at his harpsichord, and 
 having his own compositions inteirupted for the 
 sake of such a trifle. The queen's birtli-day was - 
 soon after, when Purcel, who composed the court 
 music for that solemnity, in order either to please 
 the queen, or to surprise her, or merely to indulge 
 his own humour, made Cold and Raw the bass of 
 one of the songs. This anecdote I met with some 
 months ago; and my author added, that this indi- 
 vidual song was printed in Purcel's ** Orpheus Bri- 
 tannicus." I had a great desire to see this song, 
 that I might know how such a genius would acquit 
 himself when confined in such trammels. I con- 
 fess, for all my high opinion of Purcel, I did not 
 expect that a song composed on such a plan could 
 be a good one; but I am agreeably disappointed. 
 The song, or hymn, (for it is in the church style) 
 is, in my opinion, excellent. I enclose a copy of it, 
 that you may judge for yourself. It will not, per- 
 haps, strike you at first; but, when you have gone 
 over it five or six times, you will like it much. 
 There is something of a very original cast in the 
 composition.
 
 beattie's letters. 47 
 
 lxxxv. to mrs. montagu. 
 
 Aberdeen, Jst February, 1779- 
 I SINCERELY Sympathise with you on the death of 
 Mr. Garrick. I know not how his friends in Lon- 
 don will be able to bear the loss of liini, for lie was 
 tiie most delightful companion in the world. On 
 the stage nobody could admire him more than I did ; 
 and yet I am not sure whether I did not admire him 
 still more in private company. What a sj;lendid 
 career he has run ! idolized as he has been by the 
 public, as well as by his friends, for almost half a 
 century ; happy in his fortune and in his family ; 
 superior to envy, invulnerable by detraction ; and 
 yet nobody who knew him will say that his good 
 fortune was greater than his merit. 
 
 I have just received the Notes on Potter's 
 "iEschylus;" by which, lam happy to find that 
 my opinion of that translation is ratified by yours. 
 I did not think it possible to do justice to the old 
 Grecian in any modern tongue; but Mr. Potter ha? 
 satisfied me that I was mistaken. It seems to me, 
 that this is indisputably the best translation that 
 ever appeared in English of any Greek poet. I beg, 
 madam, you will exert all your influence with the 
 author, to make him go on with " Euripides." 
 
 LXXXVI. TO THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. 
 
 Aberdeen, Sid February, 1779- 
 My friends in England are all in tears for poor 
 Garrick. In his own sphere he was certainly the
 
 48 beattie's letters. 
 
 greatest man of his time ; and, since I knew him, 
 I have always thought, that in private company his 
 talents were not less admirable than upon the stage. 
 There was a playfulness in his humour, and a so- 
 lidity in his judgment, which made him at once 
 a most delightful and most instructive associate. 
 After passing \rdit of two days with him at his 
 house at Hampton, I once intended to have ad- 
 dressed to him a copy of verses, in which I bad 
 actually made some progress ; but soa)ething inter- 
 posed to prevent me. The thought, as I remember, 
 was to this pur])ose : that in him the soul of 
 Shakspeare had revived, after undergoing, in the 
 other world, a purification of one hundred years; 
 for that was the exact space of time between the 
 death of Shakspeare and the birth of Garrick. 
 Kindred spirits they certainly were. Shakspeare 
 was never thorouglily understood till Garrick ex- 
 plained him. Both were equally great in tragedy 
 and in comedy; and yet for comedy both had evi- 
 dently a predilection. 
 
 LXXXVU. TO SIR WILLIA7J F0RBE<?. 
 
 Aberdeen, 10th April, 1779- 
 I HAVE at last made good my promise in regard to 
 the Scotticisms, and send you enclosed a little 
 book, containing about two hundred, with a praxis 
 at the end, v.hich will perhaps amuse you. I primed 
 it for no other purpose but to give away to the young 
 men who attend my lectures. This collection 1 
 have been making, from time to time, for some 
 years past. I con::ultcd Mr. Hume's list, and took 
 d few from it. Blr. Elphinston's book 1 also looked
 
 beattie's letters. 49 
 
 into, (that book, I mean, which he wrote either for 
 or against lord Kaimes) and it supplied me with 
 three or four: but Elphinston is mistaken in many 
 things, and his own style is not free from Scotti- 
 cism ; which, however, is one of his least faults; 
 for so affected and enigmatical is his phraseology, 
 that he cannot be said to have a style at all. Dr. 
 Campbell gave me about a dozen. The rest are the 
 result of my own observation. I shall in time, I 
 believe, collect as many more as will be a supple- 
 ment to this pamphlet ; for they are endless. Even 
 since these came from the press, I have recollected 
 a few others, which you will find in the postscript. 
 I am not positive that every one of my remarks are 
 right ; but I intend to send them to a learned friend 
 in England, who will correct what is amiss. If any 
 material amendment is made, I shall inform you 
 of it. 
 
 Your opinion of bishop Lowth's *' Isaiah" coin- 
 cides exactly with mine. It is equal to my highest 
 expectations, and does honour lo our age and na- 
 tion. I wish the learned prelate may proceed in 
 his pious undertaking, and give us as many of the 
 other books of Scripture as his other duties will 
 leave him at leisure to revise. I made two or three 
 trifling remarks on the language of his translation, 
 in which there are some peculiarities that I cannot 
 account for. To hist (meaning to call with a whistle) 
 is a word which I never before met with either in 
 print or in conversation, and which, indeed, I should 
 not have understood, if the author had not explained 
 it in his notes : I suspect it may be provincial, //ear, 
 too, and cyoriy are a sort of technical words, the one 
 belonging to botany, the other to gardening ; and, 
 
 VOL. II. D
 
 60 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 
 
 as such, ought not, I think, to have a place in a 
 popular translation of Scripture. It is a striking 
 beauty in our English Bible, that, though the lan- 
 guage is always elegant and nervous, and for the 
 most part very harmonious, the words are all plain 
 ar.d common ; no affectation of learned terms, or 
 of words of Greek or Latin etymology. I have 
 sometimes amused myself with the simplicity and 
 harmony of particular passages. Nothing can be 
 more melodious than the following, which yet 
 seems to be the effect of accident rather than of 
 art : " ISIan that is born of a woman is of few days, 
 and full of trouble. He cometh forth as a flower, 
 and is cut down ; he fleeth also as a shadow, and 
 continueth not." Virgil himself would not versify 
 the following passage, for fear of hurting its har- 
 mony ; and yet every word is common, and there 
 is not the least appearance of art in the composi- 
 tion : " My beloved spake, and said unto me. Rise 
 up, ray love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, 
 the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The 
 flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing 
 of birds is come ; and the voice of the turtle is 
 heard in our land. The fig-tree putteth forth her 
 green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give 
 a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and 
 come away." Our critics have often affirmed, that 
 the English tongue derives a great deal of its harsh- 
 ness from the multitude of its monosyllables : this 
 passage may serve for a proof of the contrary ; for 
 here (if I reckon right) are eighty words, whereof 
 sixty-eight are monosyllables ; and yet I will ven- 
 ture to say, that the Italian language itself is not 
 susceptible of greater sweetness. Some of our
 
 beattie's letters. 51 
 
 words of one syllable are certainly harsh, as whichy 
 such, scratch, &c. ; but even these lose a great part 
 of their disagreeable sound, when the words that 
 come before and after them are properly modu- 
 lated. 
 
 You would hear, no doubt, of the death of Mr. 
 Riddoch, one of the ministers of our English cha- 
 pel. As I think I have heard you say that you 
 liked those few sermons which he published some 
 years ago,* I shall take the liberty to inform you, 
 that his widow, whom he has left in very poor cir- 
 cumstances, intends to publish two volumes of his 
 sermons by subscription, and has asked that Dr. 
 Campbell and I would revise the manuscripts ; 
 which, considering her distress, and his merit, 
 both as a man and as a preacher, we did not de- 
 cline. 
 
 LXXXVIII. TO THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. 
 
 Aberdeen, iJTth May, 1779, 
 I REJOICE in the good weather, in the belief that 
 it extends to Glenfiddich ;f where I pray that your 
 grace may enjoy all the health and happiness that 
 good air, goats' whey, romantic solitude, and the 
 society of the loveliest children in the world, can 
 bestow. May your days be clear sunshine, and 
 may a gentle rain give balm to your nights, that 
 the flowers and birch-trees may salute you in the 
 
 • Six occasional Sermons on important subjects, by James 
 Riddoch, A. M. one of the ministers of St. Paul's chapel, 
 Aberdeen, published in 1762. 
 
 t A hunting-seat of the duke of Gordon's, in the heart of 
 the Grampian mountains.
 
 52 beattie's letters. 
 
 morning with all their fragrance ! May the kids 
 frisk and play tricks before yon with unusual 
 spric;htliness; and may the song of birds, the hum 
 of bees, and the distant waterfall, with now and 
 then the shepherd's horn resounding from the 
 mountains, entertain you with a full chorus of 
 Highland music ! 
 
 My imagination had parcelled out the lovely 
 glen into a thousand little paradises ; in the hope 
 of being there, and seeing every day, in that soli- 
 tude, what is 
 
 Fairer than famed of old, or fabled since, 
 Of fairy damsels, met in forest wide 
 By errant knights. 
 
 But the information yon received at Cluny gave a 
 check to my fancy, and was indeed a great disap- 
 pointment to Mrs, Beattie and me ; not on account 
 of the goats' whey, but because it keeps us so 
 long at such a distance from your grace. 
 
 LXXXIX. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. 
 
 Aberdeen, 12th June, 1779. 
 You are extremely welcome to as many copies of 
 the Scotticisms as you please : I shall send a parcel 
 by the tirst opportunity. But I would not wish the 
 pamphlet to be exposed to the censure of critics, 
 who know not the peculiar circumstances of the 
 persons for whose use it was intended. I printed 
 it for the improvement of those young men only who 
 attend ray lectures ; who are generally of the North 
 country, and many of whom have had no opportu-
 
 BEATTIE'S LETTERS. 53 
 
 nity of learning English from the company they 
 kept. To have confined myself, therefore, to such 
 idioms as may actually be found in printed books, 
 or to such as are curient to th-e south as well as the 
 north of Scotland, would not have answered my 
 purpose. There are in the list, as you justly ob- 
 serve, some phrases, which are not often heard 
 among the better sort of our people ; but, in this 
 country, they are, in fact, used by many above the 
 rank of the vulgar, and are sometimes mistaken for 
 English, because they may be seen in English 
 books, though in a different sense : such is misguide 
 for sully ^ ill to guide for ill to manage, &c. JFrong- 
 Otis and iniquous are very common among Scottish 
 lawyers. In a word, I might, no doubt, have omit- 
 ted several of those that are inserted ; and would, 
 probably, have done so, if I had not known by ex- 
 perience, that phrase-books, vocabularies, and dic- 
 tionaries, are oftener faulty from defect than from 
 redundancy. 
 
 Negatives are hard to prove, especially in lan- 
 guage. A good phrase is established by a quotation 
 from a good author: but to say of a phrase, that it 
 is a Scottish idiom, is to say, that, though used in 
 Scotland, it occurs not in any English writer of 
 classical authority; a point which, in many cases, 
 it will be no easy matter to evince. There may be 
 errors, therefore, in my pamphlet; it would be 
 strange indeed if there were none ; but it may have 
 its use for all that. Old Dr. ******* used to 
 tell me, that he formerly belonged to a club in 
 Edinburgh where nothing but Latin was spoken ; 
 and that when appeals were made to Mr.Ruddi-
 
 54 beattie's letters. 
 
 man,* (vvlio was a sort of oracle among them,) he 
 would give his opinion very readily and decisively, 
 when he thought the Latin good 5 but was slow to 
 pronounce concerning any phrases which had the 
 appearance of Latin, that they were had. And I 
 remember, that Walker, in his excellent " Treatise 
 on English Particles," makes a remark to the 
 same purpose, and gives a list of Latin phrases from 
 the best authors, which one, who was not well read 
 in the classics, would, without hesitation, pro- 
 nounce to be Anglicisms. 
 
 XC. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. 
 
 Aberdeen, 17th June, 1779. 
 I HAVE been reading Johnson's prefaces to the 
 English edition of the poets, which poor Dilly sent 
 me in exchange for the Edinburgh edition. There 
 are many excellent things in the prefaces, particu- 
 larly in the lives of Milton, Dryden, and Waller. 
 He is more civil to Milton than I expected, though 
 he hates him for his blank verse and his politics. 
 To the forced and unnatural conceits of Cowley I 
 think he is too favourable; and I heartily wish, 
 that, instead of the poems of this poet, which are 
 printed at full length, and till two lai-ge volumes, 
 he had given us *' The Fairy Queen" of Spenser, 
 which is left out, very absurdly, I think. He has 
 brought his lives no further down than to Hughes ; 
 but I hear he intends to give the remainder as soon 
 as he can. 
 
 '« • The grammarian.
 
 beattie's letters. 55 
 
 xci. to the duchess of gordon. 
 
 Aberdeen, 22d June, 1779. 
 I CONGRATULATE youi* grace, with all my heart, on 
 the safe arrival of one of the best and most beauti- 
 ful boys that ever was born.* It gave me the most 
 sincere pleasure to see him so well, so mindful of 
 all his old friends, and so impatient to get forward 
 to the Glen.f 
 
 And here your grace will pardon me for express- 
 ing a wish, that the marquis were attended by a 
 man of learning, in quality of tutor, as well as by 
 Mr. S * * * * *, who is, to be sure, in every respect 
 but one, the best man in the world for his purpose. 
 Many an English clergyman would, with transport, 
 resign his cure, in order to undertake so pleasing 
 an employment : and I think the tutor ought, by 
 all means, to be an Englishman, regularly educated; 
 and to be recommended either by the archbishop of 
 York, or by Dr. Barnard, provost of Eton, whom I , 
 look upon as the best judges now in the world of 
 the qualifications requisite in a teacher. I beg your 
 grace wili think of this. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe what I suffered 
 from the cruel necessity which compelled me to 
 decline your grace's invitation. My regret was 
 such, and the cause of that regret is so great a 
 weight on my spirits, that I believe even Adam 
 Smith himself, if he were to know it, would almost 
 
 • The marquis of Huntley, 
 t Glenfiddich.
 
 56 beattie's letters. 
 
 j)ity me.* Mrs. Beattie has been a little better for 
 this week past; and bids me say, that though she 
 is obliged to give up ail thoughts of the Glen for 
 this season, she still hopes to be happy in Gordon- 
 castle before the end of autunju. She now goes 
 out once a day in a chaise ; but if the airing exceed 
 two miles, she is fatigued with it. I would fain 
 liope, that, when she is a little accustomed to this 
 exercise, she may be able to undertake a little 
 journey, which I am sure would be of intinite ser- 
 vice to her. 
 
 I have made several visits of late to the Den of 
 RubislaWjf and find a charm in it which I was 
 never sensible of before. One evening it appeared 
 in dreadful majesty; for it was so thick a fog that 
 I could hardly see the tops of the trees, or even of 
 the cliffs ; and so I was at liberty to fancy them as 
 liigh and as wild as I pleased. But the more I 
 indulge myself in that solitude, the more I regret 
 my distance from another, + which I hear is ad- 
 mirable for the beauties of still life, and of which I 
 know how nmch it excels all other solitudes for 
 every other species of beauty. I still flatter myself 
 with the hope of assisting, one time or other, at 
 some of your grace's morning lectures. Pray re- 
 member your promise of sending me the history of 
 a day. 
 
 I Ijave a little story to tell your grace, and a 
 
 • In this passage he alludes to Dr Smith's doctrine of 
 Sj/nipalhy. 
 
 t A romantic wcody spot, near Aberdeen. 
 ^ Glenfiddich.
 
 beattie's letters. 57 
 
 ravour to ask ; which will give you the trouble ot 
 another letter in a post or two. 
 
 XCIF. TO MRS. MONTAGU. 
 
 Aberdeen, 25th June, 1779- 
 An extraordinary book has just now appeared iu 
 this country : but, before I say any thing of it, I 
 must trouble you with a short narrative. 
 
 During the last years of Mr. Hume's life, his 
 friends gave out, that he regretted his having dealt 
 so much in metaphysics, and that he never would 
 write any more. He was at pains to disavow his 
 " Treatise of Human Nature," in an advertisement 
 which he published about half a year before his 
 death. All this, with what I then heard of his 
 bad health, made my heart relent towards him ; 
 as you would no doubt perceive by the concluding 
 part of the preface to my quarto book. But, im- 
 mediately after his death, I heard that he had left 
 behind him two manuscripts, with strict charge 
 that they should be published by his executors ; 
 one, " The History of his Life," and the other, 
 " Dialogues on Natural Religion." This last was 
 said to be more sceptical than any of his other 
 writings. Yet he had employed the latter part of 
 his life in preparing it. The copy which I have 
 was sent me two days ago by my friend and neigh- 
 bour Dr. Campbell ; than whom no person better 
 understands the tendency and the futility of Mr. 
 Hume's philosophy, and who accompanied it with 
 a note, in the following words : ** You have proba- 
 bly not yet seen this posthumous performance of 
 David Hume. As the publisher, with whom I am 
 d2
 
 58 beattie's letters. 
 
 not acquainted, has favoured me with a copy, I 
 have sent it to you for your perusal ; and shall be 
 glad to have your opinion of it after you hare read 
 it. For uiy part, I think it too dry, and too meta- 
 physical, to do much hurt; neither do I discover 
 any thing new or curious in it. It serves but as 
 a sort of commentary to the ' Dialogues on Natural 
 Religion and Providence,' published in his lifetime. 
 What most astonishes me, is the zeal which this 
 publication shows for disseminating those sceptical 
 principles." 
 
 In my answer to Dr. Campbell's note, I told him, 
 " that I was happy to find, from his account, that 
 the book was nut likely to do much harm ; that I 
 would acquiesce in his judgment of it, which I was 
 persuaded was just ; but that at present my circum- 
 stances, in regard to health and s[iiri(s, would not 
 permit me to enter upon the study of it." 
 
 Are you not surprised, madam, that any man 
 should conclude his life (for Mr. Hume knew he 
 was dying) with preparing such a work for the 
 press .' Yet Mr. Hume must have known, that, in 
 the opinion of a great majority of his readers, his 
 reasonings, in regard to God and Providence, were 
 most pernicious, as well as most absurd. Nay, he 
 himself seemed to think them dangerous. This ap- 
 pears from the following fact, which I had from 
 Dr. Gregory. Mr. Hume was boasting to the doc- 
 tor, that, among his disciples in Edinburgh, he had 
 the honour to reckon many of the fair sex. " Now, 
 tell me," said the doctor, " whether, if you had a 
 wife or a daughter, you would v:ish them to be your 
 disciples ? Think well before you answer me ; for 
 I assure you, that, whatever your answer is, I will
 
 BEAT tie's letters. 59 
 
 not conceal it." Mr. Hume, with a smile, and 
 some hesitation, made this reply: "No; I believe 
 scepticism may be too sturdy a virtue lor a woman.'* 
 Miss Gregory* will certainly remember that she 
 has heard her father tell this story. How different 
 is doctor Gregory's " Legacy" f to Mr. Hume's ! 
 
 Do me the favour, madam, to let me know that 
 you are well ; that your nephew is just such as I 
 wish him to be ; and that the duchess-dowager of 
 Portland, Mrs. Delany, Mrs. Carter, sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, and our other friends, are all in good 
 health. I never pass a day, nor (I believe) an hour 
 of the day, without thinking of thenr, and wishing 
 them all imaginable happiness. Sometimes I flat- 
 ter myself with the hope of seeing you all once more 
 before I die : it is a pleasing thought ; but, 
 
 Shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. 
 
 How shall I thank you, madam, for all your good- 
 ness ! Your refusal to accept of any indemnification 
 for the expense of my advertisements, is a new 
 instance. 1 am ashamed, and know not what to 
 say. Dii tibi — et mens sibi conscia recti, prcemia 
 (I ignaf era/It. 
 
 • Daughter of the late Dr. John Gregory, afterward* 
 married to the Rev. Mr. Alison 
 
 f •• A Father's Legacy to his Daughters."
 
 60 beattie's letters. 
 
 XCIII. TO the duchess of GORDON. 
 
 Aberdeen, 5th July, J 770. 
 I NOW sit down to make good the threatening de- 
 nounced in the couclui-ion of a letter, which 1 had 
 the honour to write to your grace about ten dajjj 
 ago. The request I am going to make I should 
 preface witli many apologies, if I did not know, 
 that the personage to whom I address myself is too 
 well acquainted with all the good emotions of the 
 human heart, to blame the warmth of a school-boy 
 attachment, and too generous to think the worse of 
 me for wishing to assist an unfortunate friend. 
 
 Three weeks ago, as I was scribbling in my gar- 
 ret, a man entered, whom at first I did not know ; 
 but, on his desiring me to look him in the face, I 
 soon recollected an old friend, whom I had not 
 seen, and scarcely heard of, these twenty years. He 
 and I lodged in the same house, wlien we attended 
 the school of Laurencekirk, in the year 1747, I 
 was then about ten years old, and he about fifteen. 
 As he took a great liking to me, he had many op- 
 portunities of obliging me, having much more 
 knowledge of the world, as well as more bodily 
 strength, than I. He was, besides, an ingenious 
 mechanic, and made for me many little things : and 
 it must not be forgotten, that he first put a violin 
 in my hands, and gave me the only lessons in music 
 I ever received. Four years after this period, I 
 went to college, and he engaged in farming. But 
 our acquaintance was renewed about five years- 
 after, when I remembered he made me the confi- 
 dent of a passion he had for the greatest beauty m
 
 beattie's letters. 61 
 
 that part of the country, whom he soon after mar- 
 ried. 
 
 I was very glad to see my old friend so unexpect- 
 edly; and we talked over many old stories, which, 
 though interesting to us, would have given little 
 pleasure to any body else. But ray satisfaction 
 was soon changed to regret, when, upon inquiring 
 into the particulais of his fortune during these 
 twenty years, I found he had been very unsuccessful. 
 His farming projects had miscarried ; and, hap- 
 pening to give some offence to a young woman, who 
 was called the housekeeper of a gentleman on whom 
 he depended, she swore she would be revenged, to 
 his ruin ; and was as good as her word. He satis- 
 fied his creditors, by giving them all his substance ; 
 and, retiring to a small house in Johnshaveu,* made 
 a shift to support his family by working as a joiner ; 
 a trade which, when a boy, he had picked up for 
 his amusement. But a consumptive complaint 
 overtook him ; and though he got the better of it, 
 he has never since been able to do any thing that 
 requires laboui-, and can now only make fiddles, 
 and some such little matters, for which there is no 
 great demand in the place where he lives. He told 
 me, he had come to Aberdeen on purpose to put me 
 in mind of our old acquaintance, and see whether I 
 could do any thing for him. I asked, in what re- 
 spect he wislied me to serve him. He would do 
 any thing, he said, for his family, that was not dis- 
 honourable : and, on pressing him a little further, 
 i found that the height of his ambition was to be a 
 tide-waiter, a land' waiter, or an ofiicer of excise. 
 
 * A small fisliing-town in the county of Kincardine.
 
 62 beattie's letters. 
 
 1 told him, it was particularly unlucky that I had 
 not the least influence, or even acquaintance, with 
 any one commissioner, either of the excise or cus- 
 toms ; but, as I did not care to discourage him, 1 
 promised to think of his case, and to do what I 
 could. I have since seen a clergyman, who knows 
 my friend very well, and describes his condition as 
 still more forlorn than he had represented it. 
 
 It is in behalf of this poor man that I now venture 
 to implore your grace's advice and assistance. 1 
 am well aware, that, though his case is very in- 
 teresting to me, there is nothing extraordinary in 
 it; and that your grace must often be solicited for 
 others in like circumstances. It is, therefore, with 
 the utmost reluctance that 1 have taken this liberty. 
 If your grace thinks, that an a|)plication from me 
 to iMr. Baron Gordon might be sutticient to procure 
 one of the offices in question for my friend, I would 
 not wish you to have any trouble ; but if my appli- 
 cation were enforced by yours, it would have a bet- 
 ter chance to succeed. This, however, I do not 
 request, if it is not so easy to your grace as to be 
 almost a matter of indifference. 
 
 By the first convenient opportunity I hope to 
 send your grace a sort of curiosity — four elegant 
 pastorals, by a Quaker : — not one of our Quakers 
 of Scotland, but a true Engli^h Quaker, who says 
 thee and thou, and comes into a room, and sits 
 down in company without taking off his hat. For 
 all this, he is a very worthy man, an elegant 
 scholar, a cheerful companion, and a particular 
 friend of mine. His name is John Scott, of Am- 
 Avell, near Ware, Hertfordshire, where he lives in 
 an elegant retirement, (foi his fortune is very good j)
 
 beattie's letters. 63 
 
 and has dug, In a chalk-hill near his house, one of 
 the most curious grottos I have ever 'seen. As it 
 is only twenty miles from London, I would recom- 
 mend it to your grace, when you are there, as 
 worth going to visit. Your grace will be pleased 
 with his Pastorals, not only on account of their 
 morality and sweet versification, but also for their 
 images and descriptions, which are a very exact 
 picture of the groves, woods, waters, and wind- 
 mills of that part of England where he resides. 
 
 XCIV. TO MAJOR MERCER. 
 
 Aberdeen, 1st October, 1779' 
 I BETOOK myself to the reading of Csesar when I 
 was at Peterhead, for I happened to have no other 
 book. 1 had forgot a great deal of him ; and scarce 
 remembered any thing more than the opinion which 
 I formed of his style, about twenty-five years ago. 
 But when I began, I found it almost impossible to 
 leave off. There is nothing in the historical style 
 more perfect; and his transactions are a complete 
 contrast to the military affairs of these times. I 
 know not which of his talents I should most ad- 
 mire : his indefatigable activity and perseverance ; 
 his intrepidity and presence of mind, which never 
 fail him even for a moment ; his address as a poli- 
 tician ; his ability as a conmiander, in which he 
 seems to me to have no equal ; or the beauty, bre- 
 vity, clearness, and modesty of his narrative. I 
 understand all his battles as well as if I had seen 
 them : and, in half a sentence, he explains to me 
 the grounds and occasions of a war more fully than 
 a modern historian could do in fifty pages of narra-
 
 64 beattie's letters. 
 
 tive, and as many more of dissertation. In a word, 
 as the world at that time stood in need of an abso- 
 lute sovereign, I am clearly of opinion, that he 
 should have been the person. Pompey was a vain 
 coxcomb, who, because a wrong-headed faction 
 liad given him the title oi Magnus, foolishly thought 
 himself the greatest of men ; Cassius was a male- 
 content, and a mere demagogue; and Brutus was 
 the dupe of a surly philosophy, operating upon an 
 easy temper. I ask pardon for troubling you with 
 this, Avhich you understand so much better than I 
 do : but I am quite full of Caesar at present ; and 
 you know, *' what is nearest the heart is nearest 
 the mouth." 
 
 XCV. TO DR. PORTEUS, BISHOP OF CHESTER. 
 
 Aberdeen, 17th December, 1779' 
 i\B0UT three months ago, a lady, who is a great 
 admirer of bishop Butler, put into my hands a ma- 
 nuscript charge of that excellent prelate to the 
 clergy of the diocese of Durham. If it is uot in 
 l.is printed works, I doubt whether it was ever 
 j)ublished ; but no person, who is acquainted with 
 Butler's manner, could read half a page without 
 being satisfied that it is genuine. I was so well 
 pleased with it, that I had thoughts of printing it 
 in a small pamphlet; but domestic troubles have 
 so disconcerted me, that I am hardly capable of 
 any thing. If your lordship is curious to see it, I 
 believe I could easily procure a IMS. copy. Let me 
 again make it my request, that you would collect 
 all your printed pieces, and give them to the world 
 in one publication.
 
 beattie's letters. 65 
 
 I think I told your lordship in ray last, that, in 
 order to keep ray mind from preying upon itself, 
 and to give it a sufficiency of such employment as 
 would amuse the fancy, without affecting the 
 heart, I had resolved to finish a grammatical treatise, 
 which I had begun some considerable time ago. It 
 is now finished, and makes one of my largest trea- 
 tises. It consists of two parts ; the first, " On the 
 Origin and general Nature of Speech ;" the second, 
 " On Universal Grammar." I have drawn a good 
 deal of information from Mr. Harris's " Hermes," 
 and lord Monboddo on '' Language ;" but my plan 
 and ray sentiments differ in many particulars from 
 both. Monboddo's partiality to the Epicurean hy- 
 pothesis of the origin of language and society, I 
 thought it incumbent upon me to animadvert upon ; 
 and I hope I have shown that it is ill founded. 
 
 I have never seen lord Monboddo's " Ancient 
 IMetaphysics." He and I have long been particu- 
 larly acquainted. Formerly we used to disagree a 
 little on the subject of religion ; but I hear he has 
 become more cautious on that head. He carries 
 his admiration of Aristotle, and the abstruser parts 
 of the Greek philosophy, to a degree of extrava- 
 gance that is hardly credible. Herodotus is his 
 favourite historian ; and so far is he from think- 
 ing, with the rest of the world, that he is credu- 
 lous, that he seems to think him infallible in all 
 matters, which he says he had an opportunity of 
 inquiring into. He believes in the existence of 
 satyrs, and men with the heads of dogs, and other 
 Egyptian monsters ; and he and I have had many a 
 controversy concerning men with tails, whom he 
 firmly believes to exist, not only in the islands of
 
 f)6 beattie's letters. 
 
 Nicobar in the Gulf of Bengal, but even in this 
 country. He holds that men are naturally canni- 
 bals ; from which he infers, that man is not by 
 nature a social animal. The Lacedemonian go- 
 vernment and discipline he admires beyond that of 
 all other nations. Whether he justifies their con- 
 duct towards the Helots, I do not remember; but 
 I have heard him seriously maintain, that slavery is 
 the state that is most proper for peasants, and that 
 they-and the cattle ought to be annexed to the soil, 
 and bought and sold along with it. He considers 
 Horace as a philosopher, and Virgil as a good poet : 
 but his opinion of Latin literature is but low at best ; 
 for I have heard him say, that, if we except the 
 Roman law, there is hardly any thing in the Latin 
 tongue that merits preservation. 
 
 Notwithstanding these strange peculiarities of 
 opinion, some of which are the objects of laughter 
 rather than censure, lord Monboddo is an honest, 
 worthy, and friendly man, indulgent to his ser- 
 vants, and kind to his tenants; an elegant speaker, 
 agreeable and jocose in conversation, and perfectly 
 well bred. Mr. Harris's *' Hermes" tirst set him 
 upon studying the Greek ; and it unluckily directed 
 him to the most insignificant part of ancient learn- 
 ing, " The Analytics and Metaphysics " of Aristotle ; 
 which he has studied so long, that I believe he is 
 now seriously of opinion, that nothing else deserves 
 to be studied.
 
 beattie's letters. 67 
 
 XCVI. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. 
 
 Aberdeen, ]8th January, 1780. 
 In my present condition, it is natural for me to 
 think what is likely to befall my family when I leave 
 it. The affairs 1 have to settle are not extensive or 
 complex: I have taken the liberty to give you some 
 concern in them. 
 
 About a month ago, I executed a deed, with all 
 the necessary formalities, in which I named you, 
 my dear sir, with some other friends, tutors and 
 curators for my two boys. I ought, no doubt, to 
 have informed you of this sooner; but I know you 
 will excuse me. This deed I consider as the most, 
 and indeed as the only, material part of my settle- 
 ments. It is scarce necessary for one to make a 
 will, who wishes his children to be on an equal 
 footing, in regard to inheritance ; and whose pro- 
 perty consists chiefly in a little money and some 
 moveables. I hope I shall leave them what may 
 keep them from being a burden on any body, and 
 what, with strict economy, may afford them the 
 means of an education somewhat better than I re- 
 ceived myself. Friends may be necessary to help 
 them forward a little in the world ; and I trust in 
 Providence that those will not be wanting. Will 
 you indulge me in the freedom of saying a word or 
 two more on this subject ? 
 
 My first wish, in regard to my two boys, is, that 
 they may be good Christians, and, in one way or 
 another, useful in society. Of the younger I can 
 say nothing, as I know not his character. The
 
 68 beattie's letters. 
 
 elder is much addicted to learning, of a good tem- 
 per, and excellent capacity ; but his constitution is 
 delicate, and I do not th'xuk him jnade for the bustle 
 of life : 1 have, therefore, had thoughts of getting 
 him appointed, when he comes to be of age, my 
 assistant and successor ; provided he himself should 
 then have no objection to that way of life : and, 
 from my experience in teaching, the care 1 meant 
 to take of his education, and the farrago of papers 
 which I have got together on moral subjects, I 
 flattered myself, that I might make him enter upon 
 that employment in a way creditable to himself, 
 and not uni)rofitable to society. But this plan cor.ld 
 not be brouglit to bear these eight or nine years; 
 and I cannot hope for so long a life. Besides, I 
 have observed, that plans laid so early for children 
 are seldom or never made effectual. The church 
 is a scene of business still more tranquil than mine ; 
 and that, I presume, would not be disagreeable to 
 him. But this is mere conjecture. 
 
 Be assured, that it would do me great good, if I 
 could flatter myself with the hope of visiting Edin- 
 burgh in the spring, and giving you the charge of 
 my person and papers ; not to mention the pleasure 
 1 should take in seeing my friends ; of which I need 
 not give them any assurances. I am sensible, that 
 I have already lived too long in solitude; too long, 
 I mean, for one who loves society and cheerfulness, 
 as I do, and always have done. No hermit lives 
 more constant to his cave than I have done to my 
 house for these eighteen months. The smalluess 
 of my house, and the delicacy of ]Mrs. B.'s nerves, 
 which cannot bear the least noise, will not allow 
 me to have any company with me; and the couse-
 
 beattie's letters. 69 
 
 quence is, that there are only two houses in the towu 
 to which I am ever invited. In fact, I have not 
 dined abroad more than twice these three months. 
 Now that I am able to go to the college again, my 
 business there gives me some amusement through 
 the day ; but all the long evening I sit alone, trying 
 sometimes to read, and sometimes to write, except 
 now and then when I give my son a lesson in Virgil. 
 This must in the end have very bad effects upon my 
 health and spirits; and, therefore, it is no wonder 
 that I long to be from home, and to sojourn for 
 some little time in aland of friendship, tranquillity, 
 and cheerfulness. My first excursion (if I ever 
 make any) must be to Gordon-castle. 
 
 The *' Grammatical Treatise," which I told you 
 of, is finished. It is one of the longest, and not one 
 of the worst of my dissertations. 1 have also writ- 
 ten, since you were here, "Remarks on Sublimity," 
 being a sort of counterpart to those on *' Laughter :" 
 but I am not quite pleased with this, nor has it re- 
 ceived my last liand. I believe I shall next set 
 about finishing what I formerly threw together on 
 *' Romance writing and Chivalry ;" not because it is 
 important, but because it is amusing, and will require 
 no deep study. It is pretty long too; and, in my dull 
 jog-trot way, will be an object to me for at least two 
 months. In a word, my posthumous works (for post- 
 humous I believe I may call them) will soon be as vo- 
 luminous as those I have printed. I must be tran- 
 scribing one or other of my old scrawls; and when one 
 transcribes, one enlarges and corrects insensibly. 
 For I cannot think ; I am too niuch agitated and 
 distrait (as lord Chesterfield would say) to read any 
 thing that is not very desultory; I cannot play at
 
 70 beattie's letters. 
 
 caa'ds, — I could never learn 'to smoke, — and my 
 musical days are over. 
 
 It gives me great pain to hear of the fate of poor 
 Cook. I lately read his voyage for the second 
 time; and considered him not only as an excellent 
 writer, an able philosopher, and the most consum- 
 mate navigator that ever lived, but also as a person 
 of the greatest magnanimity, modesty, and huma- 
 nity. He was, indeed, one of my greatest favour- 
 ites; and I look upon his death as an irreparable 
 loss to his country and to mankind. 
 
 XCVII. TO THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. 
 
 Aberdeen, 19th March, 1780. 
 As I sincerely sympathised with your grace on the 
 occasion of your late uneasiness, it is with the 
 greatest pleasure I now send my congratulations on 
 the good news from Rodney; by which you will 
 see, that your brother's laurels, instead of being, 
 as you apprehended, stained with blood, are deco- 
 rated with gold. For the sake of your grace as 
 well as of his country, I pray, that the same success 
 may attend him wherever he goes; and that your 
 tenderness and anxiety may soon receive their full 
 reward in his safe return. When I consider the 
 life that those lead who are engaged in the service 
 of their country, the busy and merry faces with 
 which they are continually surrounded, and those 
 tumultuous hopes, and that bustle of employment, 
 which keep their minds and bodies in constant ex- 
 ercise — I cannot but think their state much more 
 enviable than that of the affectionate friend, whom 
 they leave behind them at full leistire to magnify
 
 beattie's letters. 71 
 
 and multiply all their real dangers, and to imagine a 
 thousand others that will never have any reality. 
 
 I am greatly obliged to your grace for the little 
 novel with the great name. At the first reading I 
 did not thoroughly understand it ; but at the se- 
 cond I liked it well : and I agree with your grace, 
 that the author shows a capacity for much better 
 things. There is something waggish enough, as 
 well as uncommon, in the moral; but, in the pre- 
 face, there are some thoughts and expressions not 
 quite so feminine as I could have wislied. " Read 
 my book, or go hang yourself," is not like the lan- 
 guage of a fair lady ; any more than what she says 
 about being drenched in Mr.Walpole's champaigne : 
 — But, perhaps, she wished it to be thought a mas- 
 culine performance.* 
 
 I am happy that your grace approves of my trea- 
 tise *' On Dreaming."f The publisher has never 
 expressed any desire to have the sequel, and, there- 
 fore, I have not sent it. I suspect he may think it 
 too serious for his paper. Your grace seems to 
 think, that I should avow more faith in dreams, if I 
 thought it for the good of mankind that they should 
 be believed. I confess there is something in this : 
 and, as a proof, I beg leave to transcribe the con- 
 cluding paragraph : 
 
 *' To conclude : Providence certainly superin- 
 tends the affairs of men ; and often (we know not 
 how often) interposes for our preservation. It 
 
 • The novel here alluded to was probably one published 
 anonymously, and understood to have been written by lady 
 Craven, now margravine of Anspach. 
 
 i This was sent to the periodical publication called the 
 " Mirror," published ?t Edinburgh.
 
 72 beattie's letters. 
 
 would, therefore, be presumptuous to affirm, that 
 supernatural cautions, in regard to futurity, are 
 never communicated in dreams. The design of 
 this discourse is, not to contradict any authentic 
 experience, or historical fact, but only to show, 
 that dreams may proceed from a variety of causes 
 which have nothing supernatural; that our waking 
 thoughts are often equally unaccountable ; that, 
 therefore, a superstitious attention to the former is 
 not less absurd than a like attention to the latter 
 would be; and that, though we are not much ac- 
 quainted with the nature of this wonderful mode of 
 perception, we know enough of it to see, that it is 
 not useless or superfluous ; but may, on the con- 
 trary, answer some purposes of great importance 
 to our welfare, both in soul and body."* 
 
 In the course of my walks, I straggled the other 
 day into the Den of Rubislaw : but, whether it was 
 owing to the stormy weather, or to the gloom of my 
 own thoughts, I soon found it was not a fit place 
 for me at that time. Instead of sighing and mur- 
 muring, the naked trees seemed to roar in the wind, 
 and the black stream to rumble and growl through 
 the rocks ; and, therefore, as I did not wish to de- 
 tain even the idea of your grace in so dreary a wil- 
 derness, I made haste to leave it. Two months 
 hence it will be more pleasing, and, it is possible, I 
 may then be more capable of being pleased. 
 
 • "What Dr. Beattie intended as a third number of a 
 ** Mirror " on " Dreaming," was not printed when that 
 paper was published in single numbers. But it was added 
 as a sequel to the seventy-fourth paper, when the "Mirror" 
 was afterwards reprinted in volumes.
 
 BEATTiE'S LETTERS. 73 
 
 XCVIII. TO SIR WILLIAM FORBES. 
 
 Aberdeen, llth April, 1780. 
 I HAVE, since the college broke up, been bard at 
 work upon Mr. Riddoch's manuscript sermons ; but 
 I have only got through five of them, and there are 
 still five-and-twenty before me. Never did I engage 
 in a more troublesome business. There is not a 
 sentence, there is hardly a line, that does not need 
 correction. This is owing partly to the extreme- 
 inaccuracy of the writing, but chiefly to the peculi- 
 arity of the style ; an endless string of climaxes ; 
 the involution of clauses within clauses; the un- 
 measurable length of the sentences; and such a 
 profusion of superfluous words, as I have never be- 
 fore seen in any composition. To cure all these 
 diseases is impossible. I must be satisfied with al. 
 leviating some of the worst symptoms : yet, to do 
 my old friend justice, I must confess, that the ser- 
 mons have, in many places, great energy, and even 
 eloquence, and abound in shrewd remarks and 
 striking sentiments. They are gloomy, indeed ; 
 and will suggest to those who never saw the author, 
 what is really true, that, in preaching, he always 
 had a frown on his countenance. He seldom seeks 
 to draw with the cords of love, or with the bands of 
 a man: his motto should be, "Knowing the ter- 
 rors of the Lord, we persuade men." Both me- 
 thods are good in their season ; but the former is, 
 if I mistake not, most consonant to the practice of 
 our Saviour and his apostles, as well as to that of 
 the English divines, who, I think, are the best of 
 all modern preachers. 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 74 beattie's letters. 
 
 This puts me in mind of a passage in ray friend 
 the bishop of Chester's last letter, which, I know, 
 you will be glad to see: ** I am glad to find," says 
 he, '* we are to have another volume of sermons 
 from Dr. Blair. For although they may be thought 
 by some severe judges a little too florid and rheto- 
 rical, yet they certainly abound with good sense 
 and useful observations, and just sentiments of re- 
 ligion, conveyed in lively and elegant language : 
 better calculated, perhaps, to engage the attention, 
 and touch the hearts of the generality of readers, 
 than that correct simplicity, and chastity of diction, 
 which nicer ears require. There is, however, ano- 
 ther volume of sermons expected, with which every 
 class of readers will, I conceive, be abundantly sa- 
 tisfied; I mean one from bishop Hurd. When 
 such talents, and taste, and learning, as his, are 
 applied to the illustration of practical subjects, and 
 the recommendation of common religious duties, 
 we may expect every effect from them that human 
 abilities are capable of producing. Such publica- 
 tions as these will, I hope, in some degree, coun- 
 teract the principles that will probably be diffused 
 over the kingdom by a very different sort of compo- 
 sition — a second volume of 'The Decline and Fall 
 of the Roman Empire.' " 
 
 I am much obliged to you, my dear sir, for your 
 kind concern in my welfare, and for the many 
 good advices contained in your last. I am deeply 
 sensible of their importance, and will do what I can 
 to follow them : but in my case there are sonic pecu- 
 liar difficulties, wliich I do not well know how it 
 will be possible for me to get over.
 
 beattie's letters. 75 
 
 XCIX. TO the duchess of GORDON. 
 
 Aberdeen, 23d May, 1780. 
 To say that my departure from Gordon -Castle cost 
 me some sighs and tears, is not saying much ; as I 
 am apt, of late, when alone, to be rather expen- 
 sive in that way. I left you with a weight upon 
 my mind, which would have been hardly support- 
 able, if it had not been alleviated, in some degree, 
 by the hope of soon meeting the duke at Glasgow, 
 and of seeing your grace once more before the end 
 of summer. By the bye, I hope Mr. Nicols will 
 not intermeddle in the arrangement of the dressing- 
 room library ; I flatter myself, that honour will be 
 reseived for me. 
 
 I have sent a small print, which my bookseller, 
 in the abundance of his wisdom, and contrary to 
 my advice, is determined to prefix to a new edition 
 of my " Essays on Poetry, Music, &c." The fi- 
 gure, designed by Angelica, is certainly very noble, 
 — much more so than I expected ; and is intended 
 to represent Socrates in prison, and under sentence 
 of death, composing a hymn in honour of Apollo. 
 But I am afraid, that the readers will neither guess 
 at the meaning, nor see any connection between it 
 and the book: in which case, they will no doubt 
 suppose that the author has prefixed his own 
 image. However, the outline is good and graceful, 
 and the attitude expressive. If it were not rather 
 too melancholy, I would say that it is very like 
 Socrates. Your grace knows, that the old phi- 
 losopher was one of the merriest men of his 
 time.
 
 76 beattie's letters. 
 
 I shoald write a treatise, instead of a letter, if 1 
 were to be particular iu my acknowledgments of 
 gratitude for what I have experienced of your 
 grace's and the duke's goodness. I shall only say, 
 {for I know you would not read me to an end, if I 
 were, on this subject, to use many words) that I am 
 perfectly sensible of your kind attention to the pe- 
 culiarities of my case. I saw, by many instances 
 every day, how solicitous you v.-ere to withdraw my 
 view from every thing tliat could create or revive 
 painful thoughts. I\ly gratitude and admiration 
 (which are two very pleasing and healthy emotions) 
 were not wholly inadequate ; and the consequences 
 are visible to every body. Since my return, I have 
 been complimented on my improved looks ; though 
 I have felt but little of that pleasure which the 
 sight of home used formerly to produce in me. In 
 fact, home is not good for me at present, and I shall 
 leave it as soon as ever I can. 
 
 C. TO THE REV. DR. LAING. 
 
 Aberdeen, 2jth May, 1780. 
 We often spoke of you at Gordon-Castle, and with 
 very great regard. The duke is still more and more 
 astronomical. He had Mr. Copland* with him 
 for a fortnight while I was there; and they two 
 were, from morning to night, hard at work in cal- 
 culation and observation. The duke and duchess 
 Hre both, I think, in better health than ever I knew 
 them to be. 
 
 * Professor of mathematics in Marischal College,
 
 BEATTIE S LETTERS. 77 
 
 The manuscript sermon of bishop Butler I sent 
 to the bishop of Chester. You will like to see 
 what he says of it. *' It abounds with that strong 
 sense and sound reasoning which so eminently di- 
 stinguished him ; and I cannot see in it the smallest 
 foundation for that accusation which it brought 
 upon him, of being favourable to popery." This, it 
 seems, was the case at the time the sermon was 
 preached ; and it was, perhaps, for this reason that 
 he never published it in his works. 
 
 I send you enclosed a small piece of music, which 
 I think you will like. I got the air at Gordon- 
 Castle, and I set to it the second part and bass. If 
 it were sung with three voices, it would, I should 
 imagine, have a very good effect. 
 
 I lately heard two anecdotes, which deserve to 
 be put in writing, and which you will be glad to 
 hear. When Handel's *' Messiah" was first per- 
 formed, the audience was exceedingly struck and 
 affected by the music in general ; but when that 
 chorus struck up, ** For the Lord God Omnipotent 
 reigneth," they were so transported, that they all, 
 together with the king, (who liappened to be pre- 
 sent,) started up, and remained standing till the 
 chorus ended : and hence it became the fashion in 
 England for the audience to stand while that part 
 of the music is performing. Some days after the 
 first exhibition of the same divine oratorio, Mr. 
 Handel came to pay his respects to lord Kinnoull, 
 with whom he was particularly acquainted. His 
 lordship, as was natural, paid him some compli- 
 ments on the noble entertainment which he had 
 lately given the town. " My lord," said Handel, 
 '* I should be sori7 if I only entertained them, I
 
 78 beattie's letters. 
 
 wish to make them better." These two anecdotes I 
 had from lord KinnouU himself. You will agree 
 with me, tliat the first does great honour to Han- 
 del, to music, and to the English nation : the 
 second tends to confirm my theory, and sir Jolm 
 Hawkins's testimony, that Handel, in spite of all 
 that has been said to the contrary, must have been a 
 pious man. 
 
 Cl. TO THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. 
 
 Aberdeen, 2d June, 1780. 
 I HAD the honour to write to your grace on my re- 
 turn to Aberdeen, and to send a parcel of " Mir- 
 rors." This will accompany the two last papers 
 that we are to have under that title. 
 
 I sympathise vvitli you in your present solitude : 
 for, though nobody knows so well as your grace 
 how to improve retirement, yet I do not think it is 
 good for any of us to be quite alone. If you go to 
 the Glen,* I would earnestly recommend it to your 
 grace, to leave it to tlie moon and stars to adorn the 
 night, and to be satisfied with sleeping under a ca- 
 nopy somewhat less sublime than that of heaven. 
 For though, in the Eden of Gordon- Castle there is 
 no serpent, I will not answer for the little paradise 
 of Glenfiddich ; and though walks at midnight, and 
 slumbers in the open air, might be had last sum- 
 mer without harm, we have no reason to expect 
 that the piesent season will be equally indulgent. 
 I grant, that a lonely walk by moonlight is pleasing, 
 like other intoxications; but, like them too, it is 
 
 * Glenfiddich.
 
 beattie's letters. 79 
 
 Iniitful to the nerves ; and 1 know not, whether the 
 cold bath in the morning be a sufficient antidote. I 
 need not inform your grace, and I hope you will 
 never forget, that in the evening it is particularly 
 dangerous to walk among trees, on account of the 
 damps. It was this that brought all his rheuma- 
 tisms upon major Mercer, though he was tlien in 
 one of the best and driest climates in the world — 
 the south of France. 
 
 The duke's summons was unexpectedly sudden : 
 I hope his return will be equally so. He was so 
 good, in passing through this town, as to call on me, 
 notwithstanding his hurry, and to desire me to go 
 with him to Edinburgh ; an invitation so very agree- 
 able, that nothing would have hindered me from 
 accepting it but my son's bad health. The boy was 
 at that time very ill ; and I apprehended a con- 
 sumption : but he is now much better ; Dr. Living- 
 ston having ordered for him a preparation of bark 
 and the vitriolic acid, which, with a strict regimen 
 in the article of diet, has, in a few days, had the 
 happiest effects : so that, if nothing unexpected 
 occur, I liave thoughts of going southward next 
 week : in which case, it will not be long before your 
 grace hear of me from Glasgow. You will probably 
 hear from me too, if I meet with any adventure. I 
 shall remember the commission in regard to Addi- 
 son ; and, if you will honour me with any other, 
 please to direct to me at sir William Forbes's, St. 
 Andrew's-street, Edinburgh. 
 
 I had lately a tete-ci-tete of several hours with 
 lord Kaimes and Mrs. Drummond. There was no 
 company ; and we had much conversation on a 
 great variety of subjects — your grace and the duke,
 
 80 beattie's letters. 
 
 lord and lady F., Mrs. Montagu, David Hume, re- 
 ligion, episcopacy and presbyterianisni, manufac- 
 tures, music, Scotcli tunes, with tlie method of 
 playing them, &c.; and I flatter myself, that his 
 lordship and I parted with some reluctance on both 
 sides. He assured me, that he hated r>lr. 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.
 
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