UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES LIFE AND LETTERS OF GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D. FORMERLY BISHOP OF CLOYNE. VOL. IV. Eoittion MACMILLAN AND CO. PUBLISHERS TO THE UNIVERSITF OF THE WORKS OF GEORGE BERKELEY, D. D, FORMERLY BISHOP OF CLOYNE; INCLUDING MANY OF HIS WRITINGS HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED. With Prefaces, Annotations, His Life and Letters, and an Account of his Philosophy, BY ALEXANDER CAMPBELL ERASER, M. A. PROFESSOR OF LOGIC AND METAPHYSICS IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH. IN FOUR VOLUMES. Vol. IV. AT THE CLARENDON PRESS M.DCCC.LXXI \^All rights reserved'] 5921 <"h ' LIFE AND LETTERS OF ^ GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D. FORMERLY BISHOP OF CLOYNE ; AND AN ACCOUNT OF HIS PHILOSOPHY. WITH MANY WRITINGS OF BISHOP BERKELEY HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED : METAPHYSICAL, DESCRIPTIVE, THEOLOGICAL. BY ALEXANDER CAMPBELL ERASER, M.A. PROFESSOR OF LOGIC AND METAPHYSICS IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH. AT THE CLARENDON PRESS . ^ M.DCCC.LXXI [^All rights reserved '\ PREFACE. IT is curious that a life so good and beautiful in its devotion to a few great designs, so powerful in modern thought, and every way so uncommon, as Bishop Berkeley's should have been allowed by his contem- poraries to pass away without any tolerable interpreta- tion or even record of it. The present volume does not pretend to meet the want which the lapse of more than a hundred years, and neglected opportunities have made it difficult if not impossible to supply. The earliest biographical account of Berkeley known to me is the slight and inaccurate sketch which appeared in the British Plutarch in 1762, and in the Animal Register in the following year. I have not discovered by whom it was written. The only authentic Life we have is that by Bishop Stock, who was an intimate friend of the family\ It appeared in 1776, twenty-three years after Berkeley's death. It was re-published, with some additional notes, in 1780, in the second volume of the Biographia Britannica. A second edition of Stock's memoir, with appended extracts of some letters from Berkeley to Thomas Prior and to Dean Gervais, appeared in 1 784, ^ Joseph Stock, D.D., was born thence to the see of Waterford in in Dublin, in December 174 1. He 1810. In 1798 the French landed became a Fellow of Trinity College at Killala and took possession of the about 1765, and was made rector of bishop's palace and person — events Conwall in 1779, vicar of Lusk in of which he afterwards published 1780, andrectorofDelganyin 1788. a narrative. Bishop Stock died at He was a prebendary of Lismore in Waterford in 1813. Some of his 1793. In 1798 he was made bishop writings are mentioned in Cotton's of Killala, and was transferred from Fasti^ vol. I. p. 134. viii PREFACE. and was also prefixed to the first collected edition of Berkeley's Works, published in that year. In that edition the reader is informed that Stock's biographical facts were for the most part communicated by Dr. Robert Berkeley, rector of Midleton, near Cloyne, brother to the Bishop, and then living. This brief memoir of a few pages is prefixed to all the collected editions of Ber- keley. One regrets that when Dr. Stock had so good an opportunity for collecting and authenticating materials he should have produced so faint an outline of Berkeley's history. A few facts in supplement of Stock, authenticated by the Bishop's widow and by his son George, are contained in 'Addenda and Corrigenda' in the third volume of the Bio- graphia BiHtannica, which appeared in i 784; and we have a few anecdotes, in the curious Preface, by Bishop Berke- ley's daughter-in-law, to the Poems of his grandson George Monck Berkeley, published in 1797^ Mr. Monck Berkeley himself, in his interesting volume of Literary Relics'^, pub- ^ Poems by the late George Mo7ick was suppressed, and a fire at Mr. Berkeley, Esq., LLB.,F.S.SA. With Nichols' warehouse, I believe, after- a Pre/ace by the Editor, consisting wards destroyed the copies. For 0/ some Afiecdotes of Mr. Monck an account of this singular work, Berkeley, and several of his friends. and of the writer, see Gent. Mag. London, printed by J. Nichols, vols. LXVII. pp. 403, 455, and 1797. The editor was JNIonck LXIX. p. 565 ; also Nichols' Zz'/d-/-- Berkeley's mother, ]\Irs. Eliza rt'r;' ^7/^<:7/f/^.f, vol. IX. pp. 733 — 35. Berkeley, widow of Bishop Berke- ^ Literary Relics, by George ley's last surviving son. Dr. George Monck Berkeley, Esq., LL.B. in Berkeley, Prebendary of Canter- the University of Dublin, a mem- bury. She was accomplished and ber of St. INIary Magdalen Hall, pious, not without acuteness and Oxford, and of the Inner Temple, wit, but eccentric to the verge London. The preface is dated, of insanity. Her extraordinary .' Dublin, January 27, 1789.' Re- Preface occupies 630 pages of the ferring to the numerous letters from handsome quarto, and there are Berkeley to Prior which the book besides some pages of Postscript. contains, the writer says :— ' Those The Poems themselves occupy 170 of Bishop Berkeley I received from pages. The book is very rare, my friend Mr. Archdall, the learned It is hardly to be found in any of author of the Motiasticon Hibcr- our public libraries. In fact it nicum, c£v. From these letters, some PREFACE. ik lished in i 789, has given fully many of Berkeley's letters to Thomas Prior, extracts from some of which were appended, as already mentioned, to the later editions of Stock's memoir. The memoirs of Berkeley in Chalmers and elsewhere, as well as the biographical accounts of him in the dif- ferent histories of Philosophy, Continental and British, are founded on Stock, and very much copied from him. Professor Archer Butler produced, in the Dublin Uni- versity Magazine, in 1837, an eloquent philosophical in- terpretation of Berkeley's life and writings, but made almost no addition to the previous knowledge of the facts of his personal history. Two years ago, an excellent appreciative essay on Berkeley, as ' the philosopher' of the age he lived in, was given by Mrs. Oliphant, in her Historical Sketches of the Reign of George II. When I undertook to prepare the edition of the Works of Berkeley which accompanies this volume, and which is published under the auspices of the Uni- versity of Oxford, it seemed almost too late to attempt to remedy the loss the world has suffered by biographical neglect when the materials were fresh, and before death had taken away his friends and associates. It was, ac- cordingly, at first thought that any account of the author that mifjht be associated with the Works must be very much a re-statement of what Stock had written — perhaps his short memoir with a few anno- tations. Further consideration and investigation, how- ever, led to the formation of this volume, which is the imperfect result of an attempt, thus far followed out, to extracts, together with a most im- in quarto." (p. x.) Mr. Monck perfect Life of the writer, were pub- Berkeley died soon after the pub- lished by Dr. Stock in Dublin, and lication of the Li/erarv Relics. prefixed to the Works of the Bishop X PREFACE. recover all that immediately concerns Berkeley which the stream of time has not carried irrecoverably away. The Works and Letters of Berkeley previously published, together with Stock's meagre outline of facts, formed my starting-point. The Letters, as it seemed, might be read with more interest if they were collected, arranged in chronological order, and blended with the Life, with an annotation now and then. The largest, and probably the most interest- ing, portion of Berkeley's correspondence has I fear gone beyond recovery. 1:1 is letters to Thomas Prior form the bulk of what remains. For them I have fol- lowed Monck Berkeley's edition, in his Literary Relics, amending the arrangement, however, and supplementing what is given there by a few additional letters to Prior drawn from other sources. For the letters to Dean Gervais I have had no resource beyond the appendix to Stock. The previously published letters to Pope I have collected in their order, but have failed to find any not hitherto published, or to discover anywhere any addressed to Swift, Steele, Addison, Clarke, Butler, or others among the brilliant society in which Berkeley moved in the early part of his life. Of his long cor- respondence with Samuel Johnson, his American disciple, I have recovered several letters — four published in the Appendix to Chandler's Life of Johnson, and for the rest I am indebted to Mr. Oilman, the eminent librarian of Yale College. A few additional letters, and rough drafts of letters to various persons have been gathered in other quarters. It is possible that more may still be found. By far the most important original material connected with Berkeley, not hitherto given to the world, which has been disclosed since his death, has been made available PREFACE. for this volume, through the kindness of Archdeacon Rose, who possesses the only known collection of Ber- keley's manuscripts, including some of his correspon- dence. The history of these Papers is interesting. After Bishop Berkeley's death they passed into the hands of his son, Dr. George Berkeley, who died in 1795. In 1797, Dr. Berkeley's widow writes thus, in her edition of her son's Poems : — 'The Editor has several stone weight of papers to inspect of Bishop Berkeley's — his Journal when in Italy, &c. &c. ; of Mr. Cherry's ; of Archbishop Seeker's ; Miss Talbot's ; Mr. Monck Berkeley's V After the death of this daughter-in-law, and the family dissolution, these Berkeley Papers were lost sight of for a while. They were thus referred to in 181 2 by Southey^: — 'Bishop Berkeley. A journal of his travels in Italy, and many other of his papers, remain unpublished. His grand- son, George Monck Berkeley, had he lived, would have given them to the public. I know not what is become of them since the family has been extinct, but of such a man not a relick should be lost.' The family of Bishop Berkeley was extinct in the early part of this century. The Berkeley Papers referred to by Mrs. Berkeley and by Southey then came into the possession of the Grimston family. One member of that ancient and honourable family, Henry Grimston, Esq., of Grimston Hall in Yorkshire, often mentioned in the volume of Monck Berkeley's Poems, is there spoken of as Monck's ' chosen, beloved, and*bosom friend,' ' his unwearied friend to his latest hour.' Through the Grimston family they became the property of the late Reverend Hugh James Rose, the learned and eminent Principal of King's College, London. After his death, ^ Preface to Monck Berkeley, ^ See Southey's Omniana, vol, I. p. dcxxviii. p. 251. xii PRE F A C E. in 1838, they belonged to his widow", who eventually gave them to his brother, the Venerable Henry John Rose, now Archdeacon of Bedford, who has, without reserve, placed them at the disposal of the Clarendon Press for publication in this volume. Those of them which seemed suitable for publication occupy here more than two hundred and fifty pages. The Berkeley Papers consist of the following manu- scripts : — I. Two small quarto volumes. One of these volumes seems to have formed a Common- place Book for queries and other occasional thoughts in Metaphysics, written when Berkeley was a student at Trinity College, Dublin, apparently between his nine- teenth and twenty-third year, and before he had published anything in philosophy. This curious manuscript volume contains also a description of the Cave of Dunmore, in the County of Kilkenny, in Berkeley's handwciting. I have appended the Commonplace Book to the Life and Letters, and also the account of the Dunmore Cave. The reader must remember that the former consists of the stray speculations of one hardly beyond the years of boyhood, set down, in solitary study, as private memoranda for further consideration, and without a thought that they were ever to meet the public eye. The companion quarto is of much less interest. It contains what seems, to be a rough draft of parts of the DiscoiLvse on Passive Obedience; fragments of what was perhaps meant for a sermon on the text ' Let your zeal be according to knowledge ;' a draft of the Prin- ciples of Hnman Knowledge, from Sect. 85 to Sect. 145, " The Berkeley Papers, when in Ihe Colonial Church, which contains her possession, were seen by the an interesting chapter (xxviii) on Rev. J. S. M. Anderson, and they Berkeley's efforts on behalf of the are referred to in his History of Colonies. PREFACE. xiii nearly as in print ; a few stray thoughts similar to those in the Commonplace Book ; some jottings of what may be fragments of letters, in Latin and English, written ap- parently at Trinity College. Very little here seemed suited for publication. 2. Four small volumes. These seem to have been Berkeley's travelling companions in Italy. They contain a minute account of what he saw there from day to day, in some of the months of 171 7, and during a short period in I 718. They are perhaps fragments of private journals kept during his stay on the Continent in 171 5 — 20, some of which, it is said, were lost at sea. Nearly all that the four volumes contain is now offered to the world. 3. Some Sermons preached by Berkeley in the Chapel of Trinity College, Dublin, and in Leghorn ; Skeletons of Sermons preached in Rhode Island ; the primary Epi- scopal Charge at Cloyne ; and a Confirmation Address, form another portion of the Berkeley Papers. All of these which seemed in a state to admit of being published are given in this volume. 4. The Berkeley Papers likewise include a number of letters addressed to Bishop Berkeley, chiefly by Arch- bishop Seeker, when he was Bishop of Bristol, and after- wards of Oxford ; by Benson, Bishop of Gloucester ; and by Gibson, Bishop of London. We have also a long letter from Berkeley to Sir John James, on points in theology, one or two letters of his to Thomas Prior, as well as some rougfh drafts of letters to other corre- spondents, and of portions of one or two of his published works. All of these which seemed proper for publica- tion have been incorporated with his Life and Letters, in chronological order. Almost all in the Berkeley Papers that is immediately connected with Bishop Berkeley is summed up under the foregoing heads. The remaining portion of the xii PREFACE. ill 1838, they belonged to his widow", who eventually gave them to his brother, the Venerable Henry John Rose, now Archdeacon of Bedford, who has, without reserve, placed them at the disposal of the Clarendon Press for publication in this volume. Those of them which seemed suitable for publication occupy here more than two hundred and fifty pages. The Berkeley Papers consist of the following manu- scripts : — I. Two small quarto volumes. One of these volumes seems to have formed a Common- place Book for queries and other occasional thoughts in Metaphysics, written when Berkeley was a student at Trinity College, Dublin, apparently between his nine- teenth and twenty-third year, and before he had published anything in philosophy. This curious manuscript volume contains also a description of the Cave of Dunmore, in the County of Kilkenny, in Berkeley's handwfiiting. I have appended the Coinmonplace Book to the Life and Letters, and also the account of the Dunmore Cave. The reader must remember that the former consists of the stray speculations of one hardly beyond the years of boyhood, set down, in solitary study, as private memoranda for further consideration, and without a thought that they were ever to meet the public eye. The companion quarto is of much less interest. It contains what seems, to be a rough draft of parts of the Discotcrse on Passive Obedience; fragments of what was perhaps meant for a sermon on the text ' Let your zeal be according to knowledge ;' a draft of the Prin- ciples of Human Knowledge, from Sect. 85 to Sect. 145, ® The Berkeley Papers, when in the Colonial Church, which contains her possession, were seen by the an interesting chapter (xxviii) on Rev. J. S. M. Anderson, and they Berkeley's efforts on behalf of the are referred to in his History of Colonies. PREFACE. xiii nearly as in print ; a few stray thoughts similar to those in the Commonplace Book ; some jottings of what may be fragments of letters, in Latin and English, written ap- parently at Trinity College. Very little here seemed suited for publication. 2. Four small volumes. These seem to have been Berkeley's travelling companions in Italy. They contain a minute account of what he saw there from clay to da)', in some of the months of i 7 1 7, and during a short period in 1 718. They are perhaps fragments of private journals kept during his stay on the Continent in 171 5 — 20, some of which, it is said, were lost at sea. Nearly all that the four volumes contain is now offered to the world. 3. Some Sermons preached by Berkeley in the Chapel of Trinity College, Dublin, and in Leghorn ; Skeletons of Sermons preached in Rhode Island ; the primary Epi- scopal Charge at Cloyne ; and a Confirmation Address, form another portion of the Berkeley Papers. All of these which seemed in a state to admit of being published are given in this volume. 4. The Berkeley Papers likewise include a number of letters addressed to Bishop Berkeley, chiefly by Arch- bishop Seeker, when he was Bishop of Bristol, and after- wards of Oxford ; by Benson, Bishop of Gloucester ; and by Gibson, Bishop of London. We have also a long letter from Berkeley to Sir John James, on points in theology, one or two letters of his to Thomas Prior, as well as some rough drafts of letters to other corre- spondents, and of portions of one or two of his published works. All of these which seemed proper for publica- tion have been incorporated with his Life and Letters, in chronological order. Almost all in the Berkeley Papers that is immediately connected with Bishop Berkeley is summed up under the foregoing heads. The remaining portion of the xiv P R E F A C E. manuscripts consists of numerous letters, addressed mostly to his son George, or to his son's wife, by the Bishop's widow, or by Miss Talbot, Bishop Home, Bishop Gleig, and others. Some of these are very interesting, but only remotely connected with the subject of this volume. It is singular that so large an amount of hitherto unpublished manuscript of the great Bishop Berkeley should remain to be given to the world nearly a hundred and twenty years after his death. It may be truly said that this large collection contains nothing that is not fitted to add to our reverence for him : not a line has been found that is at variance with the overflowing purity and charity which marked his life '. To Archdeacon Rose the world is indebted not only for these writings, but also for his kind co-operation with me in the superintendence of the Italian Journal and the Sermons while they were in the press, as well as for his prefatory notes to those two portions of the Papers. While these Papers have supplied the largest part of the new matter illustrative of Berkeley's life of which I have been able to avail myself in this volume, many other interesting contributions have been gradually gathered from various quarters. In the course of a visit to Ireland for the purpose, and of an extensive correspondence with various persons there, previously and since, I have collected curious and valuable particulars of Berkeley's family, birthplace, school and college life in Ireland, his short residence there on his return from Italy, and his eighteen years afterwards at Cloyne. It is singular, however, that while ' Some of the Papers are much immersed in the sea, that great dilapidated, and in some places so care and a strong light are neces- obliterated, as if the MS. had been sary in reading them. I PREFACE. ■ XV his fame as a philosopher has spread over the world, local traditions about him have mostly perished in the country of his birth, and what remains cannot now be traced without much labour. Where I am indebted to so many for help, in collecting and interpreting the few scattered facts, it is difficult to name any. Yet I cannot withhold the expression of my gratitude to the Rev. Dr. Reeves, whose learning in all that concerns Ireland is widely known ; the Rev, James Graves, the eminent Irish archaeologist ; Richard Caulfield, LL.D., of Cork : also to the Reverend the Provost and the Fellows of Trinity College, Dublin. I am much indebted to the Rev. Dr. Dickson, the librarian of Trinity College. And I have to thank the clergy of Ireland, Protestant and Roman Catholic, to whom I have been led to apply, for their uniform courtesy and valued help. I regret that notwithstanding the assistance so readily given by Sir Bernard Burke, I have not been able to clear up the difficulties connected with Berkeley's pedigree. The kindness of many distinguished persons in Ame- rica has enabled me to throw some fresh light on the romantic and charming episode of Berkeley's recluse life m Rhode Island, when he went to try to realize the noblest enterprise in Christian missions of last century, or of almost any century since the Apostolic age. Here too it is difficult to select amono- so manv, but I wish to express in some degree what I owe to the kind efforts of Dr. Porter, the distinguished philosopher of Yale College, and Mr. Gilman, its librarian ; also to Mr. Rowland Hazard, of Peacedale, in Rhode Island, who now culti- vates philosophy in the vales where Berkeley studied ; the Rev. Dr. Park of Andover, and the Rev. W. E. Park of Lawrence, Massachusetts; the Hon. J. R. Bartlett, Secretary- of State, Rhode Island; the Rev. Dr. Beardsley, xvi P R K F A C E. of the Episcopal Church at Newhaven ; Dr. King of Newport; Mr. Langdon Sibley of Harvard College; and Mr. Samuel Tyler of the IVIaryland Bar. • To the Abbe Rabbe, the Abbe Blampignon, and the Baroness Blaze de Bury, I am indebted for assistance in my ineffectual endeavours to throw satisfactory light upon Berkeley in France, and in his personal relations to Malebranche. The fruit of these efforts in Ireland, America, and France is scanty. But one felt that the very attempt to penetrate the mystery in which so much of Berkeley's pure and beautiful life has been left enveloped, and to rescue from oblivion the fast diminishing remains which have survived the ravages of time, was so far its own reward. Perhaps the publication of this volume may draw out some more facts from their hiding-places. To me it has been thus far a pleasant excursion into some of the dimly discernible society of that olden time — in Ireland, England, France, Italy, and America — in the days of William, and Anne, and the first two Georges. In the last chapter of the ' Life and Letters,' I have tried to give the outcome of Berkeley's intellectual life as a whole, touching upon some of its implied relations to other phases of our national philosophy in the eighteenth century, and to later philosophy looked at from Berkeley's point of view. A. C. FRASER. College of Edinburgh, Tehuary^ 1871. CONTENTS. LIFE AND LETTERS OF BERKELEY. CHAPTER I. PAGK The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny: — 1685- 1700 i CHAPTER n. Trinity College, Dublin : A New Philosophical Principle : — 1700-1713 15 CHAPTER in. England, France, and Italy: — 17 13-17 21 54 CHAPTER IV. Back to Ireland : The American Enthusiasm : In London again, and letters from England: — 1721-1728 ... 92 CHAPTER V. A Recluse in Rhode Island: — 1728-1731 154 CHAPTER VI. Back to London: — 1 731- 1734 191 CHAPTER VII. First years in the Irish Diocese: — 17 34-17 38 228 CHAPTER VIII. Philanthropy, Theology, and Philosophy at Cloyne : Tar-water : — 1738-1752 26r VOL. IV. b xviii CONTENTS. CHAPTER IX. PAGE Oxford: The End: The Family Dissolution: — 1 752-1 7 53 . . 336 CHAPTER X. The Philosophy of Berkeley. A. Berkeley's New Question, and the Essence of his Answers to it 362 B. Berkeleian Immediate Perception of Extended Sensible Reality 383 C. Berkeleian Mediate Perception, or Presumptive Inference of the Existence of Sensible Things and their Rela- tions — illustrated in the New Theory of Vision . . 392 D. Berkeleian Intellectual Knowledge of Providential or Divine Reality and Universal Conceptions .... 402 HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED WRITINGS OF BISHOP BERKELEY. Commonplace Book of Occasional Metaphysical Thoughts . 419 Description of the Cave of Dunmore 503 Journal of a Tour in Italy in i 717, 1718 512 Sermons preached in Trinity College, Dublin, and at Leghorn . . 598 Skeletons of Sermons preached in Rhode Island 629 Primary Visitation Charge at Cloyne 650 Confirmation Charge at Cloyne 657 LIFE AND LETTERS. LIFE AND LETTERS OF GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D. RTSHOP OF rT.OVNF. ERRATA AND ADDENDA. Page 4, line 12, for 'Spencer' read 'Spenser.' Page 62, 1. 5, for ' Smallridge ' read ' Smalridge.' Page 107, in list of subscriptions for Bermuda, for ' Hutchinson ' read 'Hutcheson;' also on p. 138, 1. 31, and note 39, 1. 2; p. 139, 1. 6. [Archibald Hutcheson was of the Middle Temple, London, and M.P. for Hastings. He published in 1720 and 172 1 various treatises relating to the South Sea scheme ; also, previously, tracts relating to the National Debt.] Page 159, note 7, 1. i,ybr ' Upside ' read ' Updike.' Page 202, note 12, 1. ^, for 'Ublii Sylloge nova Epht.' read ' Uhlii Sylloge no-va Episto/arum ■varii argumenti.' [This is a rare work, in 4 vols. 8vo., printed at Nuremberg in 1760-64. The writer speaks slightingly of Berkeley's Neiv Theory of Vision, as well as of Alciphron, both of ^yhich had been recommended to him.] Page 333, note 3, 1. 5, for ' Tyndal ' read ' Tindal.' BerkeUifs Life and Letters. snip at ueirast in tne reign or »^nanes 11. runner, tiiat me philosopher was born at Kilcrin, or Killerin, near Thomastown, on the 12th of March, 1684, that he received the first part of his education at Kilkenny School, under Dr. Hinton, and that he entered Trinity College, Dublin, at the age of fifteen, exhausts the information thus given. The truth is that almost no light now falls upon the family life in which Berkeley's first revealed itself. What his parents were, from whom descended, why they were living in the County of Kilkenny at his birth, what the exact spot of his birth was, and VOL. IV. B I LIFE AND LETTERS OF GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D, BISHOP OF CLOYNE. CHAPTER I. THE BERKELEY FAMILY IN KILKENNY. 1685 — 1700. The early years and the ancestry, of George Berkeley are curiously shrouded in mystery. He comes forth the most subtle and accomplished philosopher of his time, almost from darkness. The dry statements of the biographers may be soon summed up. They tell us that his father, William Berkeley, of Thomas- town in the County of Kilkenny, was the son of an English royalist (somehow connected with the noble family of Berkeley), who was rewarded for his loyalty to Charles I by a collector- ship at Belfast in the reign of Charles II. Further, that the philosopher was born at Kilcrin, or Killerin, near Thomastown, on the 12th of March, 1684, that he received the first part of his education at Kilkenny School, under Dr. Hinton, and that he entered Trinity College, Dublin, at the age of fifteen, exhausts the information thus given. The truth is that almost no light now falls upon the family life in which Berkeley's first revealed itself. What his parents were, from whom descended, why they were living in the County of Kilkenny at his birth, what the exact spot of his birth was, and VOL. IV. B 2 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. what thoughts and aspirations the boy experienced in his early years, have all been left in a darkness which the lapse of time makes it now difficult in any degree to remove. The earliest authentic documents about Berkeley which I have been able to find belong to the places in which he was educated. The first is in the curious old Register of the Free School or College of Kilkenny!. Qn a page in that part of this Register which contains ' the names of such as v/ere admitted into his Grace the Duke of Ormonde's School in Kilkenny, since the warre ended in Ireland, in the year 1691,' the following entry may be seen : — ' George Berkley^, gent, aged ii years, entered the Second Class, July 17, 1696/ And in another part of the Book, in a list of * names of such as left his Grace the Duke of Ormonde's School at Kilkenny since October the firsts an. dom. 1684,' we read: — ' Mr. George Berkley left the First Class, January 1 700, and was entered the University of Dublin.' The Register, as then kept, unfortunately does not give the names and residences of the parents, except in a few cases of persons of rank. The boy is usually designated ' gent.' or ' yeo- man,' according to his father's social position. The Register of Trinity College, Dublin, contains the following entry : — Annus Pupillus Parens Ae/as Ubi Naftts Vbi Educalus Tutor 1 e!>9 17 00 Geo. Berkley Filius Guliel' Berkley annum agens Natus Kiikenniae. Ibi Educatus sub D'-e D-- Jo. Hall Vlartii,die 21. Pens, gen. 15- Hinton. V. Praep Parish registry of births was hardly known in Ireland before the year 1800. Any original record (if any) of Berkeley's birth or baptism has been lost. But, as he was only eleven years old when he entered school at Kilkenny, in July 1696, and only fifteen when he matriculated at Trinity College, on the 21st of March 1700, we may infer that i684 was the year of his birth. On the au- thority of the biographers I assume that the day was the 12th of March. According to modern style, therefore, Berkeley was born on 1 The Rev. Dr. Martin, the present Head is in several other early documents. Indeed Master, kindly allowed me to examine this we occasionallv find ' Berkly' and ' Barkly' Register at Kilkenny, in May 1870. as well. Berkeley's own signature, in i 721, Here, as well as ni the Trinity College and, so far as can be ascertained, previously Regisler, the name is spelt ' Berkley,' as it and sincr.. was unifornilv ' Berkelev.' I.] The Bei^keley Family in Kilkenny. 3 the 12th of March 1685^. In the month preceding his birth, Charles II had passed through his last hours in Whitehall, and James II was entering on his short and disastrous reign. Before 1685 was ended, James was at the height of his power, and the convulsions were approaching which ushered in the reign of William and Mary in Ireland. The spot in the County of Kilkenny at which Berkeley was born is called by some 'Kilcrin, near Thomastown;^ ' Killerin,' near the same place, by others. This seems to be a mistake, and it is difficult to explain how it originated. In the first place, Kilcrin or Killerin is not known ' near Thomastown.' In the second place, the uniform and vivid tradition of all that country points to Dysert Castle or Tower, on the bank of the Nore, about two miles below Thomastown, and twelve miles below the City of Kilkenny, as the place of Berkeley's birth. In the third place, this tradition is confirmed by various entries in the Corporation Records of the ancient town of Inis- tiogue, near Dysert, which show that Dysert was inhabited by Berkeleys, at any rate in the early part of last century. These Records prove that ' Randolph Berkely de Dysert, gent.,' was admitted as a freeman on the 15th of April, 1728. The name 'Ralph Berkeley' also appears in that year, and in 1756. There are several reasons for supposing that 'Randolph' and 'Ralph' refer to the same person, which is important, for Berkeley, as we shall see, had a brother named Ralph. It is a pity that the Records do not date further back than 171 7 : if earlier ones were ever kept they have been lost^. In the fourth place, the tradi- tion is countenanced by the high local authority of the late Mr. Tighe. In his Statistical Observations relative to the County of Kilkenny (p. 638), published in 1802, he says that 'the Castle of Dysett is remarkable for having been the birth-place of Bishop ^ In the sequel it may be assumed by the Coolmore. The family of Deane as well as reader that the dates are given, so far as the Berkeleys are prominent in these Records, known, according to the New Style. (In The signatures of Deanes, and of the Rev. some of my annotations upon the Works, Maurice Berkeley (' Maurice Berkly, Clerk') I inadvertently followed the old account of occur often between 174? and I753- Mau- the year of Berkeley's birth.) rice Berkeley first appears in I 7' 7- ^^ '20th * For the facts of the Inistiogue Records, December, 1 756, 'Ralph Berkeley' signs as I am indebted to the kindness of Colonel the first burgess on the list. This is the last Tighe of Woodstock and Mr. Connellan of appearance of a Berkeley in the book. B 2 4 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. Berkeley.' Mr. Tighe died in 1814, at an advanced age, and might have known those who knew Berkeley's father. A tradition, thus confirmed, may perhaps be accepted as satis- factory evidence that Berkeley was born at Dysert, in the absence of direct documentary proofs This old monastic ruin is in one of the loveliest regions in Ireland. It may well be that Berkeley was not a little indebted for his deep-seated love of nature and fervid imagination to the sparkling Nore, and to a childhood spent among the wooded hills that enfold the valley through which it flows. The position of the graceful ruin, on a grassy meadow on the bank of the river, under the wooded hill-side on vhich a road from Thomastown to Inistiogue now passes, shows at once to the eye that it was not erected as a stronghold. It was originally a grange which belonged to the rich priory of Kells, and was given, in the sixteenth century, with other possessions of the Abbey, to James, the ninth Earl of Ormond. A ruined church adjoins the tower to the east. The tower itself was probably inhabited at one time by the vicar of the monks. Some comparatively modern remains of what might formerly have been a considerable farm house, attached to the Tower on the south, mark the site of the modest abode of the Berkeleys of Dysert. The family inhabiting the house must also have oc- cupied the Keep, and from the two windows of its upper chamber they had within their view a charming scene. One can hardly picture a place more suited to nourish the heart of the boy by communion with nature, than this now classic part of the fair vale through which the Nore descends from the city of Kilkenny and Thomastown, through Inistiogue and amidst the foliage of Woodstock, to its junction with the Barrow above New Ross. The river itself is one of the three 'renowned brethren' to which Spencer conducts us : — ' The first, the gentle Shure that, making way By sweet Clonmel, adorns rich Waterford ; The next, the stubborne Newre, whose waters gray, By fair Kilkenny and Rossponte boord ; The third, the goodly Barow.' 5 HowKilcrin, or Killerin, cametobeasso- archaeological friend suggests to me ety- ciated with the birth-place of Berkeley it is mological affinities between Kilerin and Dy- difficult to say. An ingenious and eminent sert— the last a name common in Ireland. I.] The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny, 5 The peasantry of Kilkenny have had their quaint stories of the Berkeleys of Dysert. With an inversion of facts not uncommon in Irish traditions, they would tell that in his youth the philosopher kept a school in the neighbourhood, and taught his scholars that there was no spirit, but that when the body died the man was annihilated. He used, they added, to make the boys leap over the school benches till they were bruised and bled, and then explain that after the blood all ran out there was an end of them. Another fancy, equally absurd, was that Berkeley's own corporeal remains were buried within the masonry of the battlements of Dysert^. Thus the family of William Berkeley may be imagined in the modest abode attached to Dysert Castle, in the vale of the Nore, in March, 1685. But who and what was this William Berkeley, and why then living there ? Bishop Stock, who professes to have got much of the material in his brief biographical outline from Berkeley's brother Robert, says, that William's father « went over to Ireland, after the Restoration (the family having suffered greatly for their loyalty to Charles I), and there obtained the collectorship of Belfast.' In a note, in Wright's edition, it is added that he went over ' in the suite of his reputed father, Lord Berkeley of Stratton, who had been appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.' According to this addition to the story, our Kilkenny branch of the great Berkeley family must have gone to Ireland in 1670; for it was in April of that year that the first Lord Berkeley of Stratton landed to assume the Lord Lieutenancy, an office which he held till April, 1672. As to the Belfast collectorship, it is worthy of note that until 167 1 Carrickfergus was the head-quarters of the revenue in those parts. Belfast, then an insignificant place, is not mentioned at all in the Records till that year. The fi:st acknowledgment of Belfast as a revenue town coincides, indeed, with the period of Lord Berkeley of Stratton's rule in Ireland. But the name of Berkeley has not been found in the lists of Belfast revenue officials at that time. A recent careful search in the Record Office, Dublin'^, has failed to discover a Berkeley, at or about 1670, employed as a collector of any branch of the revenue, ® See Nooks and Corners of our Coutity, ditloiis in Ireland. by Mr. Prim of Kilkenny. 1 have more '' Kindly made by Samuel Ferguson, LLD., than once encountered these whimsical tra- Public Record Office, Ireland. 6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. either in Belfast or in any part of Ulster. And it is rather difficult to reconcile with ascertained chronological facts the un- supported assertion that the supposed grandfather-collector was a natural son of the first Lord Berkeley of Stratton. That noble- man was born about 1608, and it is not obvious to suppose, in the absence of positive evidence, that he was the great-grandfather of the philosopher, born in 1685. That Berkeley's family was originally from Berkeley Castle need not, however, be doubted, nor that it was more immediately connected with the Berkeleys of Stratton. He was afterwards introduced by Swift to the representative of the Stratton Berkeleys as a kinsman, and also to Earl Berkeley, as related to the family^. And his family is else- where mentioned as a younger branch of the Earls of Berkeley. The garrulous writer of the rambling Preface '^ to Monck Berkeley's Poems speaks of Ireland as only ' accidentally' the country of the philosopher Berkeley, his father and all his ancestors having been born in England^'-. 'His grandfather,' she adds, 'expended a large fortune in the service of king Charles I, and in remitting money to king Charles II and his brothers. The only return was making his son, the bishop's father ^^, collector of the port of in Ireland, a more respectable post than in England, noblemen's sons often accepting it. This occasioned the old gentleman's leaving his malediction on any descendant of his who should ever in any way assist any monarch.' That an English Cavalier in the seventeenth century should devote his fortune to the first Charles, and be requited with ingratitude by the second Charles— that till the king was again in danger the injured Cavalier should grumble at the king's ingratitude — all this was not uncommon in those days, and with this the reader may take what satisfaction he can in the glimpse of the Berkeley family and their history that is thus offered in the eccentric Preface. We know, at any rate, in a general way, that the condition of Ireland after the Restoration afforded openings of which loyalist adventurers of small fortune and good family in England then ' Swift is said to have introduced him in " It may be remarked that in the Querist this characteristic way: 'My lord, here is (sect. 91, 92) Berkeley speaks of himself a young gentleman of your family. ' I can rather as if ranking his people among the assure your lordship it is a much greater English. honour to you to be related to him, than to " Not grandfather, but father, according him to be related to you.' to this account. ^ p. ccclxxxii. I.] The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny. 7 availed themselves in considerable numbers. In 1662 an Act was passed ' for encouraging Protestant strangers and others to inhabit and plant in the Kingdom of Ireland.' A Commission of In- quiry, issued in the same year, ^ with instructions concerning the regicides in Ireland,' included the name of Sir Maurice Berkeley, one of the brothers of Lord Berkeley of Stratton^'-. Sir Charles Berkeley, their elder brother, who became Viscount Fitzhardinge in 1665, and died in 1688, filled several important offices in Ire- land, and, for the steadfastness of his loyalty, was rewarded after the Restoration with grants of lands in the counties of Wicklow, Carlow, and Kilkenny. His position in Ireland induced some of his relations to settle there, amongst them the ancestors of the Berkeleys of Skark in Wexford. Sir Maurice Berkeley himself has been claimed as the grand- father of the philosopher, and as the common ancestor of the Berkeleys of Dysert and the Berkeleys of Skark. This, though in some respects fully as likely as the Berkeley of Srratton story, I have, as little as the other, been able to verify by documentary evidence ^^. Our Dysert Berkeleys, then, may have made their way to the vale of the Nore, as one of many families of English colonists or adventurers, who, in the quarter of a century preceding Berkeley's birth, were finding permanent or temporary settlements in that and other parts of Ireland. It does not seem however that they had any firm holding in their adopted country. They appear indeed in the Inistiogue corporation, but there is no mention of them in various records in which the names of holders of land, or officials of consideration might be expected to occur. The ^^ These facts are recorded in the Liher vernor of Virginia), and Sir Maurice above Mmierum Puhlicoruni Hibernia. mentioned. '^ Sir Maurice Berkeley, son of Sir Henry Maurice Berkeley, who in 1681 was put Berkeley of Bruton (descended, through Sir in possession of the lands of Skark, near Richard of Stoke Giftbrd in the County of New Ross, in the County of Wexford, is said Gloucester, from a younger son of Maurice to have been a son of this Sir Maurice ; and Lord Berkeley, who died in 1326), had five William Berkeley, the father of the philo- sons. Of these Sir Charles, the eldest, who sopher, it is suggested, may have been an- became Viscount Fitzhardinge, died without other son, temporarily settled about the male issue, when his title became extinct. same time in the County of Kilkenny. A younger son. Sir John Berkeley, was in Colonel Berkeley, the grandson of this 1658 created Lord Berkeley of Stratton. Maurice, and son of the Rev. Maurice As mentioned above, he was sent to govern Berkeley of Skark, bequeathed the lands of Ireland in 1670. He died in 1678. This Skark to his cousin Joseph Deane, who then title too became extinct, in default of male called the place Berkeley Forest. These issue, in 1772. The other three sons were are probably the 'Deanes' and the ' Maurice Sir Henry, Sir William (the eccentric go- Berkly, Clerk' of ihe Inistiogue Records. 8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH. symptoms suggest that they were not wealthy, but still recognised as of gentle birth i^. In the successive matriculation records of William Berkeley's sons, in Trinity College, Dublin, he is variously described as ^ gene- rosus (as already mentioned) in the case of George, in 1700; ^vexil. e^uestrh' (cornet), when his son Robert matriculated, in 1716; and '^dux mi/itum' (captain of horse), when his son Thomas was enrolled, in 1721. The facts may have been that he was at one time, as tradition affirms, an officer of customs, and that he afterwards engaged in military service ^^. Nothing perfectly trustworthy is recorded of Berkeley's mother. She was probably Irish. In the gossiping Preface ^"^ already quoted, we are told that she was ' aunt to old General Wolfe, father of the famous general of that name' — the Quebec hero. That there was a connection between the Berkeleys and the Wolfes is not without other circumstantial evidence, as we shall see -y and the Wolfes were of Irish connection. I have not found any confirmation of another assertion of this lady — that Berkeley was * nephew to Archbishop Usher, as well as his cousin-german General Wolfe.' She also tells us that the philo- " The number of untitled Berkeleys in different parts of Ireland, in the seventeenth century, was considerable, and the history of their connection with the heads of the family in England is in most cases obscure. Berke- leys had estates in the County of Carlow in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Viscount Fitzhardinge had a grant of land in that county in 1666, under the Act of Settlement. A ' Henry Berkeley ' was named a burgess of Carlow, in the charter granted to the town in 1675 by Charles II; the same name appears in the charter granted to the same town by James II in 1689. ' Dr. Henry Berkeley' was one of the Jus- tices of Peace in County Carlow, appointed by William and Mary, in July, 1690. Digby Berkeley served as High Sheriff of the county in 1 707. Berkeleys were settled in Wexford in the seventeenth century. In the same century there was a Rowland Berkeley of Kelmerix in the County of Tipperary. In the early part of the century a Berkeley is placed in Ireland, by the following pedigree in the Herald's College in London, pointed out to me by Sir Albert Woods : — ' John Berkeley, Mayor of Hereford, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, son of Richard Berkeley of Dursley, son of Richard also of Dursley, son of Thomas, brother of Maurice Lord Berkeley (in Henrv VII) ; had a sou William, who married the daughter of Burghill, whose son, William Berkeley, is now (cir. 1635) living in Ireland.' '■"' The register of Trinity College seems almost to imply that the family removed from the Nore and the County of Kilkenny into the County of Tipperary some time after the birth of the philosopher. The matriculation entry of Robert bears that he was born 'near Thurles,' about 1699; that of Thomas, who seems to have been the youngest son, that he too was born in the County of Tipperary about 1 703. (Robert was educated at Kilkenny, under Dr. Dagrell, and Thomas at Dublin, under Mr. Sheridan. This Sheridan was probably Swift's friend, who kept a school of high repute in Dublin about that time.) I find no clue to the Tipperary movement. The ' Will Pedigrees ' in Ulster's Office, Dublin, give a Rowland Berkeley in Tipperarj' (Will dated 1 706), which proves some Berkeley connection in that quarter. "^ p. ccccxcviii. I.] The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny. 9 sopher's father and mother ' both died in the same week, and were interred at the same time, in the same grave/ It cannot be said,' she adds, ' that they died an untimely death ; both being near ninety. They lived to breed up six sons gentlemen. They lived to see their eldest son a bishop some years before their death.' If all this is true, they must have lived almost till 1740. Leaving the ancestry, and inquiring about the descendants, we find, from various sources, that William Berkeley had six sons, and probably one daughter. The six sons, whom the parents ' lived to breed up gentlemen,' were : — 1. George, born (as already mentioned) March 13, 1685. He seems to have been the eldest. 2. Rowland, 'of Newmarket, Co. Cork,' according to the Will Pedigrees in Ulster's Office. His Will is dated May 5, 1757. Of his history I have no trace. 3. Ralph, according to the same authority, ' of Scarteen, near Newmarket, Co. Cork,' Will proved 1778. ('Ralph Berkeley,' as already mentioned, appears in the In- istiogue Record in 1728, and in 1756.) Ralph married ' Anne Hobson.' A son, William, and a daughter, Elizabeth, were the issue of this marriage. The daughter married the Rev. Edward Kippax, Vicar of Clonfert, near Newmarket. They had two sons, George and Charles Berkeley, and two daughters, Mary and Anne. Charles Berkeley Kippax was clerk in the chief secre- tary's office, Dublin Castle, and corresponded with Lord Cornwallis in 1798 '7. 4. William^ afterwards a commissioned officer in the army, of whom it is recorded, in the same 'Pedigrees,' that he married ' Anne,' and that three daughters, Anne, Elizabeth, and Eleanor, were the issue of the marriage 1^. 5. Robert, born about 1699, 'near Thuries' (as already men- tioned), afterwards Rector of Midleton, and Vicar- General of Cloyne, died in 1787. Of him afterwards. 6. Thomas, regarding whom the Dublin College Register exhausts the information, was born in the County of " Cornwallis Correspondence, vol. iii. cxxxviii) it is said that William had four p. 10. daughters, all twins. 1^ In the Preface to Monck Berkeley (p. lo Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cm. Tipperary about 1704, and entered Trinity College in 1721. Of the daughter I have no distinct account. Ber- keley alludes to a ^ sister' in one of his letters to Prior, written in 1744. Berkeley's Common-place Book, that precious record of his thoughts in his early years at College, reveals this much about his inner child-life in the Kilkenny valley, among these domestic surroundings : — ' From my childhood I had an unaccountabi'; turn of thought that way. Mem. That I was distrustful at 8 years old, and consequently by nature disposed for these new doctrines.' It is not probable that Berkeley's dawning speculative reason and imagination met with much sympathy in the family circle ; though an even eccentric individuality, and much chivalry, may be traced among his reputed ancestry i^. His parents have left no discernible mark. In the glimpses we have of any of his brothers we do not detect symptoms of community of spirit with one born to be a philosopher in thought and action. On the con- trary, Berkeley could hardly have been intelligible to the family, we should fancy, from what we hear of them. The imagination of the precocious child might, however, have been disturbed by the circumstances of the time, if his singular intellect was little quickened by family sympathy. The ' warre in Ireland' was going on whilst he was advancing from his fourth to his sixth year. He had not reached his sixth year when the battle of the Boyne was fought; and we may imagine him at Dysert on those now long past days when James made his rapid retreat to Waterford, or when William of Orange was receiving the hospitality which could be given at such a time in the ancient castle of the Butlers at Kilkenny. We may picture the Berkeley family in the neighbourhood when James, soon followed by William, hu ried down the valley of the Nore. But we must return from excursions of fancy to the Kilkenny Recorded anecdotes show that the his- have had its effect upon the imagination of tory of the noble house of Berkeley may the philosopher. I.] The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny. ii School; and to the Register 20 which records the simple fact of Berkeley's appearance there on a summer day in 1696, when he was placed in the Second Class. That he was placed so high is remarkable. The lowest class at that time was the Fifth. One is disposed to interpret as a sign of unusual precocity the fact, that the boy, entering school at the age of eleven, was considered fit for this advanced place. The old Register contains almost no parallel instance ^^. The page on which the name of 'George Berkley' occurs con- tains a list of long-forgotten names — his school companions in the old school. But the following entries refer to one who must remain associated with Berkeley's history, as long as his life is kept in distinct remembrance : — ' Thomas Pryor, gent., aged 15 years, entered the Third Class, Jan. i r, an. dom. 169^' . . . ' Mr. Thomas Pryor left the Second Class, April 1699, and was entered in the University of Dublin.' It has escaped the biographers of Berkeley that his life-long intimacy with Thomas Prior -^ of Rathdowney, the 'dear Tom' of so many letters, commenced at Kilkenny School. Berkeley went there in the summer of 1696, and Thomas Prior crossed the ^^ This Register commences on the 1st the same age, were placed in one of the of October, 1684, on which day twenty boys junior classes. Berkeley's case is in fact entered. The re-organization of the School unique in the early history of Kilkenny after the Restoration of Charles II must School. have been a good many years earlier. Dr. ^^ Prior is spelt 'Pryor' in the Register. Edward Jones (afterwards Dean of Lismore, The Priors of Rathdowney were of some and Bishop of Cloyne in 1683), was Head consideration in that part of the country. Master from 1670 to 16S0 ; and Dr. Henry Grants of lands were made to them soon Rider (afterwards Archdeacon of Ossory, and after the Restoration. The family, I believe. Bishop of Killaloe in 1693), from 1680 to is now extinct. In the latter part of last 1684. The Register commences when Dr. century, Andrew Prior of Rathdowney mar- Edward Hinton was appointed in 1684. It ried a sister of the first Lord Frankfort. is continued without interruption till July Thomas Prior, Berkeley's friend, was born 27, 1688, after which a lacuna of nearly about 1682. We are indebted to his care four years occurs, during which time the for the greater part of Berkeley's now extant School seems to have been shut up. From correspondence. He was of a delicate con- January, 1692, the series of entries is com- stitution, and did not enter any profession, plete till August 6, 1716. To promote the happiness of his country ^^ The School was re-opened after the and his friends was the object of his life. War on the 20th of January, 1692, four He was one of the founders (in June 1731) years and a half before Berkeley entered of the Dublin Society, in which he long it. Seventy-two boys joined in this interval, acted as Secretary. He published A List of and Berkeley's name is the seventy-third in the Absentees of Ireland (1729); Ohserva- the list. Of all these, as well as the others who tions on Coin (1729); On the Ejfects of entered till the close of the century, Berkeley Tar Water (1746); Essay on the Linen alone joined the Second Class at the early Manvfactiire in Ireland (1749). He died age of eleven. All the others, at or under in 1751. I 2 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. country from Rathdowney, in Queen's County, in the following winter, to enter the same school. The two boys found themselves in a quaint old house, three stories high, with a garden attached to it which reached to the Nore, the whole commanded by the ancient castle of the Or- monds on the opposite bank. The present building is not the one in which Berkeley and Prior formed their lasting friend- ship. The modern School or College of Kilkenny is a large square house, three stories high. Turning its back, as has been said, in suitable abstraction from the hum and bustle of the small though populous city, it faces toward the green country, an extensive lawn spreading before it, which was washed by the placid Nore. But the original edifice, with which Berkeley was familiar, was a little farther back, and faced the street, 'a grey reverend pile, of irregular and rather straggling design, or perhaps of no design at all ; having partly a monastic physiognomy, and partly that of a dwelling-house.' The entrance to the school-room was immediately to the street ; the rough oak folding doors, arching at top^ and gained by flights of steps at each side, made a platform before the entrance, with a passage below by which visitors approached. To the left was another gateway by which carriages had egress. The front of the building was of cut stone, with Gothic windows j giving an appearance of a side or back rather than a front, with its grotesque gables, chimneys, and spouts. The spouts jutted into the street, and the platform before the school-room entrance is said to have tempted the boys to contrive various annoyances to passers by. It was in this quaint building that Berkeley spent the greater part of four years. It was pulled down about eighty years ago, but when he entered it must have been comparatively new. The School itself— the 'Eton of Ireland,' as it has been called— before and since famed for its excellent masters, and its many celebrated pupils, was originally an appendage to the magnificent Cathedral of St. Canicc. It declined in the early part of the seventeenth century, and had almost disappeared, when the original Ormond foundation was revived, and placed upon a more ample footing, soon after the Restoration. In 1684 it was confirmed by the grant of a new Charter by the Duke of Ormond, and about that I.] The Berkeley Family in Kilkenny. 13 time was reared the curious gabled building, with its small central court, in which Berkeley studied. The School had not escaped the troubles of the time. Dr. Hinton, who was Head Master while Berkeley was a pupil, had retired to England during Tyrconnel's government. In his absence the house was converted into a military hospital. After the rout of the Boyne, the second Duke of Ormond returned to his ancestral castle at Kilkenny. The School endowed by his grandfather was restored to the original foundation. It was opened again by Dr. Hinton 23 in January, 1692. Besides Berkeley, Swift has helped to make the Kilkenny School famous. His name is not to be found in the Register, for he was there before the earliest entry in it was commenced. But there is Swift's own authority for it, and that of the Matriculation Register of Trinity College 2^. Piovost Baldwin, Harris the historian, Flood the orator, and Banim the novelist, are among the later ornaments. Scions of the noble houses of Desert, Inchiquin, Waterford, Mornington, Lismore, Charlmont, Boyle, Bandon, and Shannon, were in those days to be found upon its benches. A late learned Head Master laments that now ' the great men and the little men of Ireland are no longer satisfied with an education in their own country,' and adds that ' the consequence is an unlearned and mentally enfeebled race, instead of the giants of the days when Ireland educated her own sons^"'.' In these four years, Berkeley may be supposed to have learned to construe Latin books, and perhaps easy Greek ones. Nor were questions of mathematics, we may imagine, entirely 22 Dr. Hinton was Master from 1684 till ^* In the Registry of Trinity College we his death in 1703. He was also (1693- have the following : — 1703) Archdeacon of Cashel. Tutor St. George Ashe. As already mentioned, Rider (a native three brothers (including the father of the of Paris) was Master of Kilkenny School Dean of St. Patrick's), to go over as colonists from 1680 to 1684. to that country, where they obtained agen- Swift, like Berkeley, was of English and cies and other employments, according to Cavalier descent. His grandfather, the the fashion of the time. Rev. Thomas Swift, a vicar in Hereford- ^ See ' Kilkenny College,' by the Rev. shire, suffered for his zeal in the cause of John Browne, LL D., in the Transactions of Charles I. The eldest son, Godwin, ob- the Kilkenny ArchcEological Sociely, vol. i. tained an appointment in Ireland, under the pp. 221 — 229 — an article to which I am Duke of Ormond, and his success induced indebted. 1682, Jonathan Filius Natus Natus Educatiis Vicesimo Swift, Thomae annos in comi- sub ferula quarto die Pens. Jonathani quatuor tatu Dub- Mag. Rider Aprilis Swift decim liniensi 14 Life and Letta^s of Berkeley. strange to him and his companions. But what exactly he was asked to learn, and how he learned it, is not clear. It has been affirmed and denied ^e that in his youthful days he fed his imagina- tion with the airy visions of romances, and that these helped to dissolve his sense of the difference between illusion and reality. What the romances may have been we are not told, nor can we readily conjecture. There is some evidence that he indulged in observation of nature, with a propensity to explore the country round Kilkenny. His hitherto unpublished account (contained in another part of this volume) of a visit, perhaps about this time, to the Cave of Dunmore, four miles from the city, is more in keep- ing than the books of romance of that day with his inquisitive curiosity about all physical phenomena, afterwards remarked by Blackwell. The new neighbourhood was not less apt to awaken a love for the visible world than the scenes of his childhood on the Nore below Thomastown. Kilkenny has been compared to Warwick, and to Windsor, and to Oxford. However one may judge of these comparisons, no modern visitor of the Irish city can soon forget the still beauty of the Nore, as viewed upwards or downwards on a fair summer evening from John's bridge, or from the College meadow • or the intermixture of buildings, new and old — Castle, Cathedrals, and Round Tower, so happily grouped on the high ground on which the city stands^ or the free and careless grace of nature in all the neighbouring country. Such were the surroundings of the boy Berkeley, as we now dimly discern him and his family doings through the mists of nearly two centuries. Out of them emerged soon after, on the death of Locke and Leibnitz, one who was then without doubt the foremost psychologist and metaphysician in Europe. 2" The affirmation is in the Biog. Brit. et Corrigenda), on the authority of Mrs. (vol. ii. art. 'Berkeley') and by Stock; the Berkeley, denial in the Biog. Brit. (vol. iii. — Addenda CHAPTER 11. TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN. ENTHUSIASM ABOUT A NEW PHILOSOPHICAL PRINCIPLE. 1700 — 1713. On the 21st of March, 1700, Berkeley, leaving the ancient city of Kilkenny, and the picturesque valley of the Nore, matriculated in Trinity College, Dublin. Trinity College was his head-quarters during the thirteen years which followed. Not long after his matriculation, we find him exulting, with the fervour of an en- thusiastic temperament, in a New Principle, for the relief of the difficulties of human knowledge, with which he somehow felt himself inspired, and which he was eager to apply to our conception of the material world and its supposed powers. His thoughts soon began to overflow in writings, published and un- published, so that we cannot follow him during these thirteen years without becoming involved in the speculations of metaphysical philosophy. We have in this chapter to trace the beginnings of his intellectual history. Let us first look at the City and University where this Kil- kenny boy found himself nine days after he had completed his fifteenth year, and in which the inclination of his childhood to reflective thought found energetic expression. Dublin in those days little resembled the brilliant and pros- perous city which pleases the eye of the stranger who now visits the Irish capital. The ground now covered by its most graceful buildings was then waste land or meadow. The population, which in 1700 was probably less than 50,000, was gathered round the Castle and the Cathedrals, with some signs of new streets on 1 6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. the opposite side of the Liffey, where old ones are now found. The original buildings of Trinity College, erected partly in the reign of Elizabeth, were becoming ruinous, and, although standing where the classic modern structure stands, were then in the outskirts of the city. The College was designated Trinity College 'near Dublin.' The City and the surrounding country, at the opening of the new century, were beginning to recover from the effects of the ' warre in Ireland,' which had ended ten years before. The Univer- sity was about to renew its youth, after having been on the verge of ruin. The contest into which the Revolution of 1688 plunged Ireland, involved Trinity College, as well as the ' famous school' of Kilkenny, in its collisions. Early in 1689 the Registry reveals preparations for flight on the part of the Fellows. A month later the College was occupied by the military, and most of the Fellows were in England. Then James arrived in Dublin, and converted the academical buildings into a garrison, and the old College Chapel into a magazine for gunpowder. It was even proposed to commit the Library to the flames. The battle of the Boyne, in July 1690, saved the University in the crisis of its fate. After this, it recovered rapidly, by the fostering care of the Government, and the sagacity of its Provosts and other officials. Even in 1693, it was able to celebrate its first centenary in a way not unbecoming. It gradually engaged the attention and support of the Irish Parliament. Successive grants of money were made in the early part of the eighteenth century and afterwards. New buildings began to rise. Many of the extensive and handsome academical structures which now form Trinity College were reared in the reigns of Anne and the first two Georges. Little remains of the decayed build- ings, desecrated in war, which met Berkeley's eye when he came to matriculate in March 1700. The present magnificent library was erected between 1710 and 1720. The elegant west front belongs to a still later period, as well as the new College Chapel, which stands a little to the north of the old one, where Berkeley went to daily prayers, and delivered discourses on Sundays. Intellectual activity, and extension of the means of knowledge seem, as the century advanced, to have fairly kept pace with the renovation of the College buildings. The influence of the dis- II.] Trinity College^ Dttblin. 1 7 coveries of Newton, Boyle, Hooke, and Locke, and of the splendid hypotheses of Des Cartes, Malebranche, and Leibnitz — a galaxy of men of genius who were passing away as the eighteenth century was opening — began gradually to show itself. Lectureships in chemistry, botany, and anatomy were added to the College courses in 1710. Experimental philosophy soon followed. A complete school of physic was designed, and to a great extent organised, later in the century. Nor was modern science the only object of regard. In 1718, Archbishop King endowed a Divinity Lecture, to be held by a Senior Fellow, for the better instruction of Bachelors of Arts intended for holy orders. A scholasticism out of which the subtle intellectual life of the middle ages had departed apparently still prevailed in the Uni- versity, at the close of the seventeenth century, especially in logic and metaphysics, ethics and theology. From more than one eminent man subjected to the influences of Trinity College at this time, there came complaints of the tendency of the system to crush spontaneous thought and inquiry, similar to those of contemporary students in other European Universities. Logic, according to the model of that time, was in vain presented to Swift's notice, for instance, during the years in which he was at Trinity (1682 — 87), although it was then and there a principal object of learning. 'His disposition,' says Scott, ' altogether rejected the scholastic sophistry of Smiglicius, Keckermannus, Burgersdicius, and other ponderous worthies, now hardly known by name- nor could his tutor ever persuade him to read three pages in one of them, though some acquaintance with the commentators of Aristotle was then abso- lutely necessary at passing examination for his degrees ^' Swift was naturally averse to the subtleties of the schools, but this aversion to a then dead philosophy was shared by more specu- lative minds, and only waited for a powerful philosophical voice to give it practical expression. The Provost of Trinity, in March 1700, was Dr. Peter Browne^ — a man not unworthy of note in the philosophical annals of Ireland, as the author afterwards of the Procedure andUm'tts of Human ' Life of Swift, pp. 15, 16. mined in favour of' Browne,' by the most ^ The orthography — 'Brown' or 'Browne' numerous and weighty (but not by all) the — about which I have hitherto hesitated, in original authorities. In fact the practice the conflict of precedents, has been deter- was not uniform, as in the case of ' Berkeley.' VOL. IV. C 1 8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. Understanding and the Div'me Analogy ^ and as a learned critical an- tagonist of Locke. Many now remember him, when they remember him at all, on]y for his whimsical sermons and pamphlets ^ against drinking healths, and against drinking in remembrance of the dead. The life of Browne is unwritten, but it deserves research. Ac- cording to contemporary report, he was ' an austere, learned, and mortified man.' The gravity of his manner, and the severe beauty of his eloquence as a preacher are said to have checked the ' false glitter of words' in which his countrymen are apt to indulge themselves. In 1700 he was known as the author of the most learned and vigorous reply ^ then encountered by Toland's Christianity not Mysterious.^ a reply which contains the germs of some of his own philosophical theology. He was bom in the county of Dublin soon after the Restoration, and he entered Trinity College in June 1682. Ten years later he became a Fellow. He was raised to the Provostship in August 1699, a few months before Berkeley matriculated, and was promoted to the bishopric of Cork and Ross in January 1710''. Browne was thus Provost during the greater part of Berkeley's residence in Trinity. Long after this, they encountered one another as philosophical and theological antagonists, and we shall find them near neighbours for a few months in a distant part of Ireland. In his early years at Trinity, Berkeley was under the tuition of Dr. John Hall, who was Vice-Provost from 1697 till 1713. To Hall he attributes, in the Preface to his Arithmetical his own early enthusiasm in mathematics, and he refers with gratitude to his example and instructions. Of other contemporary Fellows or Professors nothing particular is recorded. Pratt and Baldwin, ^ (i) Drinking in Remembrance of the * A Letter in Answer to a Book entitled Dead, being the substance eing bound by Acts of Farliament hi E?igland. His cordial cor- respondence with Locke, from 1692 till his death in 1698, suggested some important additions to the Essay on Human Under- standingj and occasioned the interesting visit to Oates in the month before he died. Partly through the influence of William Molyneux, the Essay on Human Understanding found its way into the hands of reading men in Dublin before the end of the seventeenth century. It was translated into Latin, in 1701, by Ezekicl Burridge, a native of Cork, and a member of Trinity College, The name of Locke, as well as that of Des Cartes, must have been tolerably familiar there in March 1700. The Recherche of Malebranche too, the contemporary rival of the Essay in the philosophical world, cannot have been unknown; and curious readers may have en- countered the Ideal or Intelligible World of John Norris, the English Malebranche^ soon after it appeared in 1701 — 4. At the same time the rivalry between the natural philosophy of Des Cartes and the natural philosophy of Newton was going on, and both were drawing attention away from the natural philosophy of Aristotle. The Principia of Newton was published thirteen years before B.nkeley entered Trinity College, The method of Fluxions was beginning to be employed, and was struggling for mastery with the Calculus of Leibnitz. The Dioptrics of Molyneux was soon followed by the Optics of Newton, Wallis and the Oxford mathematicians, with the works of the founders and leaders of the Royal Society, then forty years old, might have been common talk in the academic circle of Dublin in the opening years of the century. Berkeley, in short, entered an atmosphere, in the College of Queen Elizabeth, which was beginning to be charged with the elements of reaction against traditional scholasticism in physics and in metaphysics. During the greater part of these thirteen yeais, the archbishopric II. ] Trinity College^ Dublin. 2 1 of Dublin was held by a prelate who takes a distinguished place among the philosophical theologians of his time. William King, already known as the author of the treatise He Origine Mali which employed the controversial pens of Bayle and Leibnitz, was translated from Derry to Dublin in 1 703. He was the sagacious, witty, and sarcastic ecclesiastical governor of that province for twenty-six years. The personal appearance and discourses of the philosophic Archbishop cannot have been unknown to the undergraduates and graduates of Trinity College of those years. Traces of intercourse between the subtle Berkeley and King, the discreet and dignified politician, if any ever existed, are now lost. Browne as Provost, and King as Archbishop, must have been known to each other. And references to the philosophical theology of the other two are to be found in the subsequent writings of all the three. The year in which Berkeley matriculated in Dublin was also the year in which Swift was settled at Laracor, about twenty miles north-west of the city. Laracor was his hom.e during the thirteen years of Berkeley's residence in Trinity, and it was at the end of the thirteen years that Swift became Dean of St. Patrick's. It was in those years that he was planting his willows, and making his canal, and enjoying, as much as his frequent visits to London would permit, ' the garden, and the river, and the holly and the cherry trees, and the river walk.' Before he went to London in 1 7 10, to spend three years there, the intimate of Earls and Ambassadors, he had probably heard of Berkeley, one of the Junior Fellows of Trinity College, then the author of a remark- able book. Among his undergraduate compeers, Berkeley found his old Kilkenny schoolfellow, Thomas Prior. Samuel Madden, the founder, with Prior, of the Royal Irish Society, some thirty years after, was also an undergraduate in those days. William Palliser, son of the Archbishop to whom Trinity College is indebted for its B'tbllotheca 'Pallhertana^ seems to have been .also a College chum. Later on in Berkeley's course, Edward Synge, afterwards Bishop of Ferns and of Elphin, was an intimate associate, and so too might have been Barry Hartwell, afterwards brother-in-law of the Dean Gervais, who was the friend and correspondent of Berkeley's old age. 22 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. Conterini% the good uncle of Oliver Goldsmith, another of his chums, is connected by a characteristic story with Berkeley's early years at College. Curiosity, it is said, led the young student from Kilkenny to go to see an execution. He returned pensive and melancholy, but inquisitive about the sensations experienced by the criminal in the crisis of his fate. He informed Conterini of his eccentric curiosity. It was agreed between them that he should himself try the experiment, and be relieved by his friend on a signal arranged, after which Conterini, in his turn, was to repeat the experiment. Berkeley was accordingly tied up to the ceiling, and the chair removed from under his feet. Losing consciousness, his companion waited in vain for the signal. The enthusiastic inquirer might have been hung in good earnest, — and as soon as he was relieved he fell motionless upon the floor. On recovering himself his first words were — 'Bless my heart, Conterini, you have rumpled my band.' After this his friend's curiosity was not enough to induce him to fulfil the original agreement. If not true in the letter, this story is at least true to the spirit of Berkeley's ardent psychological analysis, and brave indifference even to life in the interest of truth. This among other eccentric actions, we are told, made Berkeley a mystery. Ordinary people did not understand him, and laughed at him. Soon after his entrance, he began to be looked at as either the greatest genius or the greatest dunce in College. Those who were slightly acquainted witli him took him for a fool ; but those who shared his intimate friendship thought him a prodigy of learning and goodness of heart. When he walked about, which was seldom, he was surrounded by the idlers, who came to enjoy a laugh at his expense. Of this, it is said, he sometimes complained, but there was no redress j the more he fretted the more he amused them. ' The Rev. Thomas Conterini, or Con- Ireland in 1701, he entered Trinity College, terine as I find by the College Register, where he was distinguished for intelligence entered Trinity College October 2, 1702, in and goodness of heart, and for his intimate his eighteenth year—' filius Austin Conte- friendship with Berkeley. He long held the riiie Coloni, natus Cestuae, educatus Wrexom, living of Oran in Roscommon. He married in Walha He was descended from a mem- Goldsmith's aunt, and it was by his kindness ber ot the noble fmiily of Conterini in that the poet was enabled to pursue his Venice, who took refuge in England, and studies at college. It is to him that Gold- was for a time settled in Cheshire. Thomas smith alludes in his De&erted Village— was born there and went thence to school at ' Near yonder copse, where once the Wrexham, ,n Denbighshire. Removing to garden smiled,' &c. II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 23 In spite of these imp:'diments, he pursued his studies, in those first years at Trinity, according to report, with extraordinary ardour, 'full of simplicity and enthusiasm.' He was made a Scholar in 1702^. In the spring of 1704 (the year Locke died) he became Bachelor of Arts''. He took his Master's degree in the spring of 1707. After the customary arduous examination of that University, conducted in presence of nobility, gentry, and high officials, he passed with unprecedented applause, and was admitted to a Fellowship, June 9, 1707^", 'the only reward of learning that kingdom has to bestow,' as one of his biographers curtly says. The ^ Berkeley Papers' throw fresh and interesting light upon his employments, and upon the occupation and progress of his thoughts, in the seven years between his matriculation and his election as Fellow. One academical enterprise which these Papers record deserves to be mentioned. Early in 1 705, it seems that Berkeley and some of his College friends formed a Society to promote their investigations in the New Philosophy of Boyle, Newton, and Locke. The manuscript commences with these words in Berkeley's own handwriting: — 'Mem. The following Statutes were agreed to and signed by a Society consisting of eight persons, January 10, A.D, 1705.' The 'Statutes' are then given, as follows, in the handwriting of another : — ' That the Officers of this Society be a President, Treasurer, Secretary, and Keeper of the Rarities. That these Officers be elected out of the Members by the majority of voices. ^ The emoluments of a Scholar in those laurei tituluni consequendum, si quis Hebrai- days seem not to have exceeded £3. cae Grammaticae praecepta sic intelligat, ut * The following extract from Temple's eorum ductu possit voces Hebraeas, sive Statutes, which were then virtually in nomina sint sive verba, expedite flectere, et force, throws light on the necessary primum secundumque Psalmum in Hebrso qualifications of a Bachelor of Arts : — in Latinam convertere.' ' Cap. VII. De Graeci et Hebraici Idiomatis '" For the following entry or note occurs cognitione, quanta esse debeat in iis qui in the records of Trinity College regarding Bacchalaureatum in Artibus voluit assumere. Berkeley : — ' In 1 706 no Fellowship vacant, Ut ilium Bacchalaurei nomine in- but in September Mr. Mullart resigned on a dignam putemus, qui non possit totius Novi living. In 1 70?' '^'^- Berkeley, who had Testamenti textum Grsecum Latine inter- entered in \f^, under Dr. Hall, was elected pertari. Quod vero ad Hebraicse linguae a Fellow.' cognitionem attinet satis erit ad Baccha- 24 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. That every Member when he speaks address himself to the President. That in case of equality the President have a casting-voice. That when two offer at once the President name the person that shall speak. That the Assembly proceed not to any business till the President give orders. That in the absence of the President the Assembly choose a Chairman. That no new Member be admitted before the 9th of July, 1706. That the Treasurer disburse not any money but by order of the House, signed by the President, and directed by the Secretary. That he shall make up his accounts quarterly, or upon resignation of his office. That the notes signed by the President and directed by the Secretary make up the Treasurer's accounts. That the Treasurer may disburse money for public letters without a note from the President, but shall acquaint the Assembly with it next meeting and then get a note. That the Secretary have the charge of all papers belonging to the Society. That the Keeper of the Rarities attend at the Museum from 2 to 4 on Friday, or the person whom he shall depute. That at the request of any of the Members the Keeper of the Rarities attend in person, or send the key to the Member. That no one interrupt a Member when he is speaking. That no one speak twice to the same matter before every one who pleases has spoken to it. That no one reflect on the person or opinions of any one whatever. That if any one uses an unwary expression he may have leave to explain himself. That no Member reveal the secrets of the Assembly. That when any of the Members bring in a paper, the President appoint any three he pleases to examine it against next meeting, and give in their opinion of it in writing. That the time appointed for meeting be 5 of the clock every Friday evening. That whoever is absent from the meeting be fined sixpence, and he that comes after six of the clock threepence. That the punishment for the transgression of any other Statute be determined by the Assembly. II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 25 That these punishments be paid the Treasurer either before or at next meeting. That the Assembly may repeal or alter these Statutes or make new ones. That everything not provided for otherwise be determined by majority of voices. That the Elections of Officers be made at the last meeting of every quarter, and that the Officers then elected continue for the three fol- lowing months. That whoever leaves the Assembly before it's broken up pay threepence. That every meeting the majority appoint a subject for next conference. That first the President speak concerning the matter to be discoursed on, and after him the next on his right hand, and so on every one that pleases in order as they sit, and that such member stand up as he speaks. That when these more solemn discourses are over, and not till then, every one may talk freely on the matter, and propose and answer what- ever doubts or objections may arise. That when the subject of the conference has been sufficiently dis- cussed the members may propose to the Assembly their inventions, new thoughts, or observations in any of the sciences. That the conference continue for three hours at least, or longer if the Assembly think fit. That the conference begin at three in the afternoon on Friday and continue till eight.' The following queries and other memoranda in Berkeley's writing, obviously connected with Locke's Essay^ follow in the Common-place Book immediately after the Statutes, but whether they were to be considered at any of the meetings of the Society does not appear: — ' Qu. Whether number be in the objects without the mind. L. [Locke] b. 2. c. 8. s. 9. Why powers mediately perceivable thought such, immediately per- ceivable not. b. 2. c. 8. s. 19. Whether solids seen. b. 2. c. 9. s. 9. Whether discerning, comparing, compounding, abstracting, &c., remembering, knowing simple or complex ideas — the same with, or different from perception .? Whether taste be a simple idea, since it is combined with existence, unity, pleasure, or pain ? 26 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. Whether all the last mentioned do not make a complex idea as well as the several component ideas of a Wherein brutes distinguished from men? Wherein idiots from madmen ? Whether any knowledge without memory ? God space, b. 2. c 13. s. 326 and 15. 2. Rotation of a fire-brand, why makes a circle? Why men more easily admit of infinite duration than infinite expansion ? Demonstration in numbers, whether more general in their use for the reason? L. qu. b. 2. ch. 10. Inches, &c., not setded, stated lengths against, b. 2. c. 13. s. 4. Qu. Whether motion, extension, and time be not definable, and there- fore complete ? Qu. Whether the clearness or distinctness of each greater mode of number be so verified ? Qu. Why Locke thinks we can have ideas of no more modes of number than have names ? Not all God's attributes properly infinite. Why other ideas besides number be not capable of infinity ? Not rightly solved. Infinity and infinite. No such thing as an obscure, confused idea of infinite space. Power is not perceived by sense. Locke not to be blamed if tedious about innate ideas, soul always thinking, tension not essence of body, tune can be conceived and measured when no modon, willing not force, &c. A thing may be voluntary though necessary. Qu. Whether it can be involuntary ? Things belonging to reflection are for the most part expressed by forms borrowed from things sensible.' One other record, either of the same or of a similar Society, immediately follows these queries and notes: — ' December the seventh, in the year one thousand seven hundred and six, Agreed — That we the under written persons do meet on every Thursday, at five of the clock in the evening. That the business of our meeting be to discourse on some part of the New Philosophy. That the junior begin the Conference, the second senior speak next, and so on. II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 27 That at the close of every Conference, we appoint a Subject for the following.' The ' underwritten ' names unfortunately are not given. We are left in the dark about Berkeley's associates at these Thursday evening meetings, for the discussion of the 'New Philosophy;' and also very much as to the questions they discussed, and the con- clusions (if any) which they reached. The office of 'Keeper of the Rarities' probably implies that observation and experiment were as much in vogue among them as the mathematical and metaphysical speculations of the hitherto unpublished Common- place Book in which the memorials of this Society appear. The other contents of that Book, written by Berkeley's own hand, and now published in another part of this volume, may perhaps exemplify some of the questions which engaged these Trinity College inquirers in the two years before he obtained his Fellowship. The promotion of Societies, literary and philosophic, was a work in which through life Berkeley seemed fond of engaging. We find instances of this afterwards. The Common-place Book, to a stray page in which we owe our information about this academical reunion, represents Berkeley's studies, and the course of his thoughts, apparently from about his eighteenth till about his twenty-second year — the years immediately before he presented himself to the world as an author. It is a biographical document of great value to those whose conception of biography comprehends analysis of the progressive unfolding of individual human mind. It contains thoughts, self-originated, or immediately occasioned by reading, partly in natural philosophy and mathematics, chiefly in psychology, metaphysics, ethics, and theology. The prevailing tendency of the whole is to the banishment of scholasticism from philosophy, as well as all talk about things which cannot be resolved into living experience of concrete matter of fact, — called by him idea or sensation. He is everywhere eager to simplify things and make knowledge practi- cal, to bring men back to facts, and to expel empty abstractions from philosophy, as the bane of religion and morality not less than of physical science. There is also a disposition towards the 28 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. intellectual independence which rebels against the bondage of words, and an enthusiastic straightforwardness of character, apt to be regarded as eccentricity by the multitude — but with a desire to conciliate too. What he writes plainly flows from himself, if ever any writing did flow from the mind of the writer. The mathematical observations contained in the Common- mon-place Book do not suggest a high standard of proficiency ; but it must be remembered that they are the work of one hardly beyond the age of a schoolboy. In the early parts, infinite divisi- bility and incommensurables recur. These Berkeley exclaims against as examples of the unmeaning verbal abstractions which might, he thought, be banished from science by an all- comprehen- sive purgative Principle which he was then beginning to see, and in the first indistinct recognition of which he indulges in successive outbreaks of intellectual enthusiasm. It may be alleged perhaps, by mathematicians, that Berkeley in these memoranda contrasts with indivisibles only infinite divisibility, and not the continuous flow which is at the bottom of Newton's theory of Fluxions. He would probably have denied that an idea of con- tinuity is possible. But we find no distinct allusion to Newton and Fluxions till we advance pretty far into the Common-place Book, where he returns to mathematics through optics. The re- marks on optics are at first very elementary. Berkeley's obvious inclination exclusively to the metaphysical side of mathematics, in these juvenile speculations and after- wards, probably indisposed him to a minute study of the details, or even of the professed theory, of Fluxions and of the Calculus. His own psychological theory of physical points {minima sensihilia) must have obscured Newton's Fluxions, which rest on a doctrine of continuity that is hard to reconcile with Berkeley's sensible indi- visibles. Perhaps neither then nor afterwards did he sufficiently appreciate the radical antagonism between Newton and himself in their whole way of regarding sensible quantity. He looked at it, so to speak, statically; Newton, dynamically. Besides this, Newton, writing for practical purposes, leaves his own not very lucid metaphysical theory in the background, which may in part explain why Berkeley did not directly criticise, or even recognise it. At any rate, determined by his abhorrence of scholastic ver- II.] Trinity College, Dtiblin. 29 balism and empty abstractions, he rejects infinite divisibility, and the whole mathematical doctrine of incommensurables, as ex- pressive of nothing that can be resolved into idea of sense and imagination. In the memoranda which deal with Optics there seems to be a mixture of the mathematical and physiological with the psycho- logical. This shows that Berkeley was at that time only working his way to the purely psychological method which at last formed the one basis of his Neii: Theory of Vision. Internal consciousness of what is experienced in the mental state of seeing^ as distinguished both from physiological observation of the eye, and from mathe- matical reckoning about lines and angles, was the field within which he restricted himself at last. The non-mathematical speculations, which' occupy by far the larger portion of the Common-place Book, are mostly concerned with Matter and its Qualities, Space and Time, Existence, Soul, God, and Duty. The nature of visible extension, and its relations to tangible extension are often remarked upon, with occasional hesitation about details. But Berkeley's mind everywhere labours under the inspiration of a new thought, with which it is evidently charged, and the consciousness of which calls out ever and anon the flash of philosophical enthusiasm. A new Principle is once and again referred to as what his soul was labouring with ; and this, notwithstanding the opposition and ridicule it and its applications might occasion among impatient thinkers and the thoughtless, he was resolved soon to discharge himself of through the press, but in as conciliatory a way as he could — with some politic art, in short. Now what is this new Principle ? It dawns upon us in the Common-place Book by degrees. When we compare one expression of it with another, we find that it implies neither more nor less than this: — a conception of the impossibility of anything existing in the universe that is independent of perception and volition ; that is not either percipient and voluntary, or perceived and willed. This is Berkeley's dualism. He vacillates in the abstract ex- pression of it, but it generally approaches this. All so-called existence that cannot be resolved into this, is, he is beginning to see, only 'abstract idea,' and therefore absurd— to be swept 30 Life and Lettei's of Berkeley. [ch. away as sophistry and illusion. He is gradually discovering that the pressure of this new Principle, in its various phases, delivers Science from abstract or unperceived Matter (as dis- tinguished from sensible things); from abstract or unperceived Space (as distinguished from sensibly extended things); from abstract or unperceived Time (as distinguished from perceived changes); from abstract or unperceived Substance (as distinguished from our personal consciousness); and from abstract or un- perceived Cause (as distinguished from free voluntary agency). It is the same Principle which in mathematics, with a dim con- ception of it, he found to press hard against incommensurability and infinite divisibility. At times he is in awe of its tremendous consequences, and of the shock which these may occasion when it is proclaimed to a learned world which had long tried to feed itself upon abstractions. But he is resolved, nevertheless, to employ it for purging science and sustaining faith. Here, more intensely, but not more really, than in Berke- ley's mathematical jottings, one feels the presence of the spirit of scientific independence, the parent of all discovery, in which only a few can sympathise, and which is ever in antagonism to the unintelligent mediocrity, by which discovery has been crushed or retarded. It was the same spirit as that which moved Des Cartes, and Spinoza, and Locke, in the time preceding, or Hume and Kant in time that followed, and which moves all who leave their mark on the course of human thought. A few examples of the philosophical remarks in the Com- mon-place Book, taken from the chaos in which the reader finds them there, and arranged in groups, may help to show the state of Berkeley's mind about this time. The reader may enlarge the size of each of the following groups, and add some new ones, by a study of the Common-place Book itself, in another part of this volume. There is a freshness in the very immaturity of the thoughts. Here are some regarding the im- portance of his new Principle : — ' The reverse of the Principle I take to have been the chief source of all that scepticism and folly — all those contradictory and inex- tricable puzzling absurdities, that have in all ages been a reproach to human reason; as well as of the idolatry, whether of images II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 31 or of God, that blind the greatest part of the world ; as well as of that shameful immorality that turns us into beasts I know there is a mighty sect of men will oppose me I am young, I am an upstart, I am vain. Very well, I shall endeavour patiently to bear up under the most lessening, viUfying appellations the pride and rage of men can devise. But one thing I know I am not guilty of. I do not pin my faith on the sleeve of any great man. I act not out of prejudice or prepossession. I do not adhere to any opinion because it is an old one, or a revived one, or a fashionable one, or one that I have spent much time in the study and cultivation of If in some things I differ from a philosopher I profess to admire, it is for that very thing on account of which I admire him, namely, the love of truth.' Then we have glimpses of the Principle itself, more distinct as it takes fuller possession of him, while he revolves it in his thoughts: — ' Mem. Diligently to set forth that many of the ancient philosophers run into so great absurdities as to deny the existence of motion and those other things they perceived actually by their senses. This sprung from their not knowing what Existence was, or wherein it consisted. This is the source of their folly. 'Tis on the discovery of the nature and meaning and import of Existence that I chiefly insist. This puts the wide difference betwixt the Sceptics and me. This I think wholly new. I am sure this is new in me I take not away Substances. I ought not to be accused of discarding Substance out of the reasonable world. I only reject the philosophic sense, which is in effect nonsense, of the word Substance. Ask a man, not tainted with their jargon, what he means by corporeal Substance, or the Substance of body. He shall answer — bulk, solidity, and suchlike sensible qualities. These I retain. The philosophic nequid, Jiequanium, nequale, whereof I have no idea, I discard — if a man may be said to discard that which never had any being, was never so much as imagined or conceived. In short,' he adds, (as it were in a soliloquy of agonised earnestness), 'be not angry. You lose nothing, whether real or chimerical, whichever you in any wise conceive or imagine, be it never so wild, so extravagant, so absurd. Much good may it do you. I am more for reality than any other. Philosophers, they make a thousand doubts, and know not certainly but we may be deceived. I assert the direct contrary The philosophers talk much of a distinction 'twixt absolute and relative things, and 'twixt things considered in their own nature and the same things considered with 32 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. respect to us. I know not what -they mean by " things considered in themselves." This is nonsense, jargon Thing and idea are much-what words of the same extent and meaning. ... By idea I mean any sensible or imaginable thing Time a sensation; therefore only in the mind. . . . Extension a sensation; therefore only in the mind A thing not perceived is a contradiction Existence is not conceivable without perception or volition. . . . Let it not be said that I take away existence. I only declare the meaning of the word, so far as I can comprehend it. . . . What means cause, as distinguished from occasion ? Nothing but a being which wills, when the effect follows the volition There is nothing active but spirit. . . . Existence is perceiving and willing, or being perceived and willed. Soul is the will only, and is distinct from ideas Existence not conceivable without perception or volition, not distinguishable there- from. . . . Every idea has a cause, i. e. is produced by a will. . . . Say you, there must be a thinking substance — something unknown, which perceives, and supports, and ties together the ideas. Say I, INIake it appear that there is any need of it, and you shall have it for me. I care not to take away anything I can see the least reason to think should exist.' And so the Principle is turned round and round in Berkeley's musings. He finds himself, under its pressure, resolving Sub- stance and Cause, Space and Time, into modifications and rela- tions of living perception^ and of what is sensibly perceived by a living percipient ; or into the volitions of a conscious agent, and into their sensible effects. The Principle banishes scepticism, he thinks, because it means that the real things themselves, and not their supposed effects, or the representations (possibly fallacious) of an unperceived archetypal Something, are what we are conscious or percipient of in the senses : — ' Ideas of sense are the real things or archetypes. Ideas of imagina- tion — dreams, &c., are copies, images of these. . . . Say Des Cartes and Malebranche : God both gives us strong inclinations to think our ideas proceed from bodies, and that bodies do exist. What mean they by this ? Would they have it that the ideas of imagination are images of, and proceed from, the ideas of sense ? This is true, but cannot be their meaning ; for they speak of ideas of se7ise proceeding from, being Hke unto — I know not what I am the farthest from scepticism of any II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 33 man. I know with an intuitive knowledge the existence of other things as well as my own soul. This is what Locke, nor scarce any other thinking philosopher, will pretend to.' The common supposition that we actually see things existing without us in an ambient space is likely, Berkeley anticipates, to be one great obstruction to an acceptance of the Principle. This obstruction he encounters in these soliloquies, as one might call them, in an endless variety of ways : — ' The common error of the opticians, that we judge of distance by angles, strengthens men in their prejudice that they see things without, and distant from, their mind. . . . Extension to exist in a thing void of perception a contradiction Extension, though it exist only in the mind, is yet no property of the mind; the mind can exist without it, though it cannot without the mind. . . . Tangible and visible extension heterogeneous, because they have no common measure, and also because their simplest constituent parts are specifically different, i. e. ptmctuni visibile and tangibile. . . . Extension seems to be perceived by the eye as thought by the ear. ... I saw gladness in his looks ; I saw shame in his face. So I see figure or distance.' Then we have allusions to the theory that thought or meaning pervades the whole sensible world, that an interpretable language is given especially in all visible phenomena : — ' Were there but one and the same language in the world, and did children speak it naturally as soon as born, and were it not in the power of men to conceal their thoughts or deceive others, but that there were an insuperable connexion between words and thoughts, Qu. Would not men think that they heard thoughts as much as that they see extension?' But the antithesis to the Principle, and in Berkeley's eye, the great root of intellectual evil, is the phantom of Abstract Ideas. In abstractions and their scholastic verbiage, all the absurdities and contradictions which retard science and nourish scepticism seemed to him to find cover. ' The chief thing I do, or pretend to do, is only to remove the mist or veil of words. This has occasioned ignorance and confusion. This VOL. IV. D 34 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. has ruined the schoolmen and mathematicians, lawyers and divines. . . . If men would lay aside words in thinking, 'tis impossible they should ever mistake, save only in matters of fact.' And then, in the more advanced parts, in reviewing what his thoughts have led him to : — ■ ' My speculations have the same effect as visiting foreign countries. In the end I return where I was before ; yet my heart at ease, and en- joying myself with more satisfaction. . . . The philosophers lose their matter ; the mathematicians lose their insensible sensations ; the profane lose their extended Deity. Pray what do the rest of mankind lose ? As for bodies, we have them still. The future metaphysic and mathematic gain vastly by the bargain. . . . The whole directed to practice and morality, as appears — i. From making manifest the nearness and omni- presence of God; 2. From cutting off the useless labour of sciences and so forth.' The Common-place Book, from which these examples are arranged, is among the most interesting revelations which philosophical biography affords of the rise of reflection in a mind of extraordinary ingenuity and intrepidity. No candid reader will forget that in these records of Berkeley's inner history, at or about the age of twenty, we have the miscellaneous out- pourings of an ardent youth, in rapid intellectual growth, placing on paper, for the writer's own further consideration, the random speculations of the hour, without a thought of their meeting the public eye nearly a hundred and seventy years afterwards. That this mathematical and philosophical Miscellany is in all its parts consistent with itself, only vulgar ignorance could anticipate. Those who at all understand the struggles of one young in years, loving truth for its own sake, pregnant with a great thought by which the whole of life and existence seem to be simplified, will pardon some real, as well as some seeming, inconsistency in casual memoranda of temporary results reached by the labouring mind. We have the rudiments of the more orderly, if less fresh and outspoken, revelation which was made through the press in the years immediately following. The Common-place Book helps us also to trace some of Berkeley's reading in his early years at College. His central thought was indeed essentially self-originated. There is internal evidence of i II.] Trinity College, Dublin, 35 this. But we also see that Locke was the prevailing external influence in putting him, as it were, into position for reflection, and that he proceeded in his intellectual work on the basis of postulates which he partly borrowed from Locke, and partly as- sumed in antagonism to him. In his early philosophy he was Locke's successor, somewhat as Fichte was the successor of Kant. In criticising the Essay on Human Understanding, he makes Locke more consistent with himself, and occupies a position which is partly the immediate consequence of the one his predecessor had taken. That human knowledge may be analysed into ideas or personal experiences of things, and that the secondary qualities of matter, being relative or mutable, are only ideas or personal experiences, was the position of Locke. That the primary as well as the secondary qualities of Matter, together with Space and Time, all in like manner relative and mutable, are sensations, or relations of sensations; and that, thus. Matter, Time, and Space are ideal or phenomenal in their very essence, was the first con- clusion reached by Berkeley. He was feeling his way to it in his Common-place Book, and treating Locke as a patron of scholastic verbalism because he did not receive it. Many other names as well as Locke's meet us in the Common- place Book. Des Cartes, Malebranche, Hobbes, and Spinoza, occur often ; Newton, Barrow, and Wallis, now and then ; Leibnitz, Le Clerc, De Vries, Sergeant, Bayle, Molyneux, and others, once or twice ; seldom the ancients or the schoolmen. ■ Berkeley's ardour and earnestness of purpose, joined to his vivacious imagination, disposed him to become an author at an early age, and to expose to the criticism of the world the con- ception with which he was struggling in these early years at Trinity College. He first appeared in print in a modest way, a short time before he took his Master's degree. Early in 1 707, two tracts— one an attempt to demonstrate arithmetic without the help of Euclid or of algebra, and the other consisting of thoughts on some questions in mathematics, both written in Latin, and published at London — were attributed on the title-page to a Bachelor of Arts in Trinity College, Dublin. Ever since, and without dispute, they have been assigned to Berkeley, They are contained in all the editions of his collected works. And this D 2 36 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cir. evidence is now confirmed by various coincidences and corre- sponding passages in the Common-place Book. One source of more than mathematical interest in these two tracts is the illustration they give of Berkeley's constitutional tendency to what is novel and eccentric — a tendency inseparable, in some degree, from every genuine discoverer in science, but which his characteristic impetuosity was sometimes apt to carry to an extreme that frustrates discovery. They are interesting too for the enthusiasm they show in mathematical studies, and as an index of Berkeley's knowledge of that science when he was not twenty years of age. Though published in 1707, they were written, as the Preface informs us, nearly three years before — perhaps at an early stage in his studies for a Fellowship. The allusions to Bacon, Des Cartes, Malebranche, Locke, Newton, Sir W. Temple, and the Philosophical Transactions, confirm what we now know from other sources of the direction of his early reading. The ArithmeUca is dedicated to William Palliser, and the Miscellanea Mathematica to his young friend Samuel Molyneux, the son of Locke's friend and disciple. Three other years elapsed before Berkeley was prepared to announce to the world the great thought with which we have found him labouring for years. He presented it at first under cover, in a one-sided way — unsatisfactory, even so far as it went. The Essay towards a New Theory of Fision^ with Berkeley's name on the title-page, appeared early in J 709. It was an attempt towards the psychology of our sensations, but directed immediately to the most comprehensive sense of all, and intended to eradicate a deeply-rooted prejudice. If it halts in its metaphysics, and if its physiology is defective, it proclaims in psychology what has since been accepted as a great discovery, which involves subtle applications of the laws of mental association in the formation of habits. The analytic parts of the Essay show the absolute hetero- geneity of what we see and what we touch. The explanation of the synthesis of these heterogeneous elements by means of arbitrary association is its constructive part. In this analysis and theory Berkeley is original in the rigour of his distinction II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 37 between the seen and the felt, and also in the extent to which he carries subjective and objective association as a solvent of the unity which we make and find in individual stones, trees, tables, and other sensible things. The book is much occupied in illustrating the arbitrariness of association among percepts in sight and touch. It is inferred from this arbitrariness that these associations, commonly called laws of nature, are founded in Supreme Will, and not in materialistic necessity. That the various natural laws, of which physical science is the discovery, are the sensible expression of an intending Will is its domi- nant conception. Further, that sensible phenomena — those ele- ments of which sensible things are the associated aggregates, and of which we are assumed to be immediately percipient — may be analysed into minima sensibilia^ which are connected into aggre- gates, not by unperceived substances and causes, but in mind, and by means of voluntary agency, is undoubtedly the philosophy which underlies the Essay. A distinct expression of the philo- sophy is needed, however, in order to make the Essay obviously consistent with itself. Now, this implied philosophy is neither more nor less than the new Principle already privately expressed in the Common-place Book. In the Essay of 1709, the Berkeleian Principle is applied to sight but not to touch. Tangible phenomena are left in undisturbed possession of a kind of reality that is inconsistent with it, while visible phenomena are subjected to its sway. The reason for this partial application of what, if applicable at all, was to be universally applied, lay probably in Berkeley's unwillingness to shock the world with a conception of its own existence against which he anticipated a storm of opposition. Its actual effect has been to expose the New Theory of Vision to criti- cisms not in all cases undeserved. This reserve of a foregone conclusion makes Berkeley's first essay on philosophy his least artistic. Its main conclusion cannot be fully comprehended without the New Principle, and yet the New Principle is held in reserve. Hence the acute reasoning is apt to lose itself in a chaos of details, unrelieved by the ultimate constructive thought required to form them into a philosophy. The question of the Essay comes to this : — What is really meant by our seeing things in ambient space ? Berkeley's answer, when 9 ^ O _L u^ J :3 38 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. developed, may be put thus:— What, before we reflected, we had supposed to be a seeing of real things, is not seeing really extended things at all, but only seeing something that is con- stantly connected with their extension: what is vulgarly called seeing them is in fact reading about them : when we are every day using our eyes, we are virtually interpreting a book : when by sight we are determining for ourselves the actual distances, sizes, shapes, and situations of things, we are simply translating the words of the Universal and Divine Language of the Senses. It is of course difficult fully and constantly to realise this, to dissolve the prejudice which obscured it, and to distinguish what we see from the meaning of what we see. But then this difficulty is not peculiar, Berkeley would say, to the visual, or to any other sensible language. It is common to the language of nature with all artificial languages. For instance, it is not found easy to read an intelligible and interesting sentence in a book, in tl^e state of mental vacancy one is in when one reads a sentence in an unknown language. Yet the connection between visible or audible signs, and their meanings, in any artificial language, is not a constant and universal association. There are hundreds of artificial languages in the world. There is only one visual or natural language. We find it difficult to disentangle the mere signs from their meanings in any of the artificial languages we are acquainted with. We may therefore expect it to be impos- sible (as we find it to be) to separate a visual sign from the signification which universal experience and habit have wrapped up in it. Berkeley's "Essay invites us to recognise the differ- ence between the visual sign and its meaning, even when we cannot actually make a separation between them in imagina- tion. It sets before us the visible signs on the one hand, and their meanings on the other. Throughout it is an appeal to reflection and mental experiment. Varieties of colour or coloured extension are the only proper objects of sight. Nothing else can be seen. Now extended colours, together with certain muscular affections in the eye, are, under the arbitrarily estab- lished system of nature, the signs of varieties of felt extension. That is to say, they are signs of what are usually called the real distances, sizes, shapes, and situations of things. Now, our visual experience of quantities and qualities of colour, and of the II.] Trmity College, Dublin. 39 organic sensations in the eye, is what enables us to foresee, with more or less accuracy, what our experience in feeling and in moving our bodies is to be in any particular case. Real dis- tance from the eye outwards, as well as real size, shape, and situation, are absolutely invisible : we can see their signs only. All this, according to Berkeley, may be proved intuitively to those who take the trouble to reflect. He announced the dis- covery as one founded on a strict analysis of the facts, the whole facts, and nothing but the facts to which we are conscious in our sense perceptions. The only difficulties he could find connected with it were, the difficulty of separating what invariable experience has united in our thoughts, and the difficulty of finding artificial lan- guage pure and precise enough to express his meaning. Till we have apprehended this analysis by reflection, however, we have not learned our first lesson in the psychology of the senses. When we have done so, he is ready with a theory which treats vision as a Divine Book that contains more surprising and profound lessons than any human book can contain. When we seem to be seeing, we are really reading an illuminated Book of God, which, in literal truth, is a Book of Prophecy. This, I think, is the outcome of this juvenile Essay. But its want of artistic unity and completeness, and its dispro- portioned digressions and applications — resulting partly from Berkeley's inexperience as an author, and partly from the cir- cumstance that the Theory is sustained by a Principle in the expression of which the author is, I think, restraining himself — make this psychological Essay, in its actual form, an inconvenient introduction to the metaphysical philosophy, for one who is ignorant of Berkeley's great central thought. It is not here that any critical observations should be oflfered upon the Theory of Vision, which indeed in 1709 was only partly developed by Berkeley. One is here looking at this and his other early writings, only as an unfolding of his intellectual life, in modes which must be understood before its ulterior evolutions can be well comprehended by the analyst of his intellectual character. I have tried elsewhere, in prefatory observations and subse- quent annotations, to explain the logical structure of the Essay on Vision. The reader will find that a great part of it is taken 40 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [en. up in determining what are the true visible and felt signs of the real distances, signs, and situations of things, in contrast to so-called « sights' which are not seen at all, but are merely 'suggestions' occasioned by what is visible. That the Essay towards a New Theory of Vision attracted some attention on its appearance, we may infer from its reaching a second edition before the end of the year. With this pioneer in 1709, Berkeley, in 17 10, in a Treatise concerning the Trinciples of Human Knowledge^ boldly announced the great conception of which for years he had been full. This book is a systematic assault upon scholastic abstrac- tions, especially upon abstract or unperceived Matter, Space, and Time. It assumes that these are the main cause of confusion and difficulty in the sciences, and of materialistic Atheism. The new Principle, in its various phases and applications, is offered as the eff^ectual means of cleansing the human mind from these abstractions. He finds philosophers all taking for granted the existence of a dead, unperceived, and unimagin- able Something, of indefinite power and capability. They had concealed the intrinsic absurdity of the supposition, by calling its object an abstract idea— something that, as an 'idea,' must be knowable in sense and imagination- but that, as 'abstract,' could only be known with difficulty. Accordingly, as it was with abstract ideas that philosophy was held to be concerned, philosophers invented a number of abstract words, and these words got into general circulation. Then, to this unknown Something, under the name of Matter, they attributed indefinite powers, and under cover of its powers, some of them pretended to explain the human mind, and supposed that all the conscious life in the universe might be accounted for by the dark abstraction. Thus, under the abstractions of Space, Time, and Number, the mathe- maticians, he thought, had lost themselves in doctrines about infinite divisibility, and other forms of words without meaning. Locke's imperfect reformation from Scholasticism, as Berkeley regarded it, added the sanction even of modern philosophy to the hypothesis that unperceived Matter is the cause of our perceptions. He complains, accordingly, that Locke sanctions abstract ideas ; that he recognises substance, or, as we might II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 41 say, the thing-in-itself ; and that he distinguishes this from the perceived things which alone we see and touch. With Locke, as with philosophers generally, the thing-in-itself was the real thing : what we see and touch only an ideal substitute for the real thing. The reality, he tells us, we can never reach. Reason itself, Berkeley now proclaims, is at war with these assumptions. They are empty words. Reason requires us to return to what is concrete and to abide there. Beyond this we can find nothing, because beyond this nothing exists. All that exists, or can exist, is the mental experience of persons. It must consist of living persons, the ideas or phenomena of which they are conscious^ the voluntary activity which they exercise, and the effects of that activity. The actual universe must be made up of that. Human knowledge of the actual universe is all at last resolved into that. Whatever is not so resolvable, must be an abstraction, and therefore a delusion. The common convic- tion of scientific, and also of unscientific, men about the need for causes, and for an ultimate cause, of all actual changes in the world are acknowledged by Berkeley as they were before. But he asks us to reflect that the universe, regarded as a con- geries of effects, and in its ultimate cause, consists, and can consist only of living persons, the ideas or phenomena which they have, and the voluntary activity which they exercise. It follows that the universally acknowledged ultimate cause cannot be the empty abstraction called Matter. There must be living mind at the root of things. Mind must be the very substance and consistence and cause of whatever is. In recognising this wondrous Principle, life is simplified to him; light finds its way into the darkest corner. The sciences are relieved from the abstractions which choked them. Religious faith in Universal Mind becomes the highest expression of reflective reason. This supreme Principle virtually becomes Berkeley's Method of Thought. His first step in philosophy is to form the habit of thinking the universe under its regulation. But how do we know that it is true ? This, Berkeley plainly supposes, is not so much to be argued from premisses as accepted through inspiration — through its own intuitive light. 'Some truths there are so near and obvious to the mind,' he says, 'that a man need only open his eyes to see them.' 'Such,' he adds, 'I take this 42 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cn. important one to be — that all the choir of heaven and furniture of the earth, in a word, all those bodies which compose the mighty frame of the world, have not any subsistence without a mind • that their esse is to be perceived or known ; that, con- sequently, so long as they are not actually perceived by me, or do not exist in my mind, or that of any other created spirit, they must either have no existence at all, or else subsist in the mind of some Eternal Spirit; it being perfectly unintelligible, and involving all the mystery of abstraction, to attribute to any single part of them an existence independent of a spirit.' That the universe must be the personal experience of living mind is thus proclaimed with all the light and evidence of an axiom. That the actual phenomena, or ideas (as Berkeley calls them) of which the external universe consists are all determined in their co-existences and successions by more or less reasonable volitions ; that voluntary activity is the only possible cause of whatever happens ; and that the ideal world present in our senses cannot itself contain power or causality, is a phase of the Principle which is less clearly dealt with by him than the former. It, too, seems, like the other, to be accepted as an intuition of reason, which, on reflection, flashes upon us by inspiration. But here Berkeley avoids an exact statement. The reader who wants to watch the young Fellow of Trinity College defending and applying his new conception in the presence of the public must study the Principles. It would be difficult to name a book in ancient or modern philosophy which contains more fervid and ingenious reasoning than is here employed to meet supposed objections, or to unfold possible applications to religion and science. An eager spirit glows beneath the calm surface, hardly restrained from undue expression. The book of Principles published in 1710 is called 'Part I;' 'Part II' never appeared. We can only conjecture what the unfinished design was. Neither the book itself, nor any of Berke- ley's other writings informs us. As 'Part I' was dropped from the title-page and the running titles in the later editions, it appears that the design, at least in this form, was abandoned. There is, however, philosophical room for a Second Part, Berkeley's book, as we now have it, unfolds his central thought II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 43 in its applications to what he calls ideas — in short, to sensible things. But the theory of mind and its notions — concerned with sensible things, yet distinguished from them — is not made so distinct : it has hardly been expressed, and it is certainly not worked out. Finite minds, and their personal identity; their relations to one another, and to Supreme Mind in which they seem to participate ; the notions of pure intellect — as distin- guished from the original ideas of sense, and the subjective ideas of imagination — are left unexamined. Berkeley's whole doctrine of abstraction, and of the distinction between notions and ideas, is, in 1 7 10, left in an unsatisfactory state. Whether there are uncreated necessities of thinking, according to which all mental experience of ideas must evolve itself in every mind, is a ques- tion hardly entertained. That the universe must be substantiated and caused, that cause and substance are relations of knowledge for all minds, and that to say 'all changes must be caused,' is one way of saying that all changes must, by an absolute, uncreated necessity, be referred to an intending Will, are assumptions which perhaps Berkeley virtually makes, but without criticism, or the scientific insight which criticism gives. That Space and Time may also be uncreated necessities of sense perception he does not contemplate, for he reduces Space to arbitrary relations of our visual and tactual sensations, and he makes Time (about which his thoughts were first of all employed, he afterwards says) literally consist in changes. He does not inquire critically whether all sensible phenomena must not, by an uncreated ne- cessity, emerge as it were in the form of extended things, and whether all changes must not by a like necessity emerge in the form of successive events. But it is not fair to apply thought and language which Europe in the nineteenth century owes to Kant, to the state of mind in which Berkeley was in 17 10. And after all deduction has been made, the Principles of Human Knowledge anticipate later thoughts, found in Hume, or in the Scotch and German reaction against him. Berkeley's theory of physical causation anticipates Hume, while it consummates Bacon, and opens the way to the true conception of physical induction. In his account of sense perception, he anticipates the spirit of the presentative psychology of Reid and Hamilton. And in his, 44 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH. new central conception itself, he more than anticipates the Coper- nican point of view of Kant. But in 1710, the book was too far in advance of an unmetaphysical generation to draw general attention ^^ We have no data for determining how long Berkeley was engaged in preparing his psychological Bssay on Vision^ and his metaphysical book of Principles. His Common-place Book is a sort of magazine of the thought which was gradually worked into the two. This Book, and the manuscript of portions of the Prin- ciples^ which I have given in another volume, show successive variations of phrase through which his thought passed before it was given to the printer. The date written on the margin of the rough draft of the Introduction to the Principles^ seems to imply that he was working at this in November 1708. Fragments in the Common-place Book were no doubt written years before. ^1 Yet we have dim anticipations both of Berkeley and of Kant — rather of Xant than of Berkeley, whose new conception is missed — - in a hardly remembered work, An E^say upon Reason, and the Nature of Spirits, by Richard Burthogge, M.D., London, 1694. The de- sign of this work, announced in the Dedica- tion ' to Mr. John Lock, author of the Essay upon Humane Understanding,' is ' to show the true way of Human Knowledge, and, by showing that it is real notional, to unite and reconcile the experimental or mechanical with the scholastic method.' The union of objects and universals is implied when it is said (pp. 561, &c.) that ' in every conception there is something that is purely objective, purely notional; insomuch that few, if any, of the ideas which we have of things are properly pictures; our conceptions of things no more resembling them in strict propriety than our words do our conceptions for which they do stand, and with which they have a kind of correspondence and answering ; just as figures do stand for numbers, yet are nowise like them As the eye has no perceivance of things but under colours that are not in them (and the same, with due alteration, must be said of the other senses^ so the understanding apprehends not things, or any habitudes or aspects of them, but under cer- tain notions, that neither have their being in objects, or that being of objects that they seem to have ; but are in all respects the very same to the mind or understanding that colours are to the eye .... It is certain that things to us men are nothing but as they do stand in our analogy; that is, in plain terms, they are nothing to us, but as they are known to us ; and as certain, that they stand not in our analogy, nor are known by us, but as they are in our facul- ties — in our senses, imagination, or mind ; and they are not in our faculties, either in their own reality, or by way of a true re- semblance or representation, but only in respect of certain appearances or sentiments, which, by the various impressions that they make upon us, or cause, or (which is most probable) concur in causing with our facul- ties. Every cogitative faculty, though it is not the sole cause of its own immediate (apparent) object, yet has a share in making it In sum, the immediate objects of cogitation, as it is exercised by men, are entia cogitationis, all phenomena ; appear- ances that do no more exist without our faculties in the things themselves than the images that are seen in water, or behind a glass, do really exist in those places where they seem to be In truth, neither accident nor substance hath any being but only in the mind, and by the virtue of cogitation or thought.' See Chap. III. V. 11.] Trinity College, Dtiblin. 45 The design of the Principles and the 'Essay ^ either as parts of one and the same work, or as separate treatises, was probably in his mind when he obtained his Fellowship in 1707. Berkeley's leading thought and method were published when he was young. Some of his philosophical predecessors and successors resemble him in this, but none to the same degree. Des Cartes pro- duced his great philosophical writings soon after he was forty. Spi- noza announced his philosophy still earlier, and died soon after he was forty. Hume's greatest work of speculation appeared when he was twenty-seven. Berkeley offered his philosophy at an earlier age than any of these. In fact, his is the most extraordinary instance of original reflective precocity on record. Locke, in contrast with this, was hardly known as an author till he was almost sixty, and Kant was about the same age when he published the first of the three great critical works which contain his philosophy. The qualities of the precocious philosophers are obviously different from those of the others. If ardent precocity has succeeded in burning its way more into the heart of things, the more tardy, phlegmatic, and sober are usually more attentive in their reasonings to the limitations and compromises of our human condition. Berkeley's book o^ Principles was a sort of challenge to the philo- sophical world. Dublin contained few who were likely to listen to it. The austere theological philosopher who had governed Trinity College, was translated to the diocese of Cork and Ross about the very time the book appeared. If he read it he was not converted by it. The judicious philosophical divine who was then Archbishop of Dublin was not likely to adopt the paradoxically expressed and revolutionary conception of a Junior Fellow. Ber- keley's ardour as a discoverer made him anxious to gain a hearing. Not satisfied with the provincial audience of Ireland, he courted the opinion of the great men in London. He sent copies of his new book to Samuel Clarke, the most eminent contemporary philosophical theologian, and to Whiston, the friend of Newton, who then occupied Newton's chair at Cambridge. Whiston has fortunately commemorated the circumstance in his Memoirs of Clarke. ^ Mr. Berkeley,' he says, ' published, in 1710, at Dublin, this metaphysick notion — that Matter was not a real thing ; nay. 46 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. that the common opinion of its reality was groundless, if not ridiculous. He was pleased to send Dr. Clarke and myself each of us a book. After we had both perused it, I went to Dr. Clarke, and discoursed with him about it to this efFect : That I [being not a metaphysician] was not able to answer Mr, Berkeley's [subtle] premises, though I did not believe his [absurd] conclusion. I therefore desired that he, who was deep in such subtleties, but did not appear to believe Mr. Berkeley's conclusion, would answer him. Which task he declined.' (p. 133.) The challenge of the young Dublin philosopher was not ac- cepted. The mathematical Whiston treated it as a mere mathematician might be expected to do, except that he had more candour than most of his class, in supposing that it de- served an answer, and more modesty in seeing that he could not answer it himself. What Clarke's answer, if he sent one to Berkeley, might have been, we may suppose from the only rele- vant passage in his writings. Seven years later, in his Remarks on Collins on Human Liherty, Clarke writes thus, and we may take what he writes as the substitute for a lost letter to Berkeley in acknowledgment of his book : — ' The case [the fact of free agency] is exactly the same as in that notable question. Whe- ther the World exists or no. There is no demonstration of it from experience. There always remains a bare possibility that the Supreme Being may have so framed my mind, as that I shall always be necessarily deceived in every one of my perceptions, as in a dream, though possibly there be no mate- rial world, nor any other creature existing, besides myself. Of this I say there always remains a bare possibility. And yet no man in his senses argues from thence, that experience is no proof to us of the existence of things The bare physical possi- bility of our being so framed by the Author of nature, as to be unavoidably deceived in this matter by every experience of every action we perform, is no more any just ground to doubt the truth of our Liberty, than the bare natural possibility of our being all our lifetime as in a dream deceived in our belief of the existence of the Material World is any just ground to doubt of the reality of its existence.' [Remarks^ pp. 20, 34.) In short, the principle which Berkeley had applied to illustrate how immediate our knowledge of sensible things is, and the impos- II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 47 sibility of scepticism about them, was construed by Clarke into a dogmatic assumption that our whole experience in the senses is a lie. The New Principle had a sorry prospect in that eighteenth century, when its application to the material world was thus reversed at the outset by the most metaphysical English author of the time. Whether Malebranche, the great contemporary French metaphysician, also received ' a book' we are not informed. If Clarke's deification of space in his famous work of metaphysical theology was a bar to his candid entertainment of the conception that space is only a part of the sensible creation of God, we could hardly expect the aged French philosopher to surrender the reasonings of a life in behalf of an unperceived external world, or to forego his resolution of all power — human as well as physical — into Divine, on the suggestion of a juvenile essay which accepted the existence of sensible things without proof^ by simply explain- ing what their existence means, and in which the free agency of men was a fundamental principle. The year in which the Essay on Vision was published was the year in which its author first appeared in a new character. On the ist of February, 1709, Berkeley received ordination as Deacon in the old chapel of Trinity College. He was ordained by Dr. St. George Ashe, Bishop of Clogher, of whom we shall hear again. He was presented by Nicholas Forster, a Senior Fellow (after- wards Bishop of Raphoe, and the uncle as it happened of his future wife), who vouched for his learning and good character. Six other candidates were ordained on the same Sunday. I have not discovered when or where Berkeley received Priest's orders. As there is no record of this in Dublin, it may be sup- posed that it was not within that province. We have no account of what his thoughts were in becoming an official teacher of religion. It would be interesting to discover them. Unobtrusive practical piety is apparent- throughout his life, and few in the annals of the Christian ministry have preserved themselves freer from ecclesiastical and professional bias, or have more successfully maintained, among many temptations, the love of truth as a ' chief passion' from the beginning to the end of this mortal life. The Christian ministry, ancient, mediaeval, and 48 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. modern, has engaged more than one of those who rank in the bright chapters of the history of philosophy — with whom theology is the highest form of philosophy, and the reverential spirit of religion its noblest consecration. We have Origen and St. Augustin, Abelard and Aquinas, according to the light of their own times; Malebranche and Fenelon, Cudworth and Berkeley in the full tide of modern life. The last is perhaps the most distinct example. Berkeley's ecclesiastical service about this time was confined to an occasional sermon in the College Chapel. He seems to have delivered there what is called a common-place more than once even before he was ordained, a custom permitted in that University. As a preacher his discourses were care- fully reasoned, and in beautifully simple language they occa- sionally present great thoughts, without any marked theological bias. Three characteristic common-places, delivered probably in 171 1, and published in the following year, as a Discourse of Passive Olpedience^ constitute something to our knowledge of the history of Berkeley's mind. This tract is a closely argued defence of the Christian duty of not resisting the supreme civil power, wherever placed in a nation. We have found Berkeley working as a reflective analyst of human knowledge, with a view to its purification, and to its being re-animated with religious trust and reverence. We now see him as a Christian teacher of political morals, working out logically his own notion of the constructive or conservative prin- ciple in society. The fervid consecutiveness which in the Vrm- ciples of Human Knowledge applied Berkeley's conception of what external Existence means, is here not less conspicuous in unfolding his conception of the basis of Society, and of our duty as members of a social organism. Locke's two treatises on Government turned his attention to the subject, in its connection with the general principles of morals, which his Common-place Book shows that he had long been ruminating. In this Discourse^ Berkeley is a philosophical advocate of high Tory principles. In the supreme civil power he sees more than the mere creature of popular desires: it is not the result of an arbitrary compact among the governed. There is some- thing deeper and truer than this unhistorical fiction in the II.] Trinity College, Dublin. 49 heart of every Nation. There is a law of order and justice, which originates in the conception of the happiness of the living persons who constitute the universe, and belongs to the uncreated constitution of the Supreme^ while it is shared by his creatures. This conception, thus derived, forms with him the principle of moral obligation. Our obligations in particular cases are discovered by an induction of the tendencies of actions to pro- mote the general welfare of men; and, among the general rules so established, non-resistance to the ultimate depository of civil authority is, he argues, one of the chief. The fluctuating popular desire is not that depository ; nor is it necessarily to be found in the claims of an arbitrary monarch. The particular nature of the government and constitution in each nation is foreign to his inquiry. The thought which runs through his words is, that the supreme power in every society lies deeper than these accidents, and is something before which people and king alike should pause reverentially: it is the ordinance of God : Government is of divine right. If the intellectual philosophy of Berkeley when he was at Trinity College was a Theological Sensationalism, his moral and social phi- losophy was a Theological Utilitarianism — each in curious analogy with the other, and both the expressions of the same deeply religious spirit. The Discourse on Passive Obedience leaves room for plenty of casuistry about individual duty in revolutionary times. But it illustrates Berkeley's inclination to determine questions on broad grounds of reason and conscience, and not by local and ephemeral considerations. It points to a philosophical field above Toryism and Liberalism, where those superior to party on either side may meet. And it suggests one of Berkeley's own latest thoughts — ' Whatever the world thinks, he who hath not much meditated upon God, the human mind, and the summum honum^ may possibly make a thriving earthworm, but will most indubitably make a sorry patriot and a sorry statesman ^^.' These common-places on political morality gave rise to a notion that Berkeley was in the interest of the exiled Stuart family. Non-resistance and passive obedience were then asso- ciated with Jacobitism, and supported in Queen Anne's reign in Nonjurist tracts and pamphlets. Two years before he delivered '^ Siris, sect. 350. VOL. IV. E so Life and Letters of Berkeley, [CH. his common-places in the College Chapel at Dublin, Sacheverell had preached his notorious sermons at Derby and in St. Paul's. Sacheverell's trial had raised a hot controversy and turned out a Whig ministry. It is not very surprising that the Dublin sermons should in these circumstances have given rise to suspicion. The 'false accounts that were gone abroad' regarding their meaning were mentioned by him as a reason for publishing the Discourse. The publication does not seem to have put an end to the rumours. Years afterwards his political opinions were referred to by Lord Gal way as an objection to his claim for ecclesiastical promotion, and the sermons on Passive Obedience were vaguely mentioned in confirmation. But Berkeley could not be a mere party politician, and his loyalty to the House of Hanover was attested by Samuel Molyneux, who is said to have first introduced him to the Princess of Wales, and to have produced the Discourse^ as a proof that its author taught nothing disloyal. It kept him, however, for a while in the shade i^. ^^ The Berkeley Papers contain what seems to be a draft or sketch of a letter written bv Berkeley to a friend. It is entitled Thoughts on Alliances in War. Its tone is not that of the Jacobite party, about this time, on the subject of which it treats ; and while its poli- tical morality is lofty, its diplomatic tact is deficient. It does not appear who the friend was for whom it was intended. It seems to have been ■niitten, however, about 1712. It refers to the ' Union with Hanover ' as future ; and the question with which it deals was one discussed in the years which pre- ceded the Peace of Utrecht. The following are some passages : — 'Sir, I do not wonder that you or any true Englishman should be no less jealous for the honour than for the safety of his country, and offended at anything which has the face of baseness or treachery, however advan- tageous it may be thought to the Public; nor, by consequence, that you should scru- pulously inquire into the justice of a separate Peace, as being apprehensive the necessity of our affairs, together with the backwardness of the allies, may oblige our Ministry to enter upon some such measures. . . [Berkeley then, after deprecating the task of giving an opinion on a subject he is not acquainted with, and saying that he feels himself obliged to comply with the com- mands of his friend *, adds that he will give all the satisfaction he is able by laying down some general theorems and reasonings upon the sacredness of Treaties and Alliances, and considering when, or on what accounts they may be broken without guilt.] . . . I lay it down in the first place for a funda- mental axiom, that no Law of . . . ought to be violated either for the obtaining any advantage or [escaping any] inconvenience whatever. . . . From these principles it clearly follows that Public Faith ought not to be sacrificed to private regards, nor even to the most pressing wants of a whole People. The violation therefore of a compact with foreign nations can never be justified on any pretext of that kind. Hence one nation having solemnly entered into articles of alliance with another, in case they afterwards per- ceive it highly for their advantage to break these articles ; yet a breach upon that score must certainly be looked upon as unjust and dishonourable. Nor doth it alter the case that the Alliance having been made under a former Ministry is disliked and condemned by the succeeding. For though the admini- stration of affairs pass through several hands, yet the Prinre and the nation continue still the same ; every Ministry therefore is in duty He says this friend had an exact knowledge of our engagements and interests. He was therefore probably connected with the Ministrv. 11.] Trinity College, Dublin. 51 After this publication, Berkeley again becomes almost invisible for a time. He had been nominated a Sub-Lecturer in 1710^^, and was elected Junior Dean in November of that year, and again in bound to preserve sacred and entire the faith and honour of their Prince and country by standing firm to all alliances contracted under former Ministries. But with this dif- ference, that in case the evils attending such an alliance shall appear to be fortuitous, or such as, at the making of it, could not have been foreseen, then the conditions of that disadvantageous alliance ought to be fulfilled at the public charge ; whereas if the Treaty shall appear originally and in itself preju- dicial to the Public, then the fortunes of those ministers who made it ought to go to- wards defraying the expenses which, through rashness or treachery, they had engaged their country in. Hitherto I have proceeded on the sup- position that the foundations of the Alliance were just, or included nothing contrary to the laws of Nature and Religion. But in case several States enter into an agreement for commencing and carrying on war upon unjust motives, no sooner shall any of those States be satisfied of the injustice of the cause on which the alliance is grounded, but they may with honour look upon themselves as disengaged from it. For example, sup- pose a parcel of Popish Potentates shou'd, out of a pretence of doing right to the Pre- tender, engage in a war for placing him on the throne of Great Britain, and some one of them was afterwards convinced. . . . [Here the MS. is defective and almost illegible.] It is also to be esteemed an unwarrantable procedure in case divers Potentates enter iiito a confederate war against an adjacent S'.ate for no other reason but because they apprehended it may otherwise become too powerful, and consequently too formidable a neighbour. For examp'e, suppose the Dutch, jealous of that accession of strength to the British nation which will follow upon its union with Hanover, should engage them- selves or friends in a war in order to force us to alter our Succession ; we would, I pre- sume, think this unlawful, and that it was the duty of any one of the confederates, so soon as he became sensible of the injusiice of his cause, to cease from all hostilities, and (in case his allies were for continuing them) to enter into a separate peace with us. The truth of these positions is plain from the two principles at first laid down. Further, it cannot be denied that one party may, without consent of the rest, break off from an alliance in war originally founded on honourable motives, upon con- viction that the ends for which the war was begun are sufficiently answered ; although his allies, whether blinded by passion or find- ing their advantage in carrying on the war, should not concur with him in the same judgment. For it is no e:icuse for a man's acting against his conscience that he made a bargain to do so. You'll demand what must be thought in case it was a fundamental article of the alliance, that no one party should hearken to proposals of peace without con- sent of the rest. I answer that any such engagement is in itself absolutely void, for- asmuch as it is sinful, and what no Prince or State can lawfully enter into, it being in effect no less than binding themselves to the commission of murder, rapine, sacrilege, and of violence, so long as it shall seem good to . . . what else I beseech you is war ab- stracted from the necessity . . . but a com- plication of all these ' [MS. defective.] In a P.S. Berkeley adds — ' Another indis- putable case there is which absolves a party from fulfilling the conditions of any contract, namely, when those with whom the con- tract was made fail to perform their part of it. Lastly, in case two or more States, for their mutual security, enter into a league to deprive a neighbouring Prince of some part of his possessions and add them unto those of another in order to constitute a ballance of Power. Allowing the grounds whereon the war is founded to be just, yet if, during the progress of the war, the Prince whose territories were to be enlarged shall by some unexpected turn, grow far more great and powerful than he was at the making of the treaty, it should seem the afforesaid States are disengaged from their contract to each other, which, having been originally by all parties introduced and understood only as a means to obtain a ballance of Power, can never be of force to oblige them to act for a direct contrary purpose.' " Berkeley's nmie is last on the list of those nominated Sub-Lecturers, from which we may infer that he had to lecture the First Class, now called ' Junior Freshmen.' A principal part of his duty would be to expound Porphyry's Introduction, and to examine Students on the text, as well as to lecture his own pupils privately. The duties of Sub-Lecturers and Tutors were defined by Statute. E 2 52 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. November 171 1. Though all who have written about him seem unaware of it, he visited England in 1712, apparently for the first time. The College Registry records that in March of that year ' Mr. Berkeley's health and necessary business requiring his longer stay in England, the Vice-Provost and Fellows have thought fit to continue his leave of absence for two months longer.' In May, *■ Mr. Berkeley being still in England for the recovery of his health, his leave of absence is continued.' He must have returned before winter, for in November he was elected Junior Greek Lecturer, and the entries show that he borrowed a book from the Library ^^ in December ^^ Berkeley was a Tutor in Trinity College from 1707 to 1724, though only nominally after 1711 or 1712. According to Stock, Samuel Molyneux was one of his pupils. That this youth, who took his Bachelor's Degree in 1708, was one of his intimates, is proved by the Dedication of the Miscellanea Mathematica. But I do not find in the College Records that he was a pupil of Berkeley's, who seems to have had only five pupils while he was Tutor — three Fellow Commoners and two Sizars ^'^. Their names, with the dates of their entrance, are as follows: — Nov. 17, 1709, Thomas Bligh, F.C. ; May 29, 1710, David Bosquet, Siz. ; Jan. 18, 17 1 1, Arthur Dawson, F.C. ; June 29, 1711, Michael Tisdal, F.C. ; June 14, 1 7 14, Michael Wall, Siz. None of these names are known to fame, nor can we tell how Bligh and Bosquet, Dawson and Tisdal, long since forgotten, were affected by daily inter- course with one who was then producing thoughts which have since determined the course of European speculation. In 1 71 2, Berkeley had been for five years a Junior Fellow and '^ It is interesting to note the names of 1 71 2, Dec. Vossius, Be Historicis Lattnis. books borrowed by Berkeley from the Li- >" He is marked ' non-co.' on the Buttery brary in these years, recorded in the Loan Books from 1711 to 1721. This mark is Book : — not absolute proof of absence, for in those 1 707 A Treatise on Human Reason. days the Provost sometimes exerted his pre- 1709 Grotius, De Jure Belli et Pacts. rogative of giving Junior Fellows and 171 2, Jan. Philip de Comines. Scholars the money compensation for their Elemens de Ma/hematique. commons, even when they were resident in Quinctilian. College. But it is singular that Berkeley Hebrew Bible. should have been elected Junior Dean, when Cartesii Geometria. so marked, because a part of the Dean's Ludovici Grammatici Condones. duty is to dine in Hall. .ffischines, &c., Latine. i'' The Sizars were at that time nominated Barrow's Serrnons. by the Tutors. The last entry is no proof Hebrew Bible, Tom. III. that Berkeley was resident in College in .^schines, &c., trationes. •714- "■] Trinity College, Dublin, 53 Tutor, besides holding, during part of that time, the offices of Sub-Lecturer, Junior Greek Lecturer, and Junior Dean. His con- sequent duties were considerable, and besides, he occasionally officiated in the College Chapel. His academical emoluments, nominally small, are not to be measured by the present value of money. The salary of a Junior Fellow was then ten pounds, and of a Junior Dean eight pounds. As Sub-Lecturer he had eight pounds more. But, including his fees as Tutor, his emoluments probably did not exceed forty pounds a~year, a sum which may be translated into perhaps a hundred and forty when estimated by our standard. His private resources were, 1 should think, scanty, and his philosophical publications cannot have added much to them ^^. Some of Berkeley's time in 171 2 was given, we may surmise, to preparing the beautiful Dialogues in which, in the following year, he sought to recommend his new conception of sensible things to the literary world and to common readers, who might be repelled by the systematic form, and the unrelieved reasonings of the Principles of Human Knoiuledge. He was now to enter a wider world of life, with which the tranquil speculations of philosophy were perhaps less in harmony than the one described in this chapter. '* I am favoured by the Rev. Dr. Dickson, the learned Librarian, with the following note of Salaries in Trinity College, Dublin, ia 1676 and 1722 : — Augmenta- tions made July 19, 1722. £176 o o iS 6 8 500 12 00 1 5 o 46 13 4 Provost Senior Fellow Junior Fellow Native Scholar Other Scholar Catechist Salaries in 1676. £200 o o 30 o o 10 o o 300 ISO 16 8 16 20 Senior Dean Junior Dean Senior Lecturer Sub-Lecturer Bursar Auditor Librarian Kitchen allowance for each Fellow Kitchen allowance for each Scholar The annual fee paid by Fellow Commoners to the Tutor was £4. Sizars paid nothing. }8 15 3 II 4 12 30 23 7 6 8 o o 12 5 4 5 CHAPTER III. ENGLAND, FRANCE, AND ITALY. 1713— 172I. On an April Sunday, in 17 13, Berkeley appeared at the Court of Queen Anne in the company of Swift. The Journal to Stella^ that curious reve'ation of Swift's brilliant connection with the political and literary world of London from September 17 10 till June 1 7 13, contains the following entry :—' April 12, [1713] — I went to Court to-day on purpose to present Mr. Berkeley, one of our Fellows of Trinity College, to Lord Berkeley of Stratton. That Mr. Berkeley is a very ingenious man and great philosopher, and I have mentioned him to all the ministers, and have given them some of his writings, and I will favour him as much as I can. This, I think, I am bound to — in honour and conscience to use all my little credit towards helping forward men of worth in the world.' It is probable that before Swift left Ireland, in 1710, Berkeley was not unknown to him, though from. the way in which he is here mentioned one can hardly suppose that he had been a fre- quent visitor at Laracor. The origin of their acquaintance, which helped in several ways to shape Berkeley's course, can only be conjectured. Swift was a generous and steady friend, though his * severe sense' could, scarcely appreciate the peculiar merit of this 'great philosopher's' writings. Berkeley's 'Passive Obedi- ence,' and his ' duty of not resisting the supreme civil power,' however, were no unwelcome watchwords for the political friend and adviser of Oxford and Bolingbroke. Perhaps, too, the memory of long past days on the bank of the Nore, in the 'famous school' of Kilkenny, might have had its influence with Swift. At any London. 55 rate, he now took the lead in introducing the young Dublin Fellow to the great in letters and in rank. On the 1 6th of April, four days after Berkeley was presented at Court to his kinsman, Lord Berkeley of Stratton, his name again appears in Swift's diary. Swift had been visiting Lady Masham in the morning, and receiving her condolences on his approach- ing banishment to St. Patrick's^ the only reward the Tories could give him in return for his perversion and his pen. He was 'never more moved than to see so much friendship.' He would not stay with her that day, but ' went and dined with Dr. Ar- buthnot, and with Mr. Berkeley, one of your Fellows, whom I have recommended to the doctor, and to Lord Berkeley of Stratton.' And on the 21st of April, amid Swift's fluctuations of feeling about the deanery of St. Patrick's, he ' dined in an alehouse with Parnell and Berkeley;' not being in humour to go among the ministers, though Lord Dartmouth had invited him to dine with him, and Lord Treasurer was to be there. He had told them he would do so if he were ' out of suspense.' Swift was put out of suspense a few days after. Early in June he was at Chester, ' after a ride of six days from London, pre- paring to proceed to Holyhead and Dublin, condemned again to live in Ireland, but intending to return to London ' before winter.' His enforced residence afterwards in his native island left him free to apply his early principles of liberty, and his strong patriotic feeling, to rouse resentment against the wrongs of his country. The Journal to Stella^ in that spring of 1713, reveals in its minute details the London life into which Swift introduced Berkeley. Let us look through this faithful medium a little at what was then going on. A few days before Berkeley's name appears. Swift was '^at the rehearsal of Mr. Addison's play called Cato,' where his friend Dr. Ashe, Bishop of Clogher, was too, but 'privately in a gallery.' On the ist of April he records that 'Steele has begun a new daily paper called the Guardian ; they say good for nothing. I have not seen it.' In March, ' Parnell's poem was mightily esteemed, but poetry sells ill. Mr. Pope has published a fine poem called Windsor Forest.' On one day he walked to Chelsea to see Dr. Atterbury, then Dean of Christ Church; on another day he saw the Bishop of Clogher at 56 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. Court. Again, he dines with the Duke of Ormond and Sir Thomas Hanmer. Sir Thomas was the most considerable man in the House of Commons. He was, it seems, much out of humour with things, and thought the Peace was kept off too long, and was full of fears and doubts. People thought he was designed for Secretary of State, instead of Lord Dartmouth. An evening is spent with Dr. Pratt and the Bishop of Clogher, and they ' play at ombre for threepence.' On another day, while he is at dinner at Lord Treasurer's, with some of the Sixteen Brothers, a servant an- nounces that Lord Peterborough is at the door. Lord Treasurer and my Lord Bolingbroke go out to meet him, and bring him in. He is just returned from abroad, where he has been for above a year. When he sees Swift, he leaves the Duke of Ormond and the other lords, and runs and kisses him before he speaks to them. He is at least sixty, and has more spirits than any young fellow in England. After church, on another Sunday, Swift showed the Bishop of Clogher at Court ' who is who.' The Bishop, it seems, had taken his lodgings in town for the winter. There were in town abundance of people from Ireland — ' half a dozen Bishops at least.' 'Poor Master Ashe has a redness in his face; it is St. Anthony's fire.' Then he dines with Lady Oxford, and sits with Lord Treasurer, who shows him a letter from an unknown hand, relating to Dr. Peter Browne, Bishop of Cork, redommending him to a better bishopric somewhere else. But the Bishop of Cork remained where he was. Again, after a Sunday at Court — 'I make no figure at Court, where I affect to turn from a lord to the meanest of my acquaintance. I love to go there on Sundays to see the world. But, to say the truth, I am growing weary of it. I presented Pratt to Lord Treasurer, and young Molyneux would have had me present him too, but I directly answered him, I would not, unless he had business with him. He is the son of Mr. Molyneux of Ireland. His father wrote a book. I suppose you know it.' On another day he meets ' Mr. Addison and pastoral Philips on the Mall,' and takes a turn with them • but they both looked terribly dry and cold. ' A curse of party.' Then Dr. Cog- hill and he dine by invitation at Mrs. Van.'s. After a dinner somewhere else, the company parted early, but Freind, Prior, and Swift sat a while longer and ' reformed the State.' Again at Court, but nobody, it seems, invited him to dinner, except one or III.] London. 57 two whom he did not care to dine with. So he dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh. He had been living thus through months and years of political intrigue among the Sixteen Brothers, and of literary gossip at Button's, or now in the Scriblerus Club. It was some time in the wet and dreary spring of 1713^ that the philosophical enthusiast of Trinity College found his way from Dublin, probably through Holyhead and Chester, to London. We can only conjecture the motives of his journey. The College minute reports ill health. Perhaps, too, he wanted to see the world. He may have been moved by literary ambition ; or by the zeal of a philosophical missionary, bent on getting people to conceive the material universe according to his own new way of thinking about it. We have no record of his arrival, or how he looked at London, which was then speculating about the Peace of Utrecht, or admiring its new cathedral of St. Paul's. His arrival may have been a month or two before the April morning on which, in Swift's company, he made his appearance at the Court of Queen Anne. Before April came he was writing essays against the Free-thinkers, in the 'new paper called the Guardian^ and he seems already to have found his way into some of the free- thinking clubs as an observer. Steele commenced the Guardian on the 12th of March in that year, soon after the temporary cessation of the Spectator J and the new paper was abruptly dropped in a little more than six months. Berkeley's connection with it as a con- tributor seems to have extended from the 14th of March to the 5th of August, when he contributed fourteen essays. These essays are now contained for the first time in an edition of Berkeley's works. Probably the Junior Fellow of Trinity was not unwilling to earn bread by his pen, as well as to tell the world what was deep in his thoughts. Each essay brought him a guinea, and also a dinner from his countryman Steele, perhaps among the wits at Button's, 1 By report that spring in London was ' It is rainy again ; never saw the like ' a very wet one. Swift, among others, (April 6). 'It rains every day ' (April lo). records it. 'Terrible rain all day' (March And on July 20, Pope writes to Addison, 29). ' I have fires still, though April ' I am more joyed at your return than I is begun, against my old maxim ; but the should be at that of the sun, so much as I weather is wet and cold. I never saw wish for him in this melancholy wet season.' such a long run of ill weather in my life' (Aiken's Life of Addison, vol. II. p. 92.) (April 2). ' It rained all day ' (April 4). 58 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. or in his country cottage on Haverstock Hill. Berkeley, we are told, never spoke or thought highly of Steele's ability. But he regarded him as 'a man of uncommon good nature, and more witty in conversation than any person he had ever seen ■-•.■' About the time of Berkeley's arrival in London, Anthony Collins, a gentleman of good family in Essex, under forty years of age, had attracted the talk of the town, and roused the theo- logical world, by a Discourse of Free-thinking^ occasioned by the rise and groivth of a Sect called Free-thinkers^ which was published in Feb- ruary, 1713. Ten years before, Locke, then at Oates in Essex, was in affectionate correspondence with this Essex gentleman, in whom the venerable philosopher thought he found a candour and ingenuousness superior to almost any of his contemporaries. Soon after Locke's death^ Collins got involved in theological con- troversy. He supported Dodwell against Clarke, by reasonings which Swift has preserved for ridicule in Martinus Scriblerus. In 1709 he published a tract against priestcraft j and in the follow- ing year he attacked King, the Archbishop of Dublin, for his sermon on predestination and foreknowledge. And now, in this Discourse^ he boldly took for granted that all believers in supernatural revelation must be hostile to free inquiry. Berkeley may have met Collins in the course of this season in London. In the society of that time, Steele and Addison, and all who mixed freely with the wits and politicians, might be found in their private hours in familiar intercourse with persons who openly avowed that they had abandoned Christianity. Berkeley is reported to have said that, being present in one of the deistical clubs in the pretended character of a learner, he was informed that Collins had an- nounced himself as the discoverer of a demonstration against the existence of God '^. The exclusive claim to free inquiry made by the 'Free- thinkers ' roused the indignation of Berkeley. In those essays in the Guardian he appears as a free-thinking Anti-free-thinker. His simplicity and earnestness, as well as his subtle imagination, refined humour, and sarcasm, are seen in his contributions. The author of the Principles of Human Knowledge^ and of the Discourse of Passive Obedience appears in the new character of a ' Biograpbia Britannica, vol. III. — 'Ad- » Chandler's Life of Johnson, p. 57. denda and Corrigenda.' in.] London. 59 contributor to popular periodical literature, trying to describe the believer in God and immortality by contrasts with the un- believer in both. It was his first act in a controversy to which he long afterwards returned. Through Swift and Steele, Berkeley soon found his way among other men of Queen Anne's time. In this summer of 17 13, Pope was still living at Binfield, among the glades of Windsor, but he was no doubt to be found in the neighbourhood of St. James's, or in his favourite cofFee-house at Covent Garden. Berkeley and the young poet must have been soon brought together, and we find them in correspondence in the following winter. Swift had intro- duced him to his kinsman the Earl of Berkeley, and by the Earl he was sometime after introduced to Atterbury. The story of their meeting is well known "*. Atterbury, having heard much of Berkeley, wished to see him. Accordingly he was introduced to the Bishop by the Earl. After some time the other quitted the room, and when Lord Berkeley said to the Bishop, 'Does my cousin answer your lordship's expectations ? ' Atterbury, lifting up his hands in astonishment, replied, 'So much under- standing, so much knowledge, so much innocence, and such humility, I did not think had been the portion of any but angels till I saw this gentleman.' Berkeley now met the serene and cheerful Addison, as well as the warm and impulsive Steele, and the sensitive, fastidious poet of Binfield. Nor was he confined to poets. At the instance of Addison, a meeting, Stock says, was arranged with Clarke, the metaphysical divine, to discuss the reality of the existence of sensible things. Berkeley was believed to profess the monstrous paradox that sensible things do not exist at all ; and his philosophy, naturally, was becoming an object of ridicule to the wits 5. Great hopes were entertained of the issue of this meeting. But the parties separated without coming nearer than when they met; and Berkeley is reported to have complained that his anta- gonist, though he could not answer his arguments, had not the candour to acknowledge himself convinced. * See Hughes' Letters, vol. II. p. 2. Essay on Satire occasioned by the death of ^ So Brown, long after this — Mr. Pope (1. 224). By J. Brown, A.M. 'And coxcombs vanquish Berkeley with a grin.' 6o Life and Letters of Berkeley, [ch. In 1 7 13, Clarke was preaching, in the parish church of St. James's, Westminster, those discourses of clear and strong argumentative texture many volumes of which have descended to us in print. Nine years before, he had delivered, in the cathedral church of St. Paul, that famous Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of Godj with which Berkeley must have been acquainted, and which attracted the ablest thinkers of his time. In the autumn of 17 13, the Demonstration brought Clarke into contact with young Joseph Butler, afterwards author of the Analogy^ whose letters, with Clarke's rejoinders, form a correspondence unmatched in its kind in English philosophical literature. Perhaps on some Sunday, not long after his arrival in London, the Dublin Junior Fellow might have been found in the parish church of St. James's. We do not know when or where Clarke and Berkeley first met. The meeting, said to have been arranged by Addison, may have occurred in 17 13, or in either of the two following years. It cannot have been later, for Addison died in 1719, when Berkeley had been for years abroad. Among his other occasional associates in the summer of 17 13 were Arbuthnot, the London wit and Scotch doctor at the Court of Queen Anne, the poets Gay and Parnell, Dr. John Freind, the eminent English physician, and his brother Dr. Robert Freind, the learned head master of Westminster School. Matthew Prior, the poet and diplomatist, was most of this year at the Court of Versailles, or employed in negotiations about the Peace. But Thomas Prior of Dublin, the companion of Berkeley's boyish days at Kilkenny, and of his undergraduate years at Dublin, was in London in November, if not sooner. They may have come over together from Ireland, or the one may have preceded the other, and perhaps induced his friend to follow him. It was probably in the spring or summer of this year^ too, that a dinner occurred at Mrs. Vanhomrigh's house, which, recollected years after, strangely affected Berkeley's fortune. He may have been carried there by Swift, on one of those many occasions, some of which are recorded in the Diary for the entertainment of poor Stella. It was not merely as a subtle satirist of the Free-thinkers that Berkeley addressed the world through the press in the course of this year. He wanted to produce, in a form more suited to the \ III.] London. 6i wits and to the mass of mankind, the great thought contained in the Vrlnciples of Human Knowledge^ some of the minor applications of which may be found in his essays in the Guardian. This was attempted in his Dialogues hefween Hylas and FhilonouSj which are concerned with the metaphysical meaning of the material world. In the Preface to this charming work Berkeley describes his philosophy as intended ' to divert the busy mind of man from vain researches .... to conduct men back from paradoxes to Common Sense, in accordance with the design of Nature and Providence — that the end of speculation is practice, and the improvement and regulation of our lives and actions .... to counteract the pains that have been taken [by scholastic metaphysicians] to perplex the plainest things, with the consequent distrust of the senses, the doubts and scruples, the abstractions and refinements that occur in the very entrance of the sciences .... to lay down such Principles as, by an easy solu- tion of the perplexities of philosophers, together with their own native evidence, may at once recommend themselves for genuine to the mind, and rescue philosophy from the endless pursuits it is engaged in; which, with a plain demonstration of the Immediate Providence of an All-seeing God, should seem the readiest prepa- ration, as well as the strongest motive, to the study and practice of virtue.' * If the Principles,' he adds, ' which I endeavour to propagate are admitted for true, the consequences which I think evidently follow from them are, that Scepticism and Atheism will be utterly destroyed, many intricate points made plain, great difficulties solved, several useless parts of Science re- trenched, speculation referred to practice, and men reduced from paradoxes to common sense.' The spirit of the Berkeleian philo- sophy is nowhere more distinctly expressed than in these words. Probably, as I have already said, his last year at Dublin was given to preparation of these immortal Dialogues^ which, with little dramatic versatility, contain the most pleasing passages of fancy to be found in English metaphysical literature. It is not unlikely that a desire to publish them with good effect may have been a motive of his visit to London. I have not discovered the month in 17 13 in which the book appeared. We may conclude that it was after the Sunday in April when Berkeley was presented to the Lord Berkeley of Stratton, to whom it is dedicated. 62 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. It is difficult at this distance of time to ascertain the immediate influence upon philosophical opinion of this attempt to popularize the new conception of the material world, which is said to have made some influential converts in England, among others, Dr. Smallridge, the well-known Bishop of Bristol. But even the educated mind was not then ripe for the due appreciation of a doctrine so paradoxical in its sound. More than twenty years were to elapse before it found an intellectual audience in David Hume and other Scotchmen and Americans ^. The simple and transparent beauty of Berkeley's style is not less remarkable than the ingenuity of his reasonings. He emerged in provincial Ireland the most elegant writer of the English language for philosophical purposes who had then, or who has since, appeared, at a time too when Ireland, like Scotland, was in a state of provincial barbarism. The greatest master of nervous English prose then living was no doubt also an Irishman. But Swift had been in England, and was for years in the family of Sir William Temple, who brought English style to perfection, and was accustomed to employ language that is less antiquated at the present day than that of any of his contemporaries. The case of Berkeley is unique. In the same year in which the Dialogues were published at the Half Moon in St. Paurs Church-yard, a small volume, entitled Clavls Universalis^ or a Demo?tstration of the Non-existence and Impos- sibility of an External World^ written by Arthur Collier, Rector of Langford Magna, near Old Sarum, was printed by Robert Gosling, at the Mitre and Crown^ against St. Dunstan's Church in Fleet Street. The coincidence is among the most curious in the history of philosophy. There is no evidence that either author drew his thought from the other. Berkeley, at least, can- not have borrowed from Collier, for the Principles of Human Knoiv- ledge had been in circulation for three years when Collier pub- lished his Clavis. So far as the speculation of the English Rector agrees with that of the Dublin Fellow, the agreement may be refe:red to the common philosophical point of view at the time. The scientific world was preparing for that reconstruction of its conception of what sensible things and externality mean, which ^ In the Acta Eniditorum for August 1727 there is a short account of the Dialogues. III.] London. 63 has since clarified and simplified physical research. Collier, in his own way, was not wanting in force j but he expressed his acute thoughts in awkward English, with the pedantry of a school- man, and wanted the sentiment, and imagination, and constant recognition of the relation of speculation to human action, which in the course of time made the contemporary writings of Berke- ley an influence that has left its mark upon all later thought. The theory of sense symbolism, which connected Berkeley with the Baconian movement, and also with religion, is wanting in Collier, whose arid reasonings are divorced from the living in- terests of men. The starting-point of Berkeley was more in the current philosophy of Locke; Collier produced the meditative reasonings of a recluse student of Malebranche and the schoolmen. Collier too, like Butler and Berkeley, addressed Clarke, 'the metaphysical patriarch of his time,' as he is called by Sir James Mackintosh. A letter from Collier to Clarke, printed in Ben- son's Ufe of Collier J may interest the reader who wishes to com- pare his thoughts with those of Berkeley regarding the metaphysical meaning of a material world. The letter contains an allusion to the author of Fr'mciples of Human Knoivledge. It is much to be regretted that we have no extant letters from Clarke either to Berkeley or to Collier. And so Berkeley's first spring and summer in London passed away. In autumn we find him amidst other scenes. ' He had been introduced by Swift to Mordaunt, Earl of Peter- borough, then one of the most extraordinary characters in Europe, who a few years before had astonished the world by the rapid splendour of his movements in the war of the Succession in Spain, and since, by his restless versatility as a diplomatist. A scholar and a man of the world, an enemy to religion who nevertheless is said to have written sermons to rival christian preachers ; haughty, yet fond of popularity ; of frugal habits, and possessed of large estates, yet always to appearance poor and in debt ; the rival of Marlborough in war, but who, in none of his campaigns, brought solid advantages to his country; this eccentric peer con- densed in his own very varied personal experience much of the experience of his generation. We have his picture about this time 64 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. — a small well-shaped thin man, with a brisk look, endowed with a supernatural activity, and more than fifty years of age. In Hol- land, nearly a quarter of a century before, he formed an intimate friendship with Locke. Their correspondence proves the wit and keen intellect of Peterborough not less than their mutual regard''. Berkeley, with his eyes open to what was going on, was now brought in contact with this strange and contradictory character. Notwithstanding the distrust in his discretion, the Earl of Peter- borough was, in November 1713, appointed Ambassador Extraor- dinary to Victor Amodeus, King of Sicily, who had then obtained from Spain the crown of that island. At Swift's recommendation, he took Berkeley with him, as his chaplain and secretary. The Ambassador remained a fortnight in Paris on his way, and went from thence to Toulon, parting from his chaplain, who entered Italy by another route. At Toulon, he took ship for Genoa and Leghorn, where he again left his chaplain and the greater part of his retinue, embarking in a Maltese brig for Sicily with only two servants. Having remained there for a time incognito, he returned to Genoa, and awaited the arrival from England of a yacht in which his equipage was embarked. When it came, he returned to Sicily and made his appearance in state. He was recalled from his embassy in August 17 14 — one of the many changes which followed the death of the Queen — after a mission unattended with any more advantageous result, according to his biographer, than that of relieving the ministry from the embarrassment either of his opposition or his support. Ten months in France and Italy with Lord Peterborough must have been life in a new world to the subtle analyst who had so lately been introduced to the wits of London. It does not seem, however, after all, that he saw much of this inscrutable personage. But it was to Berkeley the beginning of a career of wandering, ' Peterborough was afterwards commemorated by Pope, among the other companions of his Tusculum — ' There, my retreat the best companions grace, Chiefs out of war, and statesmen out of place. There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl The feast of reason and the flow of soul : And he whose lightning pierced the Iberian lines. Now forms my quincunx, and now ranks my vines. Or tames the genius of the stubborn plain. Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain.' Imitations of Horace, Sat. I. 125. III.] France, 65 which, with little interruption, lasted for many years, during which philosophy and the printing press were in the background. He left the thought, of which he had now delivered himself to the world, to do its work, and, with the ardour of manly youth, directed his inquiring eye to nature and human life on the Con- tinent of Europe. By the statutes of Trinity College, Dublin, a Junior Fellow can obtain leave of absence for sixty-three days with the consent of the Provost. For a longer absence, a dispensation must be ob- tained from the Crown. The following Queen's Letter to the Provost and Fellows, which I have obtained from the Register, gives the reasons for which a leave of absence for two years was now granted to Berkeley : — Anne R. Trusty and well beloved, we greet you well. Whereas by ye statutes of that our College, the Fellows thereof are not permitted to be absent from thence above sixty-three days in any one year without our Royal Dispensation in that behalf. And whereas humble suit hath been made unto us in behalf of our trusty and well beloved George Berkeley, one of ye Junior Fellows of that our College, that we would give him leave to travel and remain abroad during y'^ space of two years, for y® recovery of his health and his improvement in learning ; we being graciously pleased to condescend thereunto, have thought fit to dispense with ye said Statutes of residence, and all other Statutes, on behalf of y® said George Berkeley. And our will and pleasure is that yc said George Berkeley, during ye aforesaid time of two years, have, receive, and enjoy all profits, priviledges, and advantages to his Fellowship belonging, and that such his absence shall in no wise prejudice him in y" right and pre- tensions to his said Fellowship, whereof we have thought fit hereby to give you notice, that due obedience be paid to our pleasure herein imme- diately. And so we bid you farewell. Given at our Castle at Windsor, ye ninth day of September 17 13, in the twelfth year of our reign. By Her Majesty's command, BOLINGBROKE. Berkeley's arrangements with Lord Peterborough were probably made in August. His leave to travel and live abroad for two years was recorded by the College on the 6th of November. We have already had a revelation of Berkeley's intellectual VOL. IV. F 66 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cH. activity, in his own words — some of them published by him, and others not written for publication. Now, for the first time, we •have an account, also in his own words, of some of his move- ments from place to place. The earliest of his letters that has been preserved is addressed to Thomas Prior. It was written at Paris a few days after his departure from England. He left London, it seems, on the 1 3th, and arrived there on the 20th of November. This is his account of the journey, and of his first impressions of France : — Paris, November 25, 17 13, N.S. Dear Tom, From London to Calais I came in the company of a Flamand, a Spaniard, a Frenchman, and three English servants of my Lord. The three gentlemen being of those diflferent nations obliged me to speak the French language (which is now familiar), and gave me the opportunity of seeing much of the world in a little compass. After a very remark- able escape from rocks and banks of sand, and darkness and storm, and the hazards that attend rash and ignorant seamen, we arrived at Calais in a vessel which, returning the next day, was cast away in the harbour in open daylight, (as I think I already told you). From Calais, Colonel du Hamel left it to my choice either to go with him by post to Paris, or come after in the stage-coach. I chose the latter; and, on November i, O. S, embarked in the stage-coach with a company that were all perfect strangers to me. There were two Scotch, and one English gentleman. One of the former happened to be the author* of the Voyage to St. Kilda, and the Account of the Western Isles. We were good company on the road; and that day se'ennight came to Paris. I have been since taken up in viewing churches, convents, palaces, colleges, &c., which are very numerous and magnificent in this town. The splendour and riches of these things surpasses belief; but it were endless to descend to particulars. I was present at a disputation in the Sorbonne, which indeed had much of the French fire in it. I saw the Irish and the English colleges. Li the latter I saw, inclosed in a coffin, the body of the late king James ^. Bits of the coffin, and of the cloth that * Murdoch Martin, a native of the Isle of 169B, and his Descriptio?i of the Western Skye, born about 1665. He travelled much, Islands of Scotland in 1 703. The latter and was induced by his friends in the Royal contains a curious account of the Second Society to explore the Western Islands of Sight. Martin is referred to in Johnson's Scotland. Some of his observations ap- Journey to the Western Islands. peared in the Transactions of the Society. ^ James II, who died in 1701, at St. Ger- His Voyage to St. Kilda was published in mains. III.] France. 67 hangs the room, have been cut away for relics, he being esteemed a ■great saint by the people. The day after I came to town, I dined at the ambassador of Sicily's ; and this day with Mr. Prior ^^. I snatched an opportunity to mention you to him, and do your character justice. To- morrow I intend to visit Father Malebranche ", and discourse him on certain points. I have some reasons to decline speaking of the country or villages that I saw as I came along. My Lord is just now arrived, and tells me he has an opportunity of sending my letters to my friends to-morrow morning, w^hich occasions my writing this. My humble service to Sir John Rawdon ^-, Mrs. Rawdon, Mrs. Kempsy, and all other friends. My Lord thinks he shall stay a fortnight here. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant, G. BERKELEY. I must give you the trouble of putting the inclosed in the penny-post. To Mr. Thomas Prior, Pall Mall Coffee House. A month was spent in Paris. Another fortnight carried Berkeley, and two companions. Colonel du Hamel and Mr. Oglethorpe ^■'^, by the route into Italy which they preferred, through Savoy. They crossed Mount Cenis on New Yearns Day, in 17 14. Here is Berkeley's narrative of the formidable journey, in a letter to Prior from Turin : — Turin, Jan. d, N.S. 1713-4. Dear Tom, At Lyons, where 1 was about eight days, it was left to my choice whether I would go from thence to Toulon, and there embark for Genoa, or else pass through Savoy, cross the Alps, and so through Italy. 1* Matthew Prior, the diplomatist and Court of Great Britain t6 the king of Sicily, poet. His origin was obscure, and I trace See Nichol's Lit. Anec. vol. II. p. 19. But no connection with Thomas Prior. Berkeley, in the following letter, calls his ^' This is the only allusion by Berkeley companion 'Adjutant-General of the Queen's to personal intercourse with Malebranche. forces,' which, at this time, James Ogle- 1^ Father of the first Earl of Moira. He thorpe could hardly have been. His brother married, in 171 7, a daughter of Sir Richard Theophilus (who about 1714 retired to Levinge, Bart , Speaker of the Irish House Sicily) was, in the opinion of Mr. Wright of Commons. (a biographer of the General), the Mr. Ogle- '' It has been asserted and denied that this thorpe mentioned by Berkeley. The Ame- was James Oglethorpe (afterwards General), rican biographer of James Oglethorpe sug- the philanthropist, and founder of Georgia, in gests that this supposed companionship with America. General James Oglethorpe was Berkeley may have afforded opportunity for born in Westminster in 16S9, and entered concerting philanthropic plans, the effects of the army as ensign (according to his which were afterwards apparent in the lite latest biographer) in 1 710. In 1714, he of each. James Oglethorpe died in 1785. is said to have been in the suite of the In his old age he was a companion of Earl of Peterborough, Ambassador from the .Tohnson and Boswell. F 2 68 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. I chose the latter route, though I was obHged to ride post, in company of Colonel du Hamel and Mr. Oglethorpe, Adjutant-General of the Queen's forces, who were sent with a letter from my Lord to the King's mother at Turin. The first day we rode from Lyons to Chambery, the capital of Savoy, which is reckoned sixty miles. The Lionnois and Dauphin^ were very well ; but Savoy was a perpetual chain of rocks and mountains, almost impassible for ice and snow. And yet I rode post through it, and came off with only four falls ; from which I received no other damage than the breaking my sword, my watch, and my snuff-box. On New Year's Day we passed Mount Cenis, one of the most difficult and formidable parts of the Alps which is ever passed over by mortal men. We were carried in open chairs by men used to scale these rocks and precipices, which in this season are more slippery and dangerous than at other times, and at the best are high, craggy, and steep enough to cause the heart of the most valiant man to melt within him. My life often depended on a single step. No one will think that I exaggerate, who considers what it is to pass the Alps on New Year's Day. But I shall leave particulars to be described by the fire-side. We have been now five days here, and in two or three more design to set forward towards Genoa, where we are to join my Lord, who em- barked at Toulon. I am now hardened against wind and weather, earth and sea, frost and snow ; can gallop all day long, and sleep but three or four hours at night. The court here is polite and splendid, the city beautiful, the churches and colleges magnificent, but not much learning stirring among them. However, all orders of people, clergy and laity, are wonderfully civil, and everywhere a man finds his account in being an Englishman, that character alone being sufficient to gain respect. My service to all friends, particularly to Sir John and Mrs. Rawdon, and Mrs. Kempsy. It is my advice that they do not pass the Alps in their way to Sicily. I am, dear Tom, yours, &c., G. B. At the end of six weeks more we find Berkeley at Leghorn, where he lived for three months, while Lord Peterborough was in Sicily. The circumstances are thus reported to Prior, in a letter which contains a reference to the condition of France, in the last year of Lewis XIV : — Dear Tom, Mrs. Rawdon is too thin, and Sir John too fat, to agree with the English climate. I advise them to make haste and transport themselves UL^ Italy. 69 into this warm clear air. Your best way is to come through France; but make no long stay there ; for the air is too cold, and there are instances enough of poverty and distress to spoil the mirth of any one who feels the sufferings of his fellow-creatures. I would prescribe you two or three operas at Paris, and as many days amusement at Versailles. My next recipe shall be, to ride post from Paris to Toulon, and there to embark for Genoa ; for I would by no means have you shaken to pieces, as I was, riding post over the rocks of Savoy, or put out of humour by the most horrible precipices of Mount Cenis, that part of the Alps which divides Piedmont from Savoy. I shall not anticipate your pleasure by any description of Italy or France ; only with regard to the latter, I can- not help observing, that the Jacobites have little to hope, and others little to fear, from that reduced nation. The king indeed looks as he neither wanted meat nor drink, and his palaces are in good repair ; but through- out the land there is a different face of things. I staid about a month at Paris, eight days at Lyons, eleven at Turin, three weeks at Genoa ; and am now to be above a fortnight with my Lord's secretary (an Italian) and some others of his retinue, my Lord having gone aboard a Maltese vessel from hence to Sicily, with a couple of servants. He designs to stay there incognito a few days, and then return hither, having put off his public entry till the yacht with his equipage arrives. I have wrote to you several times before by post. In answer to all my letters, I desire you to send me one great one, close writ, and filled on all sides, containing a particular account of all transactions in London and Dublin. Inclose it in a cover to my Lord Ambassador, and that again in another cover to Mr. Hare at my Lord Bolingbroke's office. If you have a mind to travel only in the map, here is a list of all the places where I lodged since my leaving England, in their natural order : Calais, Boulogne, Montreuil, Abbeville, Poix, Beauvais, Paris, Melun, Ville Neufe le Roi, Vermonton, Saulieu, Chalons, Ma9on, Lyons, Cham- bery, St. Jean de Maurienne, Lanebourg, Susa, Turin, Alexandria, Campo Maro, Genoa, Lestri di Levante, Lerici, Leghorne. My humble service to Sir John, Mrs. Rawdon and Mrs. Kempsy, Mr. Digby, Mr. French, &c. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant, G. BERKELEY. Leghorn, Feb. 26, N.S. 17 13-4. An amusing incident of this Leghorn residence was authenti- cated long after Berkeley's death, in the Gentlemav' s Magazine ^^. Basil Kennet, the well-known author of the Roman Antiquities., a '♦ Vol. XLvr. p. 569. JO Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. brother of Bishop Kennet, and a friend of Addison, happened to be chaplain at the English factory at Leghorn duiing Berkeley's stay. He had been sent there in 170(5, and maintained a difficult position with moral courage. Leghorn was the only place in Italy at which the English service was then tolerated by the Government, a favour obtained from the Grand Duke at the particular instance of Queen Anne. Kennet asked Berkeley to officiate for him one Sunday. The day after, a procession of priests in surplices, with sundry formalities, entered the room in which he was sitting, and without taking any notice of its wondering occupant, marched round it, uttering certain prayers. His fears at once suggested a visit from the Inquisition. As soon as the priests were gone, he ventured cautiously to ask the cause of the sudden invasion, and was amused by the information that this was the season appointed by the Church for blessing the houses of Catholics, that they might be relieved of rats and other domestic vermin. Berkeley's imagined offence on the Sunday in question was not his only one. He preached several times in the factory chapel at Leghorn. In May he addressed a more famous correspondent than Prior. The following complimentary letter was sent to Pope, on occasion of the 'Rape of the Lock^ an enlarged edition of which, with the author's name, had appeared in the spring of the year : — Leghorn, May i, 1714. As I take ingratitude to be a greater crime than impertinence, I chose rather to run the risk of being thought guilty of the latter, than not to return you my thanks for the very agreeable entertainment you just now gave me. I have accidentally met with your Rape of the Lock here, having never seen it before ^^ Style, painting, judgment, spirit, I had already admired in your other writings ; but in this I am charmed with the magic of your invention, with all those images, allusions, and in- explicable beauties which you raise so surprisingly, and at the same time so naturally, out of a trifle. And yet I cannot say that I was more pleased with the reading of it, than I am with the pretext it gives me to renew in your thoughts the remembrance of one who values no happiness beyond the friendship of men of wit, learning, and good nature. 1* The poem was at first published (anonymously) in 171 2. III.] Italy, 71 I remember to have heard you mention some half formed design of coming to Italy. What might we not expect from a muse that sings so well in the bleak climate of England, if she felt the same warm sun, and breathed the same air with Virgil and Horace. There is here an incredible number of poets that have all the inclina- tion, but want the genius, or perhaps the art of the ancients. Some among them, who understand English, begin to relish our authors ; and I am informed that at Florence they have translated Milton into Italian verse"'. If one who knows so well how to write like the old Latin poets came among them, it would probably be a means to retrieve them from their cold trivial conceits, to an imitation of their predecessors. As merchants, antiquaries, men of pleasure, &c., have all different views in travelling, I know not whether it might not be worth a poet's while to travel, in order to store his mind with strong images of nature. Green fields and groves, flowery meadows and purling streams, are nowhere in such perfection as in England ; but if you would know light- some days, warm suns, and blue skies, you must come to Italy ; and to enable a man to describe rocks and precipices, it is absolutely necessary that he pass the Alps. You will easily perceive that it is self interest makes me so fond of giving advice to one who has no need of it. If you came into these parts, I should fly to see you. I am here (by the favour of my good friend the Dean of St. Patrick's) in quality of chaplain to the Earl of Peterborough, who about three months since left the greatest part of his family in this town. God knows how long we shall stay here. I am yours &c. . The death of the Queen on the ist of August 1714 suddenly transformed the whole aspect of things in England. It probably shortened Berkeley's stay on the Continent. On the arrival of George I from Hanover, the Tory ministry was dissolved, and Oxford and Bolingbroke were impeached. Peterborough was re- called. He returned indignant at a want of confidence with which he now believed that he had been treated throughout the negotia- tions which preceded the Peace of Utrecht. Bolingbroke, who had at once withdrawn into France to avoid the storm in England, met the ex-ambassador, lingering on his homeward journey, on '^ Apparently this was a translation of lished. See Todd's Milton, vol. IV. p. 535 Paradise Lost by the Abbe Salvini, which (ed. 1852). Rolli's version, published at was seen in manuscript at Florence by the London in 1 7,^5. 's the earliest Italian trans- younger Richardson, but has not been pub- lation of Milton known to be in print. 72 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. the road between Paris and Calais. Peterborough, it is said, took the opportunity of showing his resentment, by passing him without exchanging a word. Berkeley returned to London in August J 7 14. It is difficult to follow his movements for some time after this. We have a glimpse of him in illness in one of Arbuthnot's chatty letters to Swift : — *Poor philosopher Berkeley has now the idea of health, which was very hard to produce in him ; for he had an idea of a strange fever upon him, so strong that it was very hard to destroy it by intro- ducing a contrary one.' This letter is dated October 19, 17 14. It is hardly necessary to refer to its equivocal use of the term ^ idea.' The death of the Queen destroyed Berkeley's chance of Church preferment through Swift or Lord Peterborough. The Tories were now out of power. It is not unlikely, however, that an effort was made soon after his return to London to find a place for him in the Irish establishment. The suspicion of Jacobitism, raised by his common-places on Passive Obedience ^ is said to have now met him again. He was presented, it seems, to the Prince and Princess of Wales by Samuel Molyneux, who was secretary to the Prince : he was then recommended by the Princess to Lord Galway for promotion in the Church. Lord Galway, having heard of the sermons, alleged a rumour of Jacobitism. Mr. Molyneux produced the Discourse^ and proved that what Berkeley maintained was, the divine right of Government, and not the divine right of the Stewart Kings ". We are not told when this incident occurred. It might have been in 1715, when the Duke of Grafton and Lord Galway were Lords Justices in Ireland, and the Prince of Wales Chancellor of the University of Dublin. I have not found, how- ever, that Berkeley visited Ireland in that or the preceding year. The following scrap, an extract preserved from a letter from Berkeley to Pope, can hardly have been written in London : — July 7, 1715. .... Some days ago three or four gentlemen and myself, exerting that right which all the readers pretend to over authors, sat in judgment upon the two new translations of the first Iliad '*. Without partiality to my " The incident is mentioned by Stock. other version referred to is Tickell's, whose '* The first volume of Pope's Homer was translation of the First Book of the Iliad issued to subscribers in June 17 15. The appeared in the same year. It was the oc- III.] Englaiid and France. 73 countrymen, I assure you they all gave the preference where it was due ; being unanimously of opinion that yours was equally just to the sense with Mr. 's, and without comparison, more easy, more poetical, and more sublime. But I will say no more on such a threadbare subject as your late performance at this time It was probably in 17 15 that Dr. Ashe, the Bishop of Clogher, Swift's friend, by whom Berkeley was admitted to holy orders, asked him to accompany his only son, St. George Ashe, who was heir to a considerable property, in a tour on the Continent, as his travelling tutor. The Register of Trinity College informs us that, 'on the 19th of November 1715, leave of absence was granted for two years longer to George Berkeley, Junior Fellow, to travel and remain abroad.' Before November we hear of him in France. Father Malebranche died at Paris on the 13th of October 1715, in his 77th year. If we are to believe the common story of his last illness, Berkeley and young Ashe must have been there in the autumn of that year, for Berkeley, according to the story, was the 'occasional cause^ of the death of Malebranche. He had proposed to visit the aged philosopher of France nearly two years before, when he was in Paris with Lord Peterborough^^. Here is the account given by Stock of a meeting during this second visit to Paris r — 'Having now [1715 .''] more leisure than when he first passed through that city [November 1713J, he took care to pay his respects to his illustrious rival in metaphysical sagacity^". He found the ingenious Father in a cell, cooking, in a small pipkin, a medicine for a disorder with which he was then troubled — an inflammation on the lungs. The conversation naturally turned on Berkeley's system, of which he had received some knowledge from a translation just published^^. But the issue of the debate proved tragical to poor Malebranche. In the heat of the disputation, he raised his voice so high, and gave way so freely to the natural impetuosity of a man of parts and a Frenchman, that he brought on himself a violent increase of his disorder, which carried him off a few days after ^^,' casion of Pope's quarrel with Addison, the French of any of Berkeley's own writings so latter having given the preference to Tickell's early as 1 71 5. version. ''■''■ See also Biog. Brit. art. ' Berkeley.' and ^' Cf. letter to Prior, p. 67. Advocat's Diet. Hist. Fort. There is a ver- *" This almost implies that he did not see sion of the story by De Quincey, in his Malebranche in 1713. quaint essay, Murder considered as one of ^' I have no trace of a traiiblation into the Fine Arts. 74 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. That the most subtle metaphysician in the British Islands should encounter the profound and eloquent French mystic in such circumstances, and with an issue so tragical, is one of those incidents upon which imagination likes to exercise itself. It is unfortunate that we have no authentic account of the meeting, especially one by Berkeley himself, nor any authority that I can find, except the biographers, for its having occurred at all. The biographers of Malebranche do not refer to any visit of Berkeley to the Oratoire^'. They do not even name him. We can however conjecture what some of the points in dis- pute might have been. Malebranche nowhere criticises Berkeley. But we know many of Berkeley's objections to Malebranche. In his published, and in his hitherto unpublished writings, he is fond of insisting upon differences betw^een their respective doctrines. The individualities of men, and the imperfection of language, make it impossible, indeed, for one independent thinker to enter perfectly into the thinking of another. Speculative per- sons, in their conferences and controversies, are inevitably at cross purposes ; and such collisions, though they sometimes aggravate the apparent antagonism, are found in the end, in the case of those who are eclectically disposed, to diminish it. But there was more room than usual for irrelevant reasoning in a dispute between an eloquent mystic, who had been accustomed during a long life to speculate under the inspiration of Des Cartes, reinforced by St. Augustin and Plato, and a young ardent, thinker, who valued thought mainly as a means of regulating human actions, and whose origin- ality and ingenuity had been at first exercised within the atmosphere of Locke. Locke himself professed not to be able to understand Malebranche 2*, and Berkeley says nearly as much, when he alludes to the favourite formula of contemporary French philosophy — that things are thought by men in the Ideas of God. But enough of real difference remained for more than a verbal dispute. The Cartesian antithesis of extended being and thinking being, mutually opposed, and incapable of being brought into the relation of sense-knowledge except through the medium of represent affve ^^ The learned Abbe Blampignon, author to give me any Hght or confirmation, of the "Etude sttr Malebranche, d'apres des -'* See Locke's Examination of Male- Dommenis Manuscripts stiivie d'une Cor- branche, passim, respondance inedite (Paris, 1862), is unable III.] France. 75 ideas of some sort, adopted by Malebraiiche, could not be fully reconciled with Berkeley's account of perception. Malebranche, assuming this antithesis, tried to determine what the ideal medium is, through which the antithesis is converted into a synthesis in knowledge. The representations of things which the soul receives in sense cannot, he argued, be passive impressions pro- duced by the external thing itself, as the Peripatetics supposed ; they cannot be effects of the internal activity of the human mind that is conscious of them ; nor can they have been created with us and in us ; and, further, external things cannot be perceived by men in the way they are conscious of their own sensations and passions. He concluded, accordingly, that what we are said to know in sense is really known in and through God's relation to us as finite spirits. God contains us and the universe in Him- self, and all external things are discernible in their true meaning in His intellectual acts. So far as the sensible world is an in- telligible world, God is the sensible world. Supreme Mind is the place of finite spirits, in the same way as Space is the place of sensible things • and our spirits receive from this relation to the One Spirit all their true thoughts about things. Our volitions as v/ell as our ideas of sensible things emanate from Him in whom we live and move and have our being. Sense-perception is no excep- tion to the law. In perceiving external things in the senses, we are participating, more or less adequately, in the Thoughts of God. In this participation the antithesis of finite thought and extended thing disappears 2\ Berkeley does not require this Deus ex machlna. With him there is no knot to be cut. There is not the external thing and the representative idea. The very sense-idea itself of which we are percipient Is the external thing, so far as there is an external thing at all. Sense-ideas are with Berkeley real and presenta- tive; not representative images. Being themselves the external reality, they do not require the hypothesis of an ideal medium. Divine or other, to help us to know them. 'I am certain,' he says, ' of that which Malebranche seems to doubt, viz. the existence of bodies.'' The supposed meaning of Scrip- ture or the Church, and the bare possibility that Matter may '■^5 See Malebrauche's Recherche de la Vcrke, liv. III. ch. 2 — 6, and his Entretiens sttr la Mi'taphydque, passim. 76 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. exist, are the only proofs of its actual existence which Male- branche gives, unless we are to add what he calls our general propensity to believe. The supernatural revelation of the exist- ence of unperceived Matter Berkeley denies ; the supposed exist- ence of a propensity to believe in a Matter of which our senses cannot inform us is, he argues, an absurd assumption. He does not understand how any one can be inclined to believe what is absolutely inconceivable — what can have no meaning : for. Matter that is out of all relation to any real sensation is inconceivable. With him, therefore, the ideas or phenomena of sense are the real things : real, but also ideas or ideal ; — because their existence for all practical purposes is dependent on a mind being percipient of them. They are the human archetypes or presentations, of which our imaginings are the representations. ' They exist,' he would say, ' independently of my individual mind, since I feel that I am not their author or regulator. It is out of my power, as it is out of the power of any finite spirit, to change at pleasure those real ideas or sensible things. All the sense-experience in the universe is the effect of a constant Divine energy. Sense-ideas exist always in the Divine Will, but they are occasionally mani- fested in the sense-experience of human minds, according to the divinely established natural order.' In a word, Berkeley's account of our perception of sensible things would be that it is presentative, and doubt about what is presented is of course impossible. With Malebranche, as understood by Berkeley, unperceived Matter serves no purpose, even if it can be proved ; the reality of the things of sense is sufficiently recognised without it : the Divine Ideas are the sensible world, as far as we can have anything to do with it. Why then, Berkeley might ask, should we assume its absolute or neutral existence at all ? A dispute in the Oratoire, in the autumn of 1715, might thus, on Berkeley's side, have turned on the real and (relatively to imagina- tion) archetypal character of our sense-ideas — on whether sense- perception is presentative, or only representative of real things. But Malebranche might have pressed him on another side. Berkeley's minima sens'ibilia are not things, for 'things' are aggregates oi minima sensibilia ,• and a knowledge of sensible things is a knowledge of the mutual relations of the units in the aggregation, and also of the mutual relations of the physical substances formed by these aggre- III.] France. 77 gates. All perception of sensible things contains, in germ at least, a scientific knowledge of sensible things. Perceptions differ from science in degree and not in kind. In their very first beginnings they involve scientific principle or universality. We cannot even perceive without universalizing : we cannot apprehend sensible phenomena without more or less distinctly comprehending them in the unity of a principle. There can be no absolute divorce between the phenomenal and the rational. Now, what is the envelope of notion in which every, even the obscurest, act of perception tends to include its sense-phenomena ? Is this envelope in its essence Divine ? If so, may it not be said, that every inter- pretation of sensible phenomena, every construction of a sensible thing, in all the degrees of such interpretation or construction, from the ordinary employment of the senses to the highest elabora- tions of science, involves a notional or rational element, in which we participate with God ; so that we may truly be said to be sen- sibly percipient of things only in Divine Ideas or Notions? The imperfection of Berkeley's doctrine of abstraction and of the relation between thought and sensations, and his imperfect com- prehension of Malebranche, might have appeared here. The rumour of this conference in the cell of the Oratoire is the only account we have of Berkeley's doings from the time of his departure from England with young Ashe, probably in the autumn of 1715^ till we have his own journal of his daily proceedings at Rome in January 1717, now for the first time published, in another part of this volume. The year 1716 is a blank in our records of Berkeley's life -^. Swift wrote about him to Lord Carteret, some years after this, as having travelled over 'most parts of Europe;' and it has been said that he once visited Cairo ^7. It is very unlikely that he was ever out of Europe, though it is possible he may have been in Switzer- land or the Empire — and perhaps in 17 16. Curiously, in contrast with the darkness of the year before, 171 7 ^^ In an editorial note to Swift's Parody p. 738, ed. 1843.) This is not supported of Provost Pratt's speech to the Prince by evidence, and is hardly consistent with of Wales, delivered in April 1 7 16, it the known circumstances, or with Swift's is said — ' The Provost, it appears, was statement afterwards, that Berkeley was attended by the Rev. Dr. Howard, and absent from Ireland travelling for ' above Mr. George Berkeley (afterwards Bishop of seven years.' Cloyne), both of them Fellows of Trinity -'' Pinkerton's Literary Corrcspon .ence. College, Dublin.' (Swift's Worhs, vol. II. vol. II. p. 41. 78 Life and Letters of Berkeley, [ch. is now the one year of his life in which we are best able to follow his daily movements, and with the light thrown upon them by his own pen. The dim vision of Berkeley and Malebranche in Paris, in September or October 1715, is followed by a distinct picture of Berkeley at Rome, examining the manuscripts in the Library of the Vatican on the 7th of January 1717, and having an interview with Cardinal Gualtieri on the following morning, along with young Ashe. We see him, with his great ardour of observation, among the pictures, statues, and architecture of new and old Rome, from day to day in the remainder of that month, surrounded by companions of whose connection with him we can tell nothing — 'Mr, Domville,' ' Mr. Hardy,^ ' Dr. Chenion,' and others. The rough, unpolished memoranda of his journal, sometimes written in pencil, perhaps in his carriage, have the freshness which more elaborate writing wants and the matters which attracted his attention, with his remarks upon them, illustrate his observant habits and extensive reading, and the singularity of his genius. The publication of these notes of part of his Italian tour, places Berkeley in 171 7 before our eyes ; and, after groping for traces of him so long in the dim twilio"ht one feels like the traveller who sees in the disentombed remains of Herculaneum, with almost the vividness of reality, the departed life of ancient Italy. Berkeley sent a letter about this time to his friend Dr. Arbuthnot. It consists of observations on an eruption from Vesuvius which he witnessed when he was at Naples in April 1717. The physical cause of volcanic action was, as we shall see, a subject of specu- lation with him afterwards. The letter was communicated by Arbuthnot to the Royal Society, and is to be found in the Vhilosophlcal Transactions for October 1717. It is as follows : — Extract of a letter from Mr. Edw. [George] Berkeley, giving several cu- rious Observations and Remarks on the eruption of Fire and Smoke from Mount Vesuvio. Communicated by John Arbuthnot, M.D., R.S.S. : — April 17, 17 17. With much difficulty I reached the top of INIount Vesuvius, in which I saw a vast aperture full of smoke, which hindered the seeing its depth and figure. I heard within that horrid gulf certain odd sounds, which seemed to proceed from the belly of the mountain ; a sort of murmuring, sighing, throbbing, churning, dashing (as it were) of waves, and between whiles a noise, like that of thunder or cannon, which was constantlv ill.] Italy. 79 attended with a clattering like that of tiles falling from the tops of houses on the streets. Sometimes, as the wind changed, the smoke grew thinner, discovering a very ruddy flame, and the jaws of the pan or crater streaked with red and several shades of yellow. After an hour's stay, the smoke, being moved by the wind, gave us short and partial prospects of the great hollow, in the flat bottom of which I could discern two furnaces almost contiguous: that on the left, seeming about three yards in diameter, glowed with red flame, and threw up red-hot stones with a hideous noise, which, as they fell back, caused the fore-mentioned clattering. May 8, in the morning, I ascended to the top of Vesuvius a second time, and found a different face of things. The smoke ascend- ing upright gave a full prospect of the crater, which, as I could judge, is about a mile in circumference, and an hundred yards deep. A conical mount had been formed since my last visit, in the middle of the bottom : this mount, I could see, was made of the stones thrown up and fallen back again into the crater. In this new hill remained the two mounts or furnaces already mentioned : that on our left was in the vertex of the hill which it had formed round it, and raged more violently than before, throwing up, every three or four minutes, with a dreadful bellowing, a vast number of red-hot stones, sometimes in appearance above a thousand, and at least three thousand feet higher than my head as I stood upon the brink : but, there being little or no wind, they fell back perpendicularly into the crater, increasing the conical hill. The other mouth to the right was lower in the side of the same new-formed hill. I could discern it to be filled with red-hot liquid matter, like that in the furnace of a glass- house, which raged and wrought as the waves of the sea, causing a short abrupt noise like what may be imagined to proceed from a sea of quick- silver dashing among uneven rocks. This stuff would sometimes spew over and run down the convex side of the conical hill ; and appearing at first red-hot, it changed colour, and hardened as it cooled, shewing the first rudiments of an eruption, or, if I may say so, an eruption in minia- ture. Had the wind driven in our faces, we had been in no small danger of stifling by the sulphureous smoke, or being knocked on the head by lumps of molten minerals, which we saw had sometimes fallen on the brink of the crater, upon those shots from the gulf at the bottom. But, as the wind was favourable, I had an opportunity to survey this odd scene for above an hour and a half together ; during which it was very observable that all the volleys of smoke, flame, and burning stones, came only out of the hole to our left, while the liquid stuff" in the other mouth wrought and overflowed, as hath been already described. June 5th, after an horrid noise, the mountain was seen at Naples to spew a little out of 8o Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. the crater. The same conthiued the 6th. The 7th, nothing was ob- served till within two hours of night, when it began a hideous bellowing, which continued all that night and the next day till noon, causing the windows, and, as some affirm, the very houses in Naples to shake. From that time it spewed vast quantities of molten stuff to the south, which streamed down the mountain like a great pot boiling over. This evening I returned from a voyage through Apulia, and was surprised, passing by the north side of the mountain, to see a great quantity of ruddy smoke lie along a huge tract of sky over the river of molten stuff, which was itself out of sight. The 9th, Vesuvius raged less violently : that night we saw from Naples a column of fire shoot between whiles out of its summit. The loth, when we thought all would have been over, the mountain grew very outrageous again, roaring and groaning most dreadfully. You cannot form a juster idea of this noise in the most violent fits of it, than by imagining a mixed sound made up of the raging of a tempest, the murmur of a troubled sea, and the roaring of thunder and artillery, confused all together. It was very terrible as we heard it in the further end of Naples, at the distance of above twelve miles : this moved my curiosity to approach the mountain. Three or four of us got into a boat, and were set ashore at Torre del Greco, a town situate at the foot of Vesuvius to the south-west, whence we rode four or five miles before we came to the burning river, which was about midnight. The roaring of the volcano grew exceeding loud and horrible as we ap- proached. I observed a mixture of colours in the cloud over the crater, green, yellow, red, and blue ; there was likewise a ruddy dismal light in the air over that tract of land where the burning river flowed ; ashes continually showered on us all the way from the sea-coast : all which circumstances, set off and augmented by the horror and silence of the night, made a scene the most uncommon and astonishing I ever saw, which grew still more extraordinary as we came nearer the stream. Imagine a vast torrent of liquid fire rolling from the top down the side of the mountain, and with irresistible fury bearing down and consuming vines, olives, fig-trees, houses ; in a word, every thing that stood in its way. This mighty flood divided into different channels, according to the inequalities of the mountain : the largest stream seemed half a mile broad at least, and five miles long. The nature and consistence of these burning torrents hath been described with so much exactness and truth by Borellus in his Latin treatise of Mount ^tna, that I need say nothing of it. I walked so far before my companions up the mountain, along the side of the river of fire, that I was obliged to retire in great haste, the sulphureous stream having surprised me, and almost taken in.] Italy. 8i away my breath. During our return, which was about three o'clock in the morning, we constantly heard the murmur and groaning of the mountain, which between whiles would burst out into louder peals, throwing up huge spouts of fire and burning stones, which falling down again, resembled the stars in our rockets. Sometimes I observed two, at others three, distinct columns of flames ; and sometimes one vast one that seemed to fill the whole crater. These burning columns and the fiery stones seemed to be shot looo feet perpendicular above the summit of the volcano. The nth, at night, I observed it, from a terrass in Naples^ to throw up incessantly a vast body of fire, and great stones to a surprising height. The 1 2th, in the morning, it darkened the sun with ashes and smoke, causing a sort of eclipse. Horrid bellowings, this and the foregoing day, were heard at Naples, whither part of the ashes also reached. At night I observed it throwing up flame, as on the nth. On the 13th, the wind changing, we saw a pillar of black smoke shot upright to a prodigious height. At night I observed the mount cast up fire as before, though not so distinctly, because of the smoke. The 14th, a thick black cloud hid the mountain from Naples. The 15th, in the morning, the court and walls of our house in Naples were covered with ashes. The i6th, the smoke was driven by a westerly wind from the town to the opposite side of the mountain. The 17 th, the smoke appeared much diminished, fat and greasy. The i8th, the whole ap- pearance ended; the mountain remaining perfectly quiet without any visible smoke or flame. A gentleman of my acquaintance, whose window looked towards Vesuvius, assured me that he observed several flashes, as it were of lightning, issue out of the mouth of the volcano. It is not worth while to trouble you with the conjectures I have formed concerning the cause of these phsenomena, from what I observed in the Lacus Amsatidi, the Sol/atara, &c., as well as in Mount Vesuvius. One thing I may venture to say, that I saw the fluid matter rise out of the centre of the bottom of the crater, out of the very middle of the moun- tain, contrary to what Borellus imagines ; whose method of explaining the eruption of a volcano by an inflexed syphon and the rules of hydro- statics, is likewise inconsistent with the torrent's flowing down from the very vertex of the mountain. I have not seen the crater since the eruption, but design to visit it again before I leave Naples. I doubt there is nothing in this worth shewing the Society : as to that, you will use your discretion, E. (it should be G.) BERKELEY. Berkeley was at Naples in April. For May and June, we have VOL. IV. G 82 Life mid Letters of Berkeley. [cH. the notes of his excursions in the south of Italy, now published in his Journal. In the progress of his tour, his curiosity led him into several unfrequented places in Apulia and Calabria. The tarantula dance, and the singular phenomena of tarantism, here engaged his attention. The tarantula is a large spider, found near Taranto, and in other parts of Italy, especially in Apulia and Calabria. Its bite, followed sometimes by frightful pathological symptoms, was said to be cured by music, which moved the patient to dance, often for hours. It has been said that some persons not cured by music, have danced till they died. This mania is supposed to originate in an animal poison, which produces an epidemic nervous disease that affects the imagination. Besides sympathy with music, a passion for red and green colours, and an aversion for blue and black, are among the symptoms of tarantism. This was a subject which, as might be expected, he was fond of investigating j and it is often referred to in his journals, which contain some curious evidence in confirmation of the alleged disease and its cure -^. We have some notes of his journal in September 1717. In October he was again at Naples, where he wrote the following interesting letter to Pope: — Naples, Oct. 22, N. S. 17 17. I HAVE long had it in my thoughts to trouble you with a letter, but was discouraged for want of something that I could think worth sending fifteen hundred miles. Italy is such an exhausted subject that, I dare say, you 'd easily forgive my saying nothing of it ; and the imagination of a poet is a thing so nice and delicate that it is no easy matter to find out images capable of giving pleasure to one of the few, who (in an\- age) have come up to that character. I am nevertheless lately returned from an island where I passed three or four months ; which, were it set out in its true colours, might, methinks, amuse you agreeably enough for a minute or two. The island Inarime is an epitome of the whole earth, containing within the compass of eighteen miles, a wonderful variety of hills, vales, ragged rocks, fruitful plains, and barren mountains, all thrown together in a most romantic confusion. The air is, in the hottest '" See various entries in May and Jime The discharge of the innammatory fluid. 1717. He sent Dr. Friend an account of produced by dancing, was Dr. Mead's ex- the nervous dance caused by the tarantula. planation of the physical cause of the cure. III.] Italy. 83 season, constantly refreshed by cool breezes from the sea. The vales produce excellent wheat and Indian corn, but are mostly covered with vineyards intermixed with fruit-trees. Besides the common kinds, as cherries, apricots, peaches, &c., they produce oranges, limes, almonds, pomegranates, figs, water-melons, and many other fruits unknown to our climates, which lie every where open to the passenger. The hills are the greater part covered to the top with vines, some with chesnut groves, and others with thickets of myrtle and lentiscus. The fields in the northern side are divided by hedgerows of myrtle. Several fountains and rivulets add to the beauty of this landscape, which is likewise set off by the variety of some barren spots and naked rocks. But that which crowns the scene, is a large mountain rising out of the middle of the island, (once a terrible volcano, by the ancients called Mons Epomeus). Its lower parts are adorned with vines and other fruits ; the middle affords pasture to flocks of goats and sheep; and the top is a sandy pointed rock, from which you have the finest prospect in the world, surveying at one view, besides several pleasant islands lying at your feet, a tract of Italy about three hundred miles in length, from the promontory of Antium to the Cape of Palinurus : the greater part of which hath been sung by Homer and Virgil, as making a considerable part of the travels and adventures of their two heroes. The islands Caprea, Prochyta, and Parthenope, together with Cajeta, Cumae, Monte Miseno, the habitations of Circe, the Syrens, and the Lsestrigones, the bay of Naples, the promontary of Minerva, and the whole Campagnia felice, make but a part of this noble landscape ; which would demand an imagination as warm and numbers as flowing as your own, to describe it. The inhabitants of this delicious isle, as they are without riches and honours, so are they without the vices and follies that attend them ; and were they but as much strangers to revenge as they are to avarice and ambition, they might in fact answer the poetical notions of the golden age. But they have got, as an alloy to their happiness, an ill habit of murdering one another on slight offences. We had an instance of this the second night after our arrival, a youth of eighteen being shot dead by our door : and yet by the sole secret of minding our own business, we found a means of living securely among those dangerous people. Would you know how we pass the time at Naples ? Our chief enter- tainment is the devotion of our neighbours. Besides the gaiety of their churches (where folks go to see what they call una hella Devolmte, i. e. a sort of religious opera), they make fireworks almost every week out of devotion ; the streets are often hung with arras out of devotion ; and (what is still more strange) the ladies invite gentlemen to their houses, G 2 84 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. and treat them with music and sweetmeats, out of devotion : in a word, were it not for this devotion of its inhabitants, Naples would have little else to recommend it beside the air and situation. Learning is in no very thriving state here, as indeed nowhere else in Italy ; however, among many pretenders, some men of taste are to be met with. A friend of mine told me not long since that, being to visit Salvini^** at Florence, he found him reading your Homer: he liked the notes extremely, and could find no other fault with the version, but that he thought it approached too near a paraphrase ; which shews him not to be sufficiently acquainted with our language. I wish you health to go on with that noble work ; and when you have that, I need not wish you success. You will do me the justice to believe, that whatever relates to your welfare is sincerely wished by your, &c. From an allusion elsew^here ^^, he seems to have visited the Grotto del Cane, near Naples. References to his Italian experi- ence and friends, and to the ancient and modern literature of Italy, may be found in various places in his writings. In August 1717 we have a sign of an intention to prolong the tour, in a renewal of his leave from Trinity College, 'to travel and remain abroad.' The Queen^s letter was on this occasion signed by Joseph Addison, then Secretary of State. In the pre- ceding month he had been elected a Senior Fellow in his absence, when Dr. Baldwin, the Vice-Provost, was made Provost. We have some of the notes of his movements in Italy in 1718. He appears to have been also in Sicily in that year, when it is said that he travelled over the island on foot^^. Sicily attracted his attention very much. He collected materials for a natural history of the island, which, with his journal there, were unfortunately lost in the passage back to Naples. The rare union of subtle and original speculation, with extraordinary inquisitiveness about the minute phenomena of nature and industrial life, so conspicuous in Berkeley, deepen our regret for the loss of documents which might have further illustrated his disposition, though they probably con- ""^ Cf. note 16, p. 71. Salvini was fond having felt an earthquake at Messina, 'in of English literature, and translated Addison's I 718.' The pedestrian journey is mentioned Cato, among other works. by Dr. Blackwell in his Memoirs of the Court ^ Cf. Siris, sect. 144. of Augustus, vol. II. pp. 277 — 278. See also " In a letter, in 1745, he mentions Warto/t on Pope, vol. II. p. 261. 111.] France. 85 tained few scientific facts that are not now common -place, or novel inferences that modern science would be ready to accept. Bishop Ashe, the father of his pupil, died on the 27th of February 1718, but it does not appear that this affected Berkeley's move- ments ^2^ Berkeley is invisible during 1719. The Register of Trinity College, records that on the 5th of June 1719, a renewed leave of absence for two years was granted to him. He was, we may assume, still in Italy. Before he left it, he met for the first time Martin Benson, afterwards Bishop of Gloucester, who was for nearly thirty years one of his most loved friends. Benson was then travelling in Italy, as Lord Pomfret's chaplain. Berkeley returned through France on his way back to England, apparently in 1720. One incident in the homeward journey shows that he con- tinued to unfold the philosophy which absorbed his thoughts some ten years before, at Trinity College, and at the commence- ment of his wanderings in France and Italy. He set out on his travels immediately after he had published the Three Dialogues on the nature of the material world. He was about to end them when he published a Latin work. Be Motu^ which is actually an essay on Power and Causation. According to the earlier treatise, ideas of sense, in the first place, and at last Divine Ideas, are the archetypes of our knowledge ; according to the later. Divine and other voluntary activity is the one efficient cause of motion in the world of the senses. The Be Motu is an application to sensible changes and causation of one phase of Berkeley's implied Principle ; in the same way as the Btalogues are an application of the same Principle, in another phase, to sensible qualities. The former was intended for the scientifically initiated, and was written in Latin. The Btalogues were for the multitude, and were written in graceful English. The philosophy of physical science was considered in the Be Motu, which also recommended a distribution of the sciences. It shows more learned research than his earlier writings, ^^ Young Ashe, Berkeley's pupil, died in 1 72 1. S6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. This Latin disquisition was prepared at Lyons— one of Berke- ley's resting-places, we may conjecture, on his way home. The subject had been proposed in 1720 by the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris. The essay may have been presented when he arrived there. Unfortunately, in this case, as in that of the interview with Malebranche, documentary evidence which might supply inter- esting details is wanting. I am indebted to M. Alfred Maury, and to the Abbe Rabbe, for researches made at my request among the manuscript remains of that learned Society, which even in Berkeley's time could boast of some of the most eminent names in Europe. Many of the papers, especially the Memoirs, disap- peared, it seems, at the Revolution. The record that remains of the proceedings about the year 1720 is very meagre. The collection of pieces which carried off the prizes of the Academy commences, however, in that year. The prize for 1720 was con- ferred on M. Crousaz (afterwards author of the well-known work on Logic, and Professor of Philosophy at Lausanne), for the Discours sur la Nature.^ le Frinctpe et la Communication du Mowvement ^^. The second prize was awarded to M. Massy. Berkeley's name is not mentioned. His failure in this competition (if indeed his disser- tation was actually presented for competition) need not surprise us, when we consider the characteristic boldness with which, in his De MotUj he subverts received notions of causation, and makes war on ontological theories then in great strength in France. To represent mechanics as a science of divinely constituted signs, not of proper causes — to maintain that God is the Mover in the sensible universe — and to resolve space (so far as it has any positive existence) into relations of our concrete sensations — thus denying that it has necessary uncreated existence — was too foreign to the then established conceptions of a conclave of mathema- ticians and natural philosophers to find favour in their eyes. The vigorous, but rather commonplace, good sense of Crousaz, un- distinguished by original speculative ability, was more adapted to the circumstances. After an absence of about five years, Berkeley returned to England. The precise date does not appear, but it may have ^' Crousaz (1663—1749) was. nearly sixty years old when this Discourse was written. III.] England. 87 been towards the end of 1720. It is not likely that he had then any intention of soon returning to Dublin, as his leave of absence was renewed, for the fourth time, on the 24th of June 1721. He found London and all England in the agitation and misery consequent upon the failure of the South Sea Scheme. This occa- sioned one of his most characteristic productions as an author. He now addressed himself for the first time publicly to questions of social economy. If I am not mistaken, the deep impression which the English catastrophe of 1720 made upon him was connected with the project of social idealism which, as we shall see, filled and determined his life in its middle period. The conduct and failure of this South Sea Scheme was one of several symptoms of a dangerous declension in the tone of public morals in England. On credible report, it seems that the state of society, at least in London, soon after the accession of the House of Hanover, was hardly less corrupt than in the period which followed the Restoration, while it wanted the literary and scien- tific brilliancy which shed lustre on the reign of Charles II. Political corruption and contempt of religion were common among the wealthy and fashionable. The South Sea proposals raised ex- travagant expectations of a secular millennium. The 'growth of atheism, profaneness, and immorality,' was the formula among Bishops and other ecclesiastics ; and the language was adopted by leading members in both Houses of Parliament. This great commercial enterprise brought latent evils to a visible crisis, and disease in the body politic could not be concealed. It revealed a morbid eagerness to share in the possible pro- fits of hazardous speculation, intense and wide-spread to an extent that England had never before seen. Trusting to the greed for gain, and pushing credit to its utmost extent, the Com- pany, in the spring of 1720, undertook the responsibility of the National Debt, at that time amounting to above thirty millions sterling. The proposal was accepted by both Houses of Parlia- ment, by large majorities, in the month of April, against the remonstrances of Walpole. The Company's stock rose to 330 in the course of that month. In May it reached 550, and in June 890. It attained its maximum of 1000 in the beginning 88 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. of August, when the Chairman and principal Directors sold out. An unprecedented panic followed. The shares fell rapidly. A collapse of social credit was imminent. Parliament was hastily summoned in November. A financial adjustment was at last made, and credit slowly returned with the new year. Berkeley found himself in this national turmoil. He was shocked by the tone of social morality, which so appallingly greeted him on his return. Probably his active imagination and en- thusiastic temperament exaggerated the symptoms. We know more about these things now : commercial speculation was then a novelty in the nation. His ardent thoughts found vent in the Essay towards preventing the Ruin of Great Britain^ which was published in London in 1721^^. The Essay is the lamentation of an ardent social idealist over the effete civilisation of England and the Old World. We are undone, is the spirit of his language, and lost to all sense of our true interest. If we are to be saved at all, it must be by the persons who compose society becoming individually industrious, frugal, public spirited, and religious. This, and not any royal road, is the way to safety, if there is any way at all. Sumptuary laws, he thought, might do something. Public amusements might be regu- lated. Masquerades might be prohibited. The drama, which was a school of morals and good sense to the ancient world, and to England in a former generation, might perhaps be reformed. The fine arts might be made, as in other countries, to inspire the com- munity with great thoughts and generous feelings. But till selfish- ness and sensuality were superseded in individuals by public spirit and religious love and reverence, mere legislation appeared to him hopeless. In the South Sea affair he saw, not the root of the evil, but merely one of many external symptoms, resulting from those tendencies to social dissolution, which for a generation had been sapping the strength of society in Western Europe, and espe- cially in these islands. Though this tract is but a fragment in Berkeley's miscellaneous writings, it should have an important place in a study of the ^* Cf. Swift's verses on the South Sea and his health, and retired to Hampstead in Project. Several of Berkeley's set were in- 1722, where he was restored by the care of volved in South Sea speculation ; among Arbuthnot. others, Gay the poet, who lost his fortune III.] Englmid. 89 growth of his character and social conceptions. ' Let us be industrious, frugal, and religious, if we are to be saved at all,' is its advice. * There is little hope of our becoming any of these,' is its prediction. It is the Cassandra wail of a sorrowful prophet, preparing to shake the dust from his feet, and to transfer his eye of hope to other regions, and to a less deliberately corrupted society. The summer of 1721 found Berkeley still in England. His travels had added to his social charms, and he found ready admis- sion to the best society in London. The London of 1721 was of course changed from the London of 17 15. Addison had passed away in 1719, and Matthew Prior in 1721. Swift was in Dublin, and Steele was broken in health and fortune. But Pope was at Twickenham, Arbuthnot was in town, and Atterbury was at his deanery in Westminster or among the elms at Bromley. Clarke, as formerly, was preaching sermons in the parish church of St. James's, and Sherlock was Master of the Temple. One likes to linger looking at them all. The following letter from Pope to Berkeley '■'''> is without a sufficient date. Perhaps it belongs to the spring of 1721. At any rate, it illustrates his friendly relations with the poet, and with the 'turbulent' Atterbury, who had 'exhausted hyperbole' in his praise. Sunday. Dear Sir, My Lord Bishop ^^ was very much concerned at missing you yesterday ; he desired me to engage you and myself to dine with him this day, but I was unluckily pre-engaged. And (upon my telling him I should carry you out of town to-morrow, and hoped to keep you till the end of the week) he has desired that we will not fail to dine with him next Sunday, when he will have no other company. I write this to intreat that you will provide yourself of linen and other necessaries sufficient for the week ; for, as I take you to be almost the only friend I have that is above the little vanities of the town, I expect ^' See Letters, ttc , including the Corre- ^^ Atterbury, who was banished in 1722; spondence of John Hughes, Esq., vol. II. but much of his correspondence with Pope p. I. was about this time. Cf. p. 59- 90 Life and Letters oj Berkeley. [cH. you may be able to renounce it for one week, and to make trial how you like my Tusculum, because I assure you it is no less yours, and hope you will use it as your own country villa in the ensuing season. I am, faithfully yours, A. POPE. It was about this time that Berkeley became familiar with persons whose intimacy and correspondence in later years were among the consolations of his advancing life. His friendship with Martin Benson, who was afterwards Bishop of Gloucester, and with Seeker, v/ho was afterwards successively Bishop of Bristol and Bishop of Oxford, and who ended a sagacious old age on the archi- episcopal throne at Lambeth, probably dates from 1721. Rundle, afterwards bishop of Derry, was an intimate of all the three. They are conjoined in Pope's well-known lines ^7 — ' Even in a Bishop I can spy desert ; Seeker is decent, Rundle has a heart : Manners with candour are to Benson given, To Berkeley every virtue under heaven.' Benson, as already mentioned, he met in Italy. Benson and Seeker became intimate in Paris in 1720, and both returned to England early in the following year. Seeker was ordained in 1722, and he mentions ^s that a short time before his ordi- nation he became acquainted with ' Dr. Clarke of St. James's, and with Berkeley afterwards Bishop of Cloyne.' Seeker and Butler were trained together in the Dissenting Academy at Tewkesbury, where Butler wrote the letters to Clarke which Seeker carried to the post-office at Gloucester. Butler, too, was now in London, delivering, at the Rolls Chapel in Chancery Lane, those profound moral discourses, so full of penetrating practical wisdom, which have formed an era in the history of ethical specu- lation in England, and have been studied by successive genera- tions of young moral philosophers. Berkeley was thus again brought into connection with Clarke, and met with the grave and weighty moral preacher at the Rolls — the two most notable English philosophical thinkers of the time. 3' Epilogue to the Satires, Dial. II. 70 permission to examine which I am indebted (published in I 738). to the kindness of the Archbishop of Cau- •■'*' In his MSS. preserved at Lambeth, for terbury. III.] England. g i It may have been during this stay in England that he met the Earl of Pembroke ''", to whom, more than ten years before, he had dedicated his Frinciples of Human Knowledge. The Earl was the friend of Swift; and in the latter part of his life he was the friend of Berkeley, who was a welcome visitor at his magnificent seat at Wilton. It was at this time, too, that he was introduced by Pope to Boyle, Earl of Burlington and Cork, cele- brated as the architectural nobleman, to whose professional taste so many good buildings in London and in the country are due — who designed Burlington House in Piccadilly, and who repaired St. Paul's in Covent Garden, the design of Inigo Jones — ' Who plants like Bathurst, or who builds like Boyle ? ' The name of Boyle is illustrious in the history of human pro- gress, the architectural Earl of Burlington inherited the ancestral love of science and of art. Berkeley's kindred taste and skill, fostered in Italy, was a bond between them. According to Warton *'^, he gained the patronage and friendship of this noble- man ' not only by his true politeness and the peculiar charms of his conversation, which was exquisite, but by his profound and perfect skill in architecture ; an art which he had very particularly studied in Italy, when he went abroad with Mr. Ashe, son of the Bishop of Clogher, and where, with an insatiable and philosophic attention, he surveyed every object of interest.' By the Earl of Burlington, Berkeley was recommended to Charles, second Duke of Grafton. In August 1721, the Duke was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. Berkeley went in his suite as one of his chaplains, and returned once more to the Irish capital. ^ Thomas, eighth Earl of Pembroke, the Ireland. He succeeded his brother Philip in friend of Locke, who dedicated his Essay to 1683, and died in 1733. him. He held high offices in England and " -Essa>'0« Po/)e, vol. H. p. 260; also p. 235, CHAPTER IV. IRELAND AND ENGLAND. ACADEMICO-PHILOSOPHICAL ENTHUSIASM ABOUT AMERICA. 1721 — 1728. Berkeley was now in his thirty-seventh year. Without pre- ferment in the Church, and with leave of absence from his College, he had been a wanderer out of Ireland for more than eight years. He now returned for a time to the scenes of his youth, soon to leave them again. A new ideal was about to kindle and sustain an enthusiasm which shaped his course in several following years. At an age when ordinary men try to have their places settled in the routine of the social system^ we find him a knight-errant of academic life and religious civi- lisation in America, ready to sacrifice the intellectual refinement and conventional dignities of the Old World in which he had grown into manhood. Berkeley's return to Dublin seems to have been sudden. On the 24th of June 1721, his leave of absence from College, as we have seen, was prolonged for two years. Yet about two months afterwards we find him in Ireland, which there is no evidence that he had visited since he left it in the spring of 1713. Berkeley's place of residence in JJ2), and the two following years, has hitherto been doubtful and disputed. In the Gentleman's Magazine for December 1776, it is denied that Berkeley 'ever went to Ireland as Chaplain to the Duke of Grafton, or any other Lord Lieutenant.' That there is no ground for the denial is proved by the following letter^, hitherto unpublished, and now printed according to the original : — * For this valuable letter I am indebted is not given, but, from internal evidence, to Mr. Malcomson, of Carlow, who now there can be no doubt that it was writ- possesses the original manuscript. The ten in 1 72 1. It is addressed, 'For Robert heraldic Berkeley seal is used. The year Nelson, Esq., at Berkeley House in St. John's I Dublin. 93 From y' Court of Ireland, October 6, [17 21]. I THANKE you for your kind letter, Deare Brother Nelson, though you and ye postmaster did not agree in y*^ date, ther being 20 days differ- ence. This hath puzled me a little as to y® time of your housekeeping ; but I hope you keepe your old quarters, and are now settled at St. James to your content. I have bin a fortnight in ye Castle : but excepting a little difference in ye hangings of my chamber, and its being seated upon ye first story, I find Jack Hafe and George Berkeley are Brother Chaplains, and equally considered. We both rise at 6 o'clock, in our waiting week, to pray with ye family. At 1 1 we give his Grace solemne Prayers, and at 9 after supper the bell rings againe. Besides ourselves, there is another Chaplaine, who not living in ye house, we are faine to rise for him and supply his turne in ye morning. I have ye honour to sit at ye lower end of my L'^^ Letters of Berkeley. £ch. lately from Caldwell, who wrote to me in an affair in which it will not be in my power to do him any service. I answered his letter, and men- tioned somewhat about Bermuda, with an overture for his being Fellow there. I desire you would discourse with him as from yourself on that subject, and let me know what your thoughts are of his disposition towards engaging in that design. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate friend and humble servant, GEOR. BERKELEY. London, Feb. 6, 1725-6. Dear Tom, I HAVE wrote to you on several points to which I have had no answer. The bill indeed of fifty pounds I have received ; but the answer to other points you postponed for a few posts. It is not yet come to hand, and I long to see it. I shall nevertheless not repeat now what I have so often insisted on, but refer you to my former letters, which I hope are not forgotten, and that I shall be convinced they are not in a post or two. In your last you mention your design of coming to London this summer. I must entreat you to let me know by the first opportunity -whether you persist in that design, and in what month you propose to execute it, and as nearly as possible the very time. Pray fail not in this ; I have particular reasons for desiring it. There is one point that will not admit of any delay ; I mean the set- ting my Deanery to farm. I told you that Dr. Ward had informed my brother that Col. M'Casland (who hath his hands full of other business) cared not to be any farther concerned in it. I must desire you, without loss of time, to inform yourself whether this be so, and to let me know what instrument I must send to you to empower you to set it. This by all means I would be informed of the next post, that it may be set either to the same persons who held it last, or else to Mr. Bolton, or some other person of sufficient credit and substance and good reputation. I do not doubt your setting it to the best advantage; only there is one thing which I desire you to insist on, viz. that instead of the first of April and the first of June, the days of payment for the current year, be the first of December and the first of February, that so I may have the money against my voyage to Bermuda, which possibly may not be till this time twelvemonth. Whatever trouble you are at in this affair, I shall acknow- ledge in the proper manner, and shew myself thankful for it. I thought I should be able to have gone to Ireland, and transacted this affair myself IV.] Letters from England. 1 25 I had even once thought I should be able to have set out for Bermuda this season ; but his Majesty's long stay abroad, the late meeting of par- liament, and the present posture of foreign affairs, taking up the thoughts both of ministers and parliament, have postponed the settling of certain lands in St. Christopher's on our College, so as to render the said thoughts abortive. I have now my hands full of that business, and hope to see it soon settled to my wish. In the mean time, my attendance on this business renders it impossible for me to mind my private affairs. Your assistance, therefore, in them, will not only be a kind service to me, but also to the public weal of our College ; which would very much suffer if I were obliged to leave this kingdom before I saw an endowment settled on it. For this reason I must depend upon you. So hoping to hear from you upon this article by the first post, I conclude, dear Tom, yours affectionately, GEOR. BERKELEY. London, March 15, 1725-6. I need not tell you the time for setting my Deanery to farm is now so nigh that it is necessary something be done out of hand. Dear Tom, Last Saturday I sent you the instrument impowering you to set my Deanery. It is at present my opinion that matter had better be deferred till the Charter of St. Paul's College hath got through the House of Commons, who are now considering it. In ten days at farthest I hope to let you know the event hereof; which, as it possibly may affect some circumstance in the farming my said Deanery, is the occasion of giving you this trouble for the present, when I am in the greatest hurry of business I ever knew in my life ; and have only time to add that I am yours, G. B. April 19, 1726. Dear Tom, After six weeks' struggle against an earnest opposition from different interests and motives, I have yesterday carried my point just as I desired in the House of Commons, by an extraordinary majority, none having the confidence to speak against it, and not above two giving their nega- tive ; which was done in so low a voice as if they themselves were ashamed of it. They were both considerable men in stocks, in trade, 126 Life and Letter's of Bei^keley. [cii. and in the city : and in truth I have had more opposition from that sort of men, and from the governors and traders to America, than from any others. But, God be praised, there is an end of all their narrow and mercantile views and endeavours, as well as of the jealousies and sus- picions of others (some whereof were very great men), who apprehended this College may produce an independency in America, or at least lessen its dependency upon England, Now I must tell you, that you have nothing to do but go on with farming my Deanery, &c., according to the tenor of my former letter, which I suspended by a subsequent one till I should see the event of yesterday. By this time you have received the letters of attorney for Partinton's signing, in which I presume there will be no delay. Dear Tom, yours, &c. G. BERKELEY. London, May 12, 1726. What more easy than to cast an eye on the draught of the two sisters' debts as stated by Clarke ? What more unaccountable than that this is not yet done ? London, June 9, 1726. Dear Tom, I AM surprised to find there are any debts left unpaid in Ireland, having thought that debt of Henry's which you mention long since dis- charged. I am sure I concluded that, with what money was left with you, and what I laid out here (in discharge of debts whereof I acquainted you), my share of the remaining Irish debts would have been reduced to nothing. You formerly told me Marshal did not keep pace with me. I hoped you would not think of paying anything more until he had brought himself up to equaUty with me. I am also very much surprised at your proposing to me to pay money for Marshal there, which you say I may reimburse myself here, when I already told you that I would never have been at the pains to administer here, if the effects on this side the water were not allotted to pay English debts (which you made me believe, in a former letter, should be done). And I have reason to think that, after the payment of such English debts, nothing will be left of these effects wherewith to reimburse myself any payment you shall make for Marshal out of my money there. To your question, therefore, whether you shall make such payment ? I do answer in the negative. I am at a loss to explain what you mean by promising to try to state the English debts from the materials you have before you. IV.] Letters from England, 127 I ask two distinct questions : ist, Is there not among Mrs. V. Homrigh's papers a catalogue of her debts clearly stated, as I am told by Mr. Clarke t 2ndly, Why have I not a copy of such catalogue transmitted to me ? Had I foreseen the difficulties I am reduced to for want of it, I would have cast my eye on the papers myself, and have known what the debts were before I left Ireland ; but I left that matter wholly to you. You still do not stick to tell me that Marshal will do nothing; nay (which is worse), that he will not allow any English debts at all, without telling me one of his reasons. You (for example) averred to me in Ireland, that Mrs. Perkins's appeared a just demand from Mrs. V. Hom- righ's own papers; and I have seen here a note of Mrs. Esther V. Homrigh, the younger, to Mr. Tooke, for fifty pounds, together with interest of five per cent. Now I would fain know why are not these debts to be paid and acknowledged as well as those in Ireland ? More- over, I would fain know why book debts should not be paid here as well as in Ireland ? In a word, why in any case a difference should be made between English and Irish debts .'' I grant we should distinguish between the mother's and the daughter's debts ; and it was to make this dis- tinction that I so often (to no purpose) dunn'd you for a catalogue of the daughter's debts, drawn up by her order, in Clarke's hand. But I find it is to no purpose to write ; I long to talk to you by word of mouth, either there or here. Pray let me know next post when you design coming for England, for I would go over to Derbyshire to meet you, in case you do not come to London. On the other hand, I am very loath to be dragged to Ire- land before the grant to our College is settled and perfected. I write in great hurry ; but before I conclude must tell you, that the Dean of Raphoe ^^ hath informed me of his desire to live in Derry : now I had rather he should live in my house for nothing than a stranger for a paltry rent. It is therefore my desire, that a stop may be put to any disposition thereof till such time as the Dean can hear whether a house be (pursuant to his order) already taken for him in Derry. Dear Tom, write me something satisfactory about the debts by next post, or send me a flat denial, that I may no longer expect it. Last autumn you promised me a full state of my whole accounts, what hath been received and what disbursed : having not received it, I must now put you in mind again of it. In my last I desired that my money for the last year of the Deanery be put in the hands of Swift and Company. I am, yours, G. BERKELEY. ^ William Cotterell (presented in 1725), afterwards Bishop of Ferns. 128 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. London, June 14, 1726. Dear Tom, I RECEIVED Mrs. M'Manus's account, in which there are certain articles that I cannot approve of. First, The ferry ^* Mr. M'Manus himself told me I should not pay; that charge having been for the late Dean's house- hold, and the curates' passage when they were to preach his turns. But as I have no household there, and as I have otherwise provided for having my turns preached, there is no colour or occasion for my paying it; and I am the more surprised at his charging it, because it was against his own posidve opinion as well as my orders. Secondly, I do not see why the repairing of the church windows should be charged to me. Thirdly, I should have been acquainted with the paving of the street, or any such matters, before he had laid out money on them. Fourthly, I know not what those charges are which Mr. Maccasland is said to be at for schoolmasters. I write not this as if I valued either repairing the church windows or allowing somewhat to schoolmasters, provided those things had been represented to me for my consent ; but to be taxed without my knowledge is what I do not understand. It is my duty not to suffer the Dean to be taxed at will, nor to connive at the introducing new precedents to the wrong of my successors. To be plain, Mr. M'Manus being desired by me to make a list of such constant charges as the Dean should be at, I subscribed and warranted him to pay the same. Since that time, by letter to him, I made some addidon to the charity children ; but what is not warranted by that list, or by some subsequent order or warrant of mine, should not be allowed by me. However, for what is in the account you have sent me, I refer myself to you ; only must beg you to signify to them that I shall never allow any- thing for the time to come but what I am apprised of, and consent to beforehand. So that no vouchers will do (without an order under my own hand) for expenses not included in the list made by Mr. M'Manus, and approved by me at Derry. This I believe you will think a reason- able precaution, in order to prevent myself or successors being im- posed on. I am of opinion that you should immediately write to Messrs. Wogan and Aspinwall, directing and impowering them to sell whenever, from the circumstance of affairs, we shall think it proper so to do. Sudden occasions happen which will not allow waidng for orders from Ireland. We have already been great losers by that, which I very well foreknew '* For the 'ferry,' cf. p. 101. IV.] Letters front England. 129 here, though you knew nothing of it there ; though by this time you are convinced the information 1 sent you last autumn was true. In short, intelligence may be had here, but it can never there, time enough to be of use. Yours affectionately, G. B. Dear Tom, Yours of the 2nd and the 9th of July are come to my hands. What you say in your last of the receipts in full, and the caution to be used thereupon, had occurred to my own thoughts, and I acted accordingly. With respect to Mrs. Philips and Mrs. Wilton, I found the former a palpable cheat ; but the latter still stands out, that she never received, at any time, any of Mrs. IMary's money. I must therefore desire you to look a second time on the receipt you mention from her to Mrs. Mary ; for you might possibly have been mistaken. I thought, when in Ireland, that you owned Mrs. Parkins's to be a true debt. Pray give me your thoughts particularly upon it. The same I desire on the charges for the mother's funeral, which, if in right they are to be paid by us, I cannot understand what you mean by the creditor's abating one half of his demand. I am glad to find that you will take advice upon the dubious debts. Pray do it soon : and when that is done, I shall hope for one list from you, containing your own judgment upon the whole, of what debts are to be discharged by the money here. The exact sum of the annuities received by Messrs. Wogan and Aspinwall I do not remember, but it is about £190. The next time I write you may know exactly. I have considered aboutt he house ^^, and am come to this resolution : If Dr. Ward be in Dublin, pray give my service to him, and tell him my house is at his service, upon condition only that he keep it in repair, and rid me of all charges about it, as hearth-money or the like. I had some time since a letter from him, desiring the use of it on these terms ; but the offer I had made the Dean of Raphoe disabled me for that time from giving him the answer I now desire you to do, because I know not where to write to him myself, he having been about to leave Chester for Ireland when I received his letter. But at present I think myself at liberty, it being about six weeks since the Dean was with me, since which time I have not heard from him, though I then desired he would let me have his answer forthwith. As to setting it, I am less inclined that way, because Dr. Ward, being Subdean, is at some trouble on my account, ^ The Deanery-house at Derry. Cf. notes 31, 33. VOL, IV. R I30 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. and I would willingly oblige him. You may therefore drop it to him, that I prefer his having it rent-free to a rent of twenty pounds, which you think I may get from another. As to the account you have sent me of receipts and disbursements, I must observe to you, with respect to one particular, that when I made you a proposal of being concerned in the affairs accruing to me by the death of Mrs. V. Homrigh, the terms which I proposed, and you agreed to, were these, viz. that if you would undertake the trouble of settling that whole matter, when it was settled I should allow you twelve pence in the pound out of the profits arising therefrom. I never designed, therefore, nor promised to allow any thing, till the whole was settled ; nor was it reasonable, or indeed possible, that I should : Not reasonable, because the main reason for which I made such proposal of is. per pound, was the difficulty of disembrangling our affairs with Partinton ; which difficulty seems hardly to have been touched hitherto, at least I do not find that any thing to the purpose hath been done since I left Ireland : — Not possible, because, till the debts are paid, and affairs settled with Partinton, I cannot know what doth, or what doth not, come to my share. It was my desire to have things concluded as soon as possible ; and in order to this, I expected more would be done by you than by another. I chose therefore putting my affairs into your hands rather than into Mr. Dexter's or Mr. Donne's ; one of whom, if you had declined it, I was resolved on. I was also willing, for that end, to allow more than is commonly allowed to solicitors or agents. For these reasons, and especially because I shall have, on many accounts, pressing occasion for what money I can raise against my departure (which I propose to be next Spring), I must desire you to desist for the present from paying yourself, and to pay the whole of my money into the hands of Swift and Company, by them to be transmitted to me in England upon demand ; and I shall leave a note behind me with you, which shall intitle you in the fullest and clearest manner to the said twelve pence in the pound. I must desire you to let me know whether you have obliged the farmers of my deanery to make all future payments to my order in Dublin, as I directed. I should be glad to see a copy of the articles you concluded with them, which you may send me per post. I am surprised at what you tell me of Mr. Synge's paying III pounds to Mr. Bindon on my account, which, on a second inquiry, you must find a mistake. I had received only one hundred English from Mr. Bindon, who (because he wanted it in Ireland) let me have it on the same terms that the banker was, to supply him there, by which I saved about 30 shillings in the exchange ; and so I drew on Mr. Synge IV.] Letters from E7igland. 131 for one hundred and ten pounds odd money, Irish. I shall hope to hear from you next post, after the receipt hereof, and that you will then tell me your resolution about coming to England. For myself, I can resolve nothing at present, when or whether I shall see Ireland at all, being employed on much business here. I am, dear Tom, your affec- tionate humble servant, G. BERKELEY. London^ July 19, 1726. I have heard from Mr. M'Manus; and by this post have wrote an answer, insisting that I will not allow any thing for the ferry, it being a gross imposition, and cdntrary both to his own advice and my express orders. Dear Tom, The stocks being higher than they have been for this long time, and, as I am informed, not likely to rise higher, I have consented to their being sold, and have directed Messrs. Wogan and Aspinwall to write you word thereof as soon as they are disposed of, with an account of their amounts. I hoped you would have sent me a copy of the articles for farming my deanery, that I may see whether they are according to my mind ; particularly whether the money is made payable to my order in Dublin, as I directed, for special reasons. I likewise expected a copy of the last balance, the deductions being larger than I can account for. I have spoke with Mr. Binden, who tells me he received within a trifle, under or over, one hundred and eleven pounds from Ned Synge. I have wrote to Ned Synge to let him know his mistake. I have also wrote to him and Mr. Norman to pay the money in their hands to Swift and Company, in order to have it transmitted hither. I desire to know whether you come to England, at what time, and to what place, that I may contrive to see you, for I may chance not to be in London, designing to pass some time in the country ^^ ; but I would steer my course so as to be in your way in case you came on this side the water. Mrs. Wilton persists that she never gave a receipt to Mrs. Mary, I must therefore desire you to send me her receipt inclosed in your next. As to Mr. Tooke's bond or note, you desire to know whether it be sealed ; which particular I do not remember : but I remember that it ^•^ Another of his rural excursions in England. K 2 132 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch, mentions interest ; and I desire to know whether, in point of right, such interest should not be paid ; and whether it would not seem odd to pro- pose defalcating any part of a man's right for want of form, when it plainly appeared to be intended ? In short, I would know upon what principles you proceed, when you say he may be contented with no interest, or with half interest. By this post I suppose you will receive from Mr. Aspinwall an account of the sum-total of the transfer, &c. I am plagued with duns, and tired with put-offs, and therefore long to see it applied to pay them : but, in order to this, must desire you to send me two distinct lists, one of the undoubted legal demands, another of the equitable, that so I may have your opinion, in distinct terms, of what should be paid in law, and what in conscience. This was not answered by your last letter's observations, which nevertheless show you may easily do it ; and it is no more than what you had promised to do before. I shall therefore expect such lists from you in a post or two. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant, G. BERKELEY. London, Aug. 4, 1726. You mentioned a friend of Synge's who was desirous to be one of our Fellows. Pray let me know who he is, and the particulars of his character. There are many competitors ; more than vacancies ; and the fellowships are likely to be very good ones : so I would willingly see them well bestowed. Dear Tom, It is a long time since I have heard from you, and am willing to sup- pose that some of your letters are miscarried. I have quitted my old lodging, and desire you to direct your letters to be left for me with Mr. Smibert^', painter, next door to the King's Arms tavern, in the little piazza, Covent Gorden. I desired a copy of the articles concluded on with the farmers of my deanery. I likewise desired the receipt of JNIrs. Wilton, and the particular catalogues of the debts, in the manner you promised. I must now re- peat the same desires. As for the articles and bonds, I have thought proper to lodge them with Mr. Synge, who hath a fixed abode in town, and will take care to place them securely among his own papers. You will therefore deliver them to him. As I have occasion for my money to be gathered in and placed with Mr. Swift and Company, in order to ^' This is the first mention of Smibert the 1 725, now in the possession of the Rev. Dr. artist. He made a portrait of Berkeley in Irons of Brompton. IV.] Letters from England. 133 be transmitted hither, I have wrote to IM'Manus and Mr. Norman ; to the former, to send me the balance of accounts for last year ; to the latter, to pay the money you told me lay in his hands to Swift and Com- pany : but hitherto I do not find either done. Mr. Aspinwall hath some time since informed you that the total of the eifects transferred by him amounts to eight hundred and forty pounds odd money, out of which charges are to be deducted. He hath shewed me the bill of these in Doctors' Commons, which amount to about fourteen pounds. Some Other money laid out by him, together with the fees for his own trouble, I have not yet seen the account of. I think you had better write to him by the next post to transmit the third part of the overplus sum to Swift and Company, for the use of Partinton Van Homrigh ; who, when he hath got his share remitted, can have nothing to complain of; and, as you have hitherto treated in his behalf with Messrs. Wogan and Aspin- wall, your orders will be followed therein by them more properly than mine. I had almost forgot to repeat to you, that I want to know what reason there is for disputing any part of the interest on the note to Mr. Tooke, whether it be sealed or no. Let me know in your next what you resolve about coming to England, and when. I shall trouble you with no more at present, from, dear Tom, yours affectionately, G. BERKELEY. London^ August 24, 1726. Dear Tom, I RECEIVED yours; and accordingly went to Messrs. Wogan and •Aspinwall, who promised to transmit the money drawn for by Partinton, which I suppose is due. T desired them to let me have their bill of charges ; which they also promised against the next time I saw them. As for the clamour of the people of Derry, I have not, nor ever shall have, the least regard for it, so long as I know it to be unjust and groundless : it being so false to suggest that I am for allowing less than my predecessors, that I am now actually at seventy-six pound per annum constant expence more than any of them ever were, having just now directed Dr. Ward to provide a new curate for Coll. Sampson's island, and having formerly appointed another additional curate in Derry to preach my turns, as likewise having added to the number of charity children, which are annual expences, not to mention repairing the chancel, &c. ; nothing of which kind I ever was against. I did not indeed like (nor would any man in his senses) that people should make 134 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. articles of expence without acquainting me, or dispose of my money (though it were to good uses) without my consent previously obtained. But all this while I have gainsaid nothing but the ferry, and that for reasons I formerly gave you ; not that I valued the expence, which was a trifle, but that I would not be imposed on myself, nor entail an impo- sition on my successor : for there is no man so unknowing or negligent in affairs as not to be sensible that little impositions lead to great ones. But as to that matter, M'Manus having informed me that Dr. Ward had engaged I would pay the ferry-money, I have wrote to Dr. Ward to know the truth of that, and his judgment whether the same should be continued, being resolved to comply therewith. As to what you write about my making a difficulty of leaving 58 pounds in M'Manus's hands for the curates, it is a mistake. The sum charged in his account is about 140 pounds, not for charges paid, but to be paid; and not only to curates, but for several other purposes. I never meant but the curates should be punctually paid ; nobody need be at any pain about that : but I thought, as they were paid the first year (when the farmers had no money of mine in their hands), so they might have been paid the sub- sequent years out of the running income. I thought likewise, and still think, that the rents of the glebe, and the dues formerly farmed to the clerk, are sufficient to make the November payment, without M'Manus's advancing one penny, and without his retaining my income of the pre- ceding year, especially when the tithes of the current become payable a little after. As my money is not at interest, it is much the same whether these payments be stopt now or next January; but it was necessary to observe what I thought wrong, to prevent people's growing upon me, I still want the lists you promised me of the debts (legal and equitable), in order to make the payments, that the business on this side the water (which hath already cost me much trouble) may be at length dispatched. In your next, I desire to be informed what the mistake is which you observe in M'Manus's account, and likewise what you say to his telling me there were no deductions made from the 650 pounds of Coll. Mac- casland's moiety, as I observed to you already in my last. As to what you say of matrimony, I can only answer, that as I have been often married by others, so I assure you I have never married myself. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant, G. BERKELEY. London, Sept. 13, 1726. Before you went to the country, you told me about eight hundred pounds of the last year's income would be paid to Swift, (fee. I desire to IV.] Letters from England. 135 know whether it be so, or what it is. In my last I sent you what appeared in M'Manus's letter to me ; but you are of opinion he mistook in my prejudice. Dear Tom, I HAVE received your letter, and write you this in haste. I am much importuned by the creditors, and at a loss how to deal with them. Why should not Comyng's debt for the funeral be wholly paid ? I have seen a letter under Mrs. Esther's hand promising to pay it : this was wrote to one Lancaster. What you say of paying half of this and other debts I cannot comprehend : Either they are due and should be all paid, or not due and none paid. I have seen a promissory note of Mrs. Esther's to Mrs. Hill, whereof I send you subjoined a copy. Let me know your opinion, and take advice of others on the nature of a note so worded ; and whether it obligeth absolutely, or only as far as the mother's assets will go. What shall I do with Mr. Fisher, who claims twenty-three pounds odd money from Mrs. Mary, and about six pounds for Mrs. Esther, all for goods delivered since the mother's death. A day or two before I received your letter, I had paid three pound odd money to Mrs. Wilton, being no longer able to withstand her importunity, and despairing of seeing her receipt. The truth is, she showed me a letter wrote several months after the date of that receipt from Mrs. Mary, acknowledging herself indebted, but mentioning no sum, I therefore paid that bill, which was dated after the day of clearing, and no more. What must be done with Farmer } and, above all, what must be done with the milliner Mrs. Du Puis or Du Pee ? I before mentioned her to you : She gives me great trouble. It would be endless to go through all. I desire a word in particular to each of these. To put them off till your coming in the spring, is utterly impracticable ; they having been amused with hopes of seeing you all last summer : and it being rumoured that I intend to leave Europe next spring, what M'ould such a put-off look like. In the account of demands you formerly sent me, you, or rather in your notes upon the demands, you often mentioned Mr. Clarke's catalogue, without signifying what catalogue that is, whether one sent from hence, or one wrote there for the use of Mrs. Esther, or Mrs. Mary in her life- time. If the latter, pray let me know it ; such a catalogue would be of great use to prevent impositions. I should be glad of a copy of it. You observe it differs frequently from accounts sent from hence ; for instance, it contains about half of Fisher's demand from Mxs. Mary, if I take you 136 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cii. right. It should follow therefore, that Fisher should be paid, at least so much— should it not ? Send a copy of that catalogue, with the time when it was drawn up. You often mention an act of Parliament to pre- vent frauds, which you say makes for us. Pray send me a distinct abstract of that act, or at least of the substance and purport of it. The note shewed me by Mrs. Hill is in the following words : 'London, January 28, 1 7 13-14.— 1 Esther Van Homrigh, junior, do promise to pay to Katharine Hill the sum of thirty-three pounds eleven shillings and sixpence, on the 28th day of April next, for my mother Mrs. Esther Van Homrigh, being her sole executrix, as witness my hand. Witnesses present E. VaX. HoiIRIGH. Win. Br ten ley. Anne Kmdan! I desire you will give me your opinion clearly upon this note. I like- wise desire you to satisfy me in these three points; \st, Whether Mrs. Mary was minor during the whole time of her living with her mother .? 2dly, Whether the mother died indebted to Mrs. INIary, or had spent part of her fortune ? ^dly, Whether the things which Mrs. Mary had during her minority were charged by the mother, and the mother satisfied for the same ? I entreat you satisfy me instantly as to the points contained in this letter ; after which, I shall speedily expect an answer to the matters in my former letters, which now I have not time to repeat, or say any more but that I am, dear Tom, yours affectionately, G. BERKELEY. London, Nov. 5, 1726. Dear Tom, I HAVE wrote to you often for certain eclaircissements which are abso- lutely necessary to settle matters with the creditors, who importune me to death. You have no notion of the misery I have undergone, and do daily undergo, on that account. I do therefore earnestly entreat you to answer all that I have queried on that head without delay, and at the same time resolve me in what follows. Have you any letter or entry that takes notice of Mr. Collins as a creditor to Mrs. Esther, junior } He hath produced to me two notes of hers, one for ten, the other for four pound odd money. Mrs. Farmer demands, for hosiers goods, near six pound from Mrs. Mary, and one pound nineteen from Mrs. Esther. I have seen her books, IV,] Letters from England. 137 and by them it appears something is due ; but in some places it looks as if they had transferred the mother's debts to the daughter. Pray tell me distinctly and intelligibly what appears to you from the papers of this. You have told me that this, with many other demands, are only the mother's debts. Pray tell me withal your reasons for this, that the creditors themselves may be satisfied hereof, for they will not take your word or mine for it. First, Let me know what appears to you to have been supplied by each creditor for Mrs. Mary's use. 2dlv, Let me know upon what grounds you conceive that and no more to have been so supplied, ^(^ly, Be distinct in giving your opinion, whether a minor be not chargeable for eatables and wearables supplied on the credit of another, or on their own credit, during the minority .'* Whether it appears that Mrs. Mary was ever charged by her mother for those things ? Lastly, Let me know what you think was distinctly sup- plied for Mrs. Mary's use, used by her, and never paid for ; it being my opinion such debts should be discharged inforo conscientioe, though per- haps the law might not require it, on score of minority or length of time. For God's sake disembrangle these matters, that I may once be at ease to mind my other affairs of the College, which are enough to employ ten persons. You promised a distinct tripartite list, which I never got. The observations you have sent are all of them either so ambiguous and indecisive as to puzzle only, or else precarious ; that is, unsupported by reasons to convince me or others. Now, I suppose where you give a positive opinion you have reasons for it ; and it would have been right to have sent these reasons distinctly and particularly. I will not repeat what I have said in my former letters, but hope for your answer to all the points contained in them, and immediately to what relates to dis- patching the creditors. I propose to make a purchase of land (which is very dear) in Bermuda, upon my first going thither; for which, and for other occasions, I shall want all the money I can possibly raise against my voyage. For this purpose, it would be a mighty service to me if the aff"air with Partinton were adjusted this winter, by reference or compro- mise. The state of all that business, which I desired you to send me, I do now again earnestly desire. What is doing or has been done in that matter ? Can you contrive no way for bringing Partinton to an imme- diate sale of the remaining lands .'' What is your opinion and advice upon the whole } What prospect can I have if I leave things at sixes and sevens when I go to another world, seeing all my remonstrances, even now that I am near at hand, are to no purpose } I know money is at present on a very high foot of exchange : I shall therefore wait a little, in hopes it may become lower ; but it will at all events be necessary to 138 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. draw over my money. I have spent here a matter of six hundred pounds more than you know of, for which I have not yet drawn over. As to what you write of Robin, I am glad to find that others think he behaves well: I am best judge of his behaviour to me. There is a way of resenting past favours, and there is a way of asking future ones ; and in both cases a right and a wrong. I had some other points to speak to, but am cut short, and have only time to add, that 1 am yours affectionately, G. BERKELEY. London, N'ov. 12, 1726. Dece?fiher i, 1726. Dear Tom, I HAVE lately received several letters of yours, which have given me a good deal of light with respect to Mrs. V. Homrigh's affairs ; but I am so much employed on the business of Bermuda, that I have hardly time to mind any thing else. I shall nevertheless snatch the present moment to write you short answers to the questions you propose. As to Bermuda, it is now on a better and surer foot than ever. After the address of the Commons, and his Majesty's most gracious answer, one would have thought all difficulties had been got over: but much opposidon hath been since raised (and that by very great men) to the design. As for the obstacles thrown in my way by interested men, though there hath been much of that, I never regarded it, no more than the clamours and calumnies of ignorant mistaken people : but in good truth it was with much difficulty, and the peculiar blessing of God, that the point was carried maugre the strong opposidon in the cabinet council ; wherein, nevertheless, it hath of late been determined to go on with the grant, pursuant to the address of the House of Commons, and to give it all possible dispatch. Accordingly his Majesty hath ordered the warrant for passing the said grant to ^be drawn. The persons appointed to contrive the draught of the warrant are the Solicitor- GeneraP', Baron Scroop of the Treasury, and (my very good friend) INIr. Hutchinson^'*. You must know that in July last the Lords of the Treasury had named commissioners for taking an estimate of the value and quantity of the Crown lands in St. Christophers, and for receiving proposals either for selling or farming the same for the benefit of the public. Their report is not yet made ; and the Treasury were of opinion 3' Charles Talbot, Lord Chancellor in 1 733. Hutchinson,' as a friend of Berkeley's, some- He was son of the Bishop of Durham, and where in the Gent. Mag., but I hare mislaid brother of Edward Talbot, Butler's friend. the reference. ^'■' There is, I think, a notice of 'Archibald IV.] Letters from England. 1 39 they could not make a grant to us till such time as the whole were sold or farmed pursuant to such report. But the point I am now labouring is to have it done, without delay ; and how this may be done without em- barrassing the Treasury in their after disposal of the whole lands was this day the subject of a conference between the Solicitor-General, IMr. Hutchinson, and myself. The method agreed on is by a rent-charge on the whole crown lands, redeemable upon the crown's paying twenty thousand pounds, for the use of the President and Fellows of St. Paul's, and their successors. Sir Robert Walpole hath signified that he hath no objection to this method ; and I doubt not Baron Scroop will agree to it ; by which means the grant may be passed before the meeting of parlia- ment, after which we may prepare to set out on our voyage in April. I have unawares run into this long account because you desired to know how the affair of Bermuda stood at present. You also desire I would speak to Ned. You must know Ned hath parted from me ever since the beginning of last July. I allowed him six shillings a week besides his annual wages ; and beside an entire livery, I gave him old clothes, which he made a penny of; but the creature grew idle and worthless to a prodigious degree. He was almost constantly out of the way ; and when I told him of it he used to give me warning. I bore with this behaviour about nine months, and let him know I did it in compassion to him, and in hopes he would mend ; but finding no hopes of this, I was forced at last to discharge him, and take another, who is as diligent as he was negligent. When he parted from me, I paid him between six and seven pounds which was due to him, and likewise gave him money to bear his charges to Ireland, whither he said he was going. I met him t'other day in the street ; and asking why he was not gone to Ireland to his wife and child, he made answer that he had neither wife nor child. He got, it seems, into another service since he left me, but continued only a fortnight in it. The fellow is silly to an incredible degree, and spoiled by good usage. I shall take care the pictures be sold in an auction. Mr. Smibert, whom I know to be a very honest, skilful person in his profession, will see them put into an auction at the proper time, which he tells me is not till the town fills with company, about the meeting of parliament. As to Bacon, I know not what to do with him. I spoke often to Messrs. Wogan and Aspinwall about him. Mr. Aspinwall also spoke to him, and threatened him with bringing the affair into court ; and he still promised, and always broke his promise. I always, for my part, insisted they should prosecute him ; and, since your mentioning him in your letter, have done it in stronger terms than evi r, but to no purpose ; for, 140 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. upon the whole, I find they decline meddling with it. They say the fellow is a knave, and skilful in delays of law and attorneys' tricks, and that he may keep us employed for several years ; that it is a matter out of their sphere ; i i short, they do not care to be employed in this affair. When I saw the man, I did not like his looks nor manner, and am now quite at a loss what to do with him. The whole expense they charge for management in South Sea House, and at Doctors' Commons, together with their own trouble, amounts to thirty-nine pounds ten shillings and sixpence. I have bills of the particulars. Some of the creditors I have paid ; but there are many more unpaid, whose demands I could not yet ac'just. The first leisure I have I shall try to do it, by the help of the lights I have now got. As to M'Manus, I am content to favour him so far as to forbear his paying that part of my income on the first of January which was stipulated to be then paid ; but then the whole must be paid punctually on the first of February. I say I shall have necessary occasion for the whole income of the present year to be paid, without fail, on the first of February next ; and I wish he may have timely notice from you of this. I formerly gave him warning myself; but since he has wrote to you, it is fit he know this answer. ]\Iy affairs absolutely require this ; and I expect that he will not, upon any pretext, disappoint me. You tell me what is to be done with Mr. Tooke's note, in case it be a bond in form, or a simple promissory note, or a promis- sory note with interest sealed ; but still you omit what (to the best of my remembrance) is the true case, to tvit, a promissory note unsealed, to pay the principal with interest. Before I closed this letter, the bond was brought me, sealed, witnessed, and bearing interest, making, with the principal, eighty pound, which I have paid this moment ; so that I was mistaken in thinking it a note, being a bond in form. In your last but one, you sent two opposite opinions of Howard and Marshal concerning Mrs. Hill's note, but promised to give your own, and to be more clear in the point in your next, which it seems you forgot to do. I have in a former letter desired you to send me over an abstract of the state of our case in dispute with Partinton, and a full account of our demands upon him. You have told me indeed where the point sticks at present ; but you may see that this does not fully answer my desire. I want to know (as if I had never heard anything of the matter) a full account of that whole affair stated, what our demands amount to in each particular, and what expectations there are of succeeding, and grounds for prosecuting, the said demands respectively. I remember to have told you I could know more of matters here than perhaps people generally do. You thought we did wrong to sell ; but the stocks are fallen, and depend upon it IV,] Letters from England. 141 they will fall lower. In a former letter, I acquainted you that I desired the bonds may be lodged with Ned Synge, who will call for them. Yours, G. BERKELEY. In the writings of Pope, Swift, and Arbuthnot, about this time, we meet with occasional playful allusions to Bermuda, in prose and verse. In September, Pope exults with Swift, that they may live where they please, ' in Wales, Dublin, or Bermudas.' In November, Arbuthnot refers to the cry for war in London, pro- duced by the total stoppage of trade, and proposes to rig out a privateer for the West Indies. ' Will you be concerned ? We will build her at Bermudas, and get Mr. Dean Berkeley to be our manager.' The proposed ' manager ' was as bent as ever upon his enterprise, through all the discouragements of 1727, and the vexa- tious embarrassments of the Vanhomrigh business. George I died, and George II was proclaimed in June. He has again la mer a hotre. But within a month he had a new Warrant for his Grant, signed by the young King, and the lost ground was thus recovered. He was then anxious to visit Dublin, and, for some inscrutable reason, to live there, in the suburbs, in strict privacy, unobserved by his old friends. The following letters to Prior in 1737 tell their own story: — Lo7idon, Feb. 27, 1726-7. Dear Tom, The packets you speak of you may direct, under cover, to the right honourable Thomas, Earl of Pomfret*", in Hanover Square; but then you riiust take care that no one packet be above a certain quantity or weight, and thereby exceed the limits of franking : in which case the frank I know will not be regarded, and the papers may miscarry. What the precise limits are I know not ; any body there can inform you. I send you herewith an account of our affairs transacted by Wogan and Aspinwall. You may observe in the account of Mr. Gyles (em- ployed by them) a half guinea blotted out, which I paid separately for an extract of a Will relating to Bermuda, and which by mistake was inserted in this account, to which it had no relation. The pictures were all sold for forty-five pounds, at an auction which was held last week in Covent Garden, at the house of one i\Ir. Russel, ^* With whom his friend Benson travelled in Italy some years before. He was the first Earl, and died in 1753. 142 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. a painter. They were sold publicly and fairly among several other pictures. The truth of it is, that of late years the taste lies so much towards Italian pictures, many of which are daily imported, that Dutch pictures go off but heavily. Mr. Smibert did not think they would have brought so much, I have taken the utmost care to keep myself within the limits of your directions in the payments I have hitherto made, and shall continue to act with the same caution, Mr, IMarshal cannot long more than I do to put an end to this matter of my administration, which I was willing to have declined, if he had thought good to accept it. But the constant hurry of business I have on my hands, together with my not being able to find out some of the creditors, hath hitherto unavoidably delayed it. However, I have paid between two and three hundred pounds, and shall finish all as soon as possible. Mr, Clarke I have not seen this long time, I suppose he is ashamed for my having found out that he was to receive a sum of money from Mrs. Philips, whose unjust debt he had undertaken to get paid. This, and his not giving me the notice Alder- man Barber said he desired him to give before the sale of the jewels, makes me think very indifferently of him. Besides, there is no sort of consistency between the accounts of creditors, as given in by him, and their own demands, which still strengthens my suspicion of him. As to the sum to be paid into Swift and Company, and the deductions to be made for curates, &c., I only desire that all may be done on the foot you told me you had agreed with Mr. M'Manus, and whereof you stated the account in a letter I have by me, and which I need not transcribe, because I suppose you remember it. As to the sale of the reversionary lands, I desire it may be done as soon as possible ; and not to stand out, but to take the best terms you can. As to the rest, I long to see it all finished by arbitration. My going to Bermuda I cannot positively say when it will be, I have to do with very busy people at a very busy time. I hope nevertheless to have all that business completely finished in a few weeks. I am, dear Tom, yours, G, B. London, April 11, 1727. Dear Tom, In my last I made no mention of any sums of my money applied to the payment of debts, or other purposes common to Mr. Marshal and me, because I suppose you have taken care that he keep equal pace with me : if he be deficient, this is the only time to right myself. As IV.] Letters from England. 143 to those you call dubious debts, and those which, being contracted in the mother's lifetime, are payable by Partinton, I should be glad to hear your opinion in a line or two, since I am not allowed to act otherwise than by strict legal justice. Thus much I think Mr. Marshal and myself are obliged to, viz. to pay those debts if nothing be stopt for them by Partinton; and if there be, to advertise the creditors thereof. Since my last, I paid what you allowed to be due to Mrs. Farmer (now Mrs. Reed). For this and all other payments I have receipts or notes which I propose bringing with me to Ireland. And now I mention my coming to Ireland, I must earnestly desire you, by all means, to keep this a secret from every individual creature. I cannot justly say what time (probably some time next month) I shall be there, or how long; but find it necessary to be there to transact matters with one or two of my associates (who yet I would not have know of my coming till I am on the spot), and, for several reasons, am determined to keep myself as secret and concealed as possible all the time I am in Ireland. In order to this, I make it my request that you will hire for me an entire house, as neat and convenient as you can get, somewhere within a mile of Dublin, for half a year. But what I prin- cipally desire is, that it be in no town or village, but in some quiet private place, out of the way of roads, or street, or observation. I would have it hired with necessary furniture for kitchen, a couple of chambers, and a parlour. At the same time, I must desire you to hire an honest maid servant, who can keep it clean, and dress a plain bit of meat : a man servant I shall bring with me. You may do all this either in your own name, or as for a friend of yours, one Mr. Brown (for that is the name I shall assume), and let me know it as soon as possible. There are several little scattered houses with gardens about Clantarfe, Rath- farnum, &c. I remember particularly the old castle of Ramines, and a little white house upon the hills by itself, beyond the Old Men's Hos- pital, likewise in the outgoings or fields about St. Kevin's, &c. In short, in any snug private place within half a mile or a mile of town. I would have a bit of a garden to it, no matter what sort. Mind this, and you'll oblige your aff"ectionate humble servant, G. BERKELEY. Dear Tom, . Things being as you say, I think you were in the right to pay only 100 pounds to Mr. Marshal at present. I have drawn on you for 12 pounds, which my B. Robin will call for. 144 ^?)^ ^''^^ Letters of Berkeley. [cii. I would by all means have a place secured for me by the end of June: it may be taken only for three months. I hope you will not have left Ireland before my arrival. I take it for granted you have paid what I directed for I\Ir. Partinton Van Homrigh's share of the pictures. I sent the answer to his bill engrossed by post, and shall be glad to hear you have got it. I long to hear the sale of lands (reversionary) perfected to Mr. ConoUy. I am (God be praised) very near concluding the crown grant to our College, having got over all difficulties and obstructions, which were not a few. I conclude, in great haste, dear Tom, yours, G. BERKELEY. Londoti, May 20, 1727. Dear Tom, Poor Caldwell's" death I had heard of two or three posts before I received your letter. Had he lived, his life would not have been agree- able. He was formed for retreat and study ; but of late was grovvn fond of the world, and getting into business. A house between Dublin and Drumcondra I can by no means approve of: the situation is too public; and what I chiefly regard is privacy. I like the situation of Lord's house much better, and have only one ob- jection to it, which is your saying he intends to use some part of it himself; for this would be inconsistent with my view of being quite concealed ; and the more so because Lord knows me, which of all things is what I would avoid. His house and price would suit me. If you can get such another, quite to myself, snug, private, and clean, with a stable, I shall not matter whether it be painted or no, or how it is furnished, provided it be clean and warm. I aim at nothing magnificent or grand (as you term it), which might probably defeat my purpose of continuing concealed. You have more than once talked of coming to England without coming : perhaps you may alter your mind now as well as heretofore ; but you are best judge of that. I desire to know when your business requires your being in England 1 — whether you come to London .? — and how long you propose staying on this side of the water .? I am sure it will be at least a full month before I can reach Dublin. If you come over immediately, and make but a very short stay, possibly I might defer my going, to attend you in your return. At all events, I should be sorry we missed of each other by setting out at the same time, which may occasion my seeing you neither there nor here, *' Cf. pp. 1 10, 114, 124. IV.] Letters from Englana. 145 The bell-man calls for my letter, so I shall add no more but that I am your affectionate humble servant, GEORGE BERKELEY. London, Ju7ie 13, 1727. Pray let me hear from you next post. Dear Tom, Yesterday we had an account of King George's death. This day King George II was proclaimed. All the world here are in a hurry, and I as much as any body ; our grant being defeated by the King's dying before the broad seal was annexed to it, in order to which it was passing through the offices. I have la mer a boire again. You shall hear from me when I know more. At present I am at a loss what course to take. Pray answer my last speedily. Yours, G. B. Lo7idon, June 15, 1727. London, June 27, 1727. Dear Tom, Yesterday I received your letter, containing an account of your design about coming to England, In a former letter, I gave you to know that my affairs M-ere ravell'd by the death of his Majesty. I am now beginning on a new foot, and with good hopes of success. The warrant for our grant had been signed by the King, countersigned by the Lords of the Treasury, and passed the Attorney General. Here it stood when the express came of the King's death. A new warrant is now preparing, which must be signed by his present Majesty, in order to a patent passing the broad seal. As soon as this affair is finished, I propose going to Ireland. I cannot certainly say when that will be ; but sure I am it will not be time enough to find you there, if you continue your scheme of coming over the next month. It is unlucky that we should both think of crossing the sea at the same time. But as you seem to talk doubtfully of your design, I hope it may suit with your conveniency to alter it ; in which case we may probably come together to England. The changes of ministry you talk of are at present but guessed at ; a little time will show. Yours, &c. G. BERKELEY. VOL. IV. L 146 Life and Letters of Berketey, [ch. Dear Tom, This is to inform you, thkt I have obtained a new warrant for a grant, signed by his present Majesty, contrary to the expectations of my friends, who thought nothing could be expected of that kind in this great hurry of business. As soon as this grant (which is of the same import with that begun by his late Majesty) hath passed the offices and seals, I purpose to execute my design of going to Ireland. In case, therefore, you continue your purpose of coming to England this summer, I must desire you to leave all papers relating to my affairs with Mr. Synge *^, sealed up in a bag as things belonging to me, put into his hands for fear of accidents ; but to say nothing to him of my going to Dublin, which I would have by all means kept secret from every one ; my design being, in case I find you are absent, to make my arrival, after I am come, known to Synge ; to look into the papers myself, and try if I can state matters so as to bring them to a conclusion with Partinton. It would assist me much in this affair if you would do what I have long and often desired, viz. draw up a paper containing an account of my demands on Partinton or others in virtue of my executorship, with the several reasons supporting the said demands, and an account of the proceedings thereupon at law ; what hath been done, and what remains to be done. I hoped to have heard of the sale of the reversion by this time. Let me hear by next post. I am yours, G. BERKELEY. London, July 6, 1727. Dear Tom, In answer to your last letter, this is to let you know, that my grant is now got farther than where it was at the time of the King's death. I am in hopes the broad seal will soon be affixed to it, what remains to be done in order thereto being only matter of form; so that I propose setting out from hence in a fortnight's time. When I set out, I shall write at the same time to tell you of it. I know not whether I shall stay longer than a month on that side of the water. I am sure I shall not want the country lodging (I desired you to procure) for a longer time. Do not therefore take it for more than a month, if that can be done. I remember certain remote suburbs [of Dublin] called Pimlico and Dolphin's Barn, but know not whereabout they lie. If either of them be situate in a private pleasant place, and airy, near the fields, I should therein like a first floor in a clean house (I desire ^ Probably the Rev. Edward Synge, successively Bishop of Cloyne, of Ferns, Chancellor of St. Patrick's, Dublin, afterwards and of Elphin. IV.] Letters from England. 147 no more) ; and it would be better if there was a bit of a garden where I had the liberty to walk. This I mention in case my former desire cannot be conveniently answered for so short a time as a month ; and, if I may judge at this distance, these places seem as private as a house in the country : for you must know, what I chiefly aim at is secrecy. This makes me uneasy to find that there hath been a report spread among some of my friends in Dublin of my designing to go over. I cannot account for this, believing, after the precautions I had given you, that you would not mention it directly or indirectly to any mortal. For the present, I have no more to add, but only to repeat my request that you will leave all papers relating to my executorship with Mr. Synge sealed up in a bag, with directions to deliver them to my order. This I desired you to perform in my last, in case you leave Ireland before I arrive there. If with them you likewise leave what I formerly desired, it will save me some trouble. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant, r , G. BERKELEY. July 21, 1727. I observe you take no notice of what I said about selling the rever- sionary lands, though you formerly encouraged me to think I should have heard of their being sold before this time. In case you do not make use of the power I gave you by letter of attorney to make sale of the reversionary lands before you come for England, I desire you would leave that said letter of attorney among the papers with Mr. Synge. From July 1727 till February J 728, there is a gap in the cor- respondence as it has descended to us. It is not clear where Berkeley was, or how he was employed, during these months. The often postponed visit to Ireland had not yet been made; America, where he hoped to be in April, was still in the distance. In February 1728 he was, after all, in London, and Prior seems to have visited him in the interval. He hoped to set out for Dublin in March, and to begin his missionary voyage over the Atlantic in May. These hopes were not fulfilled. The following letters to Prior supply some curious details, especially about the proposed visit to Dublin : — Dear Tom, I AGREE that M'Manus should retain for payment of the curates to the first of May. After so many delays from Partinton, I was fully con- vinced the only way to sell the reversionary lands must be by compelling L 2 148 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. him to join in the sale by law, or by making a separate sale. This I proposed to you by word of mouth, and by letter, as much as I could ; and I now most earnestly repeat it, intreating you to do the one or the other out of hand if it be not done already, as I have hopes it is by what you say in your last. Dear Tom, fail me not in this particular ; but by all means order matters so that the purchase-money may be paid in to Swift, &c. on the first of April, or at farthest ten days after ; which ten days I am willing to allow to M'Manus as desired. I need not repeat to you what I told you here of the necessity there is for my raising all the money possible against my voyage, which, God willing, I shall begin in May, whatever you may hear suggested to the contrary ; though you need not mention this. 1 propose to set out for Dublin about a month hence ; but of this you must not give the least intimation to any body. I beg the favour of you to look out at leisure a convenient lodging for me in or about Church- street, or such other place as you shall think the most retired. Mr. Petit Rose writes me from Portarlington about renewing his lease, which he desires I would empower you to do. He mentions a promise I made on the last renewal, that I would another time allow him one year gratis. For my part, I absolutely deny that 1 know any thing of any such promise. If you remember any thing of it, pray let me know ; for if there was such a thing, it must have been made by you, to whom I referred the management of that affair. As I do not design to be known when I am in Ireland, I shall comply with his desire in sending you a letter of attorney to perfect the renewal, agreeable to such draught as you transmit hither ; provided still, that his proposal (which I have by this post directed him to send to you) be approved by you ; to whom I leave it, to do what to you shall seem fair and reasonable in that matter. I am your affectionate humble servant, GEOR. BERKELEY. Lnndott. Feb. 20, 1727 — 8. London, April d, \^ 2%. Dear Tom, I HAVE been detained from my journev partly in expectation of Dr. Clayton's*^ coming, who was doing business in Lancashire, and *^ Robert Clayton, D.D., appointed to the kind and generous character. This learned bishopric of Killala in January, 1730, trans- and philosophic prelate, alleged author of the lated to Cork in 1735, and to Clogher in Essay on 5/>;W/ (1750), died in 1758, on the 1745. He was living in England about this day fixed for the commencement of his trial time, having married a cousin of Lady on a charge of heresv. Sundon in 1728. He was celebrated for his IV.] Letters from England. 149 partly in respect to the excessive rains. The Doctor hath been several days in town, and we have had so much rain that probably it will be soon over. I am therefore daily expecting to set out, all things being provided. Now it is of all things my earnest desire (and for very good reasons) not to have it known that I am in Dublin. Speak not, therefore, one syllable of it to any mortal whatsoever. When I formerly desired you to take a place for me near the town, you gave out that you were looking for a retired lodging for a friend of yours; upon which everybody sur- mised me to be the person. I must beg you not to act in the like manner now, but to take for me an entire house in your own name, and as for yourself: for, all things considered, I am determined upon a whole house, with no mortal in it but a maid of your own putting, who is to look on herself as your servant. Let there be two bed-chambers, one for you, another for me ; and, as you like, you may ever and anon lie there. I would have the house, with necessary furniture, taken by the month (or otherwise, as you can), for I purpose staying not beyond that time : and yet perhaps I may. Take it as soon as possible, and never think of saving a week's hire by leaving it to do when I am there. Dr. Clayton thinks (and I am of the same opinion) that a convenient place may be found in the further end of Great Britain Street, or Ballibough-bridge** — by all means beyond Thomson's the Fellow's. Let me entreat you to say nothing of this to anybod}', but to do the thing directly. In this affair I consider convenience more than expense, and would of all things (cost what it will) have a proper place in a retired situation, where I may have access to fields and sweet air, provided against the moment I arrive. I am inclined to think, one may be better concealed in the outermost skirt of the suburbs than in the country, or within the town. Wherefore, if you cannot be accommodated where I mention, inquire in some other skirt or remote suburb. A house quite detached in the country I should have no objection to ; provided you judge that I shall not be liable to discovery in it. The place called Bermuda I am utterly against. Dear Tom, do this matter cleanly and cleverly, without waiting for further advice. You see I am willing to run the risk of the expense. To the person from whom you hire it (whom alone I would have you speak of it to) it will not seem strange you should at this time of the year be desirous, for your own convenience or health, to have a place in a free and open air. If you cannot get a house without taking it for a longer time than a month, take it at such the shortest lime it can be let for, with agreement for further continuing in case there be occasion. *' In the N.E. suburbs of Dublin. 150 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. Mr. Madden*^ who witnesses the letter of attorney, is now going to Ireland. He is a clergyman, and man of estate in the north of Ireland. I am, your affectionate humble servant, GEORGE BERKELEY. From April till September, Berkeley again disappears. Whether he went to Dublin, as he had so long proposed, is doubtful. At any rate, he did not go to America in May. In September we find him at Gravesend, married, and about to sail for Rhode Island, with his wife and a small party of friends. Almost no particulars about the marriage are known. The lady was Anne, daughter of John Forster, who had been Recorder of Dublin, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, and also Speaker of the Irish House of Commons ■^6. Her uncle was Nicholas Forster, who in 1709 admitted Berkeley to holy orders, and who was now Bishop of Raphoe'*'^. This family of Forsters had settled in Ireland in the wars of Charles I^ when a younger son of Sir Humphrey Forster, Bart., of Aldermaston in Berkshire, who had gone to Ireland with Lord Conway and Sir Thomas Rawdon, was rewarded by a grant of the estate of TuUaglian. The father of Mrs. Berkeley is said to have been so devoted to the House of Brunswick, that in Queen Anne's reign he was a favourite toast at Herrenhausen j and her mother, it seems, was connected with Monck, the famous Duke of Albemarle ''•\ The marriage, according to Stock, took place on the ist of August 1728; where it took place I have not been able to dis- cover. As a search in the registry at Dublin has failed to dis- cover any record of it, the ceremony was apparently not performed within that Province. It may have been in England, where mem- bers of the Forster family appear sometimes to have lived. All that one can now discover of Mrs. Berkeley makes her *' Was this Dr. Madden afterwards one of Raphoe in 17 16, where the liberal benefac- the founders of the Dublin Societ}', and an tions of this excellent prelate are gratefully intimate friend of Prior's ? remembered. He died in June 1743. See *" He seems to have been Speaker in Cotton's i^as/z, vol. HI. p. 354 ; also Mant's 1707 — 9 (see Gilbert's History of Dublin, History, vol. \\. There is a portrait of vol. III. Appendix). He was Chief Justice him in the Library which he founded at in 1714 — 20. Raphoe. " Forster was appointed to the bishopric '" Preface to Monck Berkeley. of Killala in 1714, and transferred to v.] In England, and married. 151 worthy of her husband. She shared his fortunes when he was about to engage in one of the most romantic moral movements of modern times, and when, in love with an ideal academic life in the Bermudas, he was prepared to surrender preferment and social position at home, in order to devote the remainder of his life to the great Continent of the West. Report bears that she was her- self of the school of the Mystics or Quietists, and that her favourite writers were Fenelon, Madame Guyon, and their English disciple Hooke, the historian of Rome. The following letter to Prior describes Berkeley and his party on the eve of their departure from England : — Gravesend, Sept. 5, 1728. Dear Tom, To-morrow, with God's blessing, I set sail for Rhode Island, with my wife and a friend of hers, my lady Handcock's daughter, who bears us company. I am married since I saw you to Miss Forster, daughter of the late Chief Justice, whose humour and turn of mind pleases me beyond any thing that I know in her whole sex. Mr. James, Mr. Dalton, and Mr. Smibert, go with us on this voyage. We are now all together at Gravesend, and are engaged in one view. When my next rents are paid, I must desire you to inquire for my cousin Richard Berkeley *^, who was bred a public notary (I suppose he may by that time be out of his apprenticeship), and give him twenty moidores as a present from me, towards helping him on his beginning the world. I believe I shall have occasion to draw for six hundred pounds English before this year's income is paid by the farmers of my Deanery. I must therefore desire you to speak to Messrs. Swift, &c., to give me credit for said sum in London about three months hence, in case I have occasion to draw for it ; and I shall willingly pay their customary interest for the same till the farmers pay it to them, which I hope you will order punctually to be done by the first of June. Give me advice of your success in this affair, viz. whether they will answer such draught of mine in London, on what interest, and on whom, and how I am to draw .'' Direct for me in Rhode Island, and inclose your letter in a cover to Thomas Corbet, Esq., at the Admiralty office in London, who will always *' 1 have not found anything about this ' cousin.' The request, in the circumstances, shows Berkeley's kindness of heart. 152 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. forward my letters by the first opportunity. Adieu, I write in great haste, yours, G. B. I wrote by this post to M'Manus to comply with all the points pro- posed in Dr. Ward's memorial. , A copy of my Charter was sent to Dr. Ward by Dr. Clayton. If it be not arrived when you go to London,'*® write out of the Charter the clause relating to my absence. Adieu once more. This strange enterprise, so in contrast, like its conductor, to the spirit of that age, was not unobserved by the journals of the day. In the Historical Register for the year 1728''', we have another account of the departure from Gravesend : — Dr'. Berkeley s Desigit 0/ seitlmg a College in Bermudas. The Reverend Dr. Berkeley, Dean of Derry, who obtained a Patent of His late Majesty, to erect a College in Bermudas, like that in Dublin, for instruction of youth in all manner of liberal sciences and learned arts, sailed about the middle of September last for the West Indies, in a ship of 250 tons, which he hired. He took several tradesmen and artists with him. Two gentlemen of fortune (James and Dalton) are gone, with all their effects, to settle in Bermudas. The Dean married an agreeable young lady about six weeks before he set sail ; the lady's sister is gone with them; they had £4000 each to their fortune, which they carried with them. They carried also stores and goods to a great value. The Dean embarked 20,000 (.'') books, besides what the two gentlemen carried. They sailed hence for Rhode Island, where the Dean intends to winter, and to purchase an estate, in order to settle a correspondence and trade between that island and Bermudas, particularly for supplying Bermudas with black cattle and sheep. The Dean's Grant of £2000 [£20,000.^] on St. Christopher's is payable in two years time, ana the Dean has a year and a half allowed him afterwards, to consider whether he will stick to his College in Bermudas, or return to his Deanery of Derry. None of tlie intended Fellows of the proposed College were in the party that embarked at Gravesend. Besides the three who seem, when he left Dublin in 1724, to have promised to join the enter- prise, he had been looking out for other associates, finding ' many more competitors than vacancies.'' He tried besides to persuade Thomas Prior and Dr. Clayton, and he had negotiations with '" Vol. XIII. p. 289. IV.] Gravesend. 1 5 3 Dr. Blackwell ''^ of Aberdeen. But he now sailed from Gravesend as a pioneer. Others were to follow after land had been purchased, . and when the City and College of Bermuda^^ were in progress. The little party who accompanied him and his wife consisted of Miss HandcocJc, a daughter probably of Sir William Handcock, a former Recorder of Dublin, and ancestor of the noble family of Castlemaine; John James, an Englishman of good family, after- wards Sir John James, of whom more hereafter ; Richard Dalton, of Lincolnshire, the common friend of Berkeley, Benson, and Seeker; and Smibert, an English artist, whom Berkeley met in Italy, and whose studio, near Covent Garden, was, as we have seen, one of his resorts in his years of waiting and working in London. He was in his forty-fourth year when, in deep devotion to his Purpose, and full of glowing visions of a Fifth Empire in the West — 'time's noblest offspring,' he sailed for Rhode Island, on his way to Bermuda, with the promise of the Prime Minister that the Parliamentary grant should be paid to him after he had made an investment. He bought land in America, but he never arrived at Bermuda. '* Dr. Blackwell, in some observations on his peculiarities, either religious or personal ; the union of action with speculation, adds : — but admire the extensive genius of the man, ' In this respect I would with pleasure do and think it a loss to the Western World justice to the memory of a very great though that his noble and exalted plan of an Amer- singular sort of man, Dr. Berkeley, known as ican University was not carried into execu- a philosopher, and intended founder of a tion. Many such spirits in our country University in the Bermudas, or Summer would quickly make learning wear another Islands. An inclination to carry me out face.' (^Memoirs of the Court of Augustus, on that expedition, as one of the young vol. II. p. 277.) Thomas Blackwell, who professors on his new foundation, having gives this interesting testimony, was born in brought us often together, I scarce remember Aberdeen in 1 701, and was Professor of Greek to have conversed with him on that art, in Marischal College in 1723, and Principal liberal or mechanic, of which he knew not in 1748. He gave an impulse to classical more than the ordinary practitioners. With studies in the north of Scotland. Among the widest views, he descended into a minute his pupils were Principal George Campbell detail, and begrudged neither pains nor ex- and Dr. James Beattie. pense for the means of information. He '^ Berkeley's skill in architecture was travelled through a great part of Sicily on illustrated in his own elegant designs of foot ; clambered over the mountains and the proposed City of Bermuda, the me- crept into the caverns to investigate its tropolis of his Utopia, which were once natural history, and discover the causes of possessed by the Rev. Dr. Raymond, Vicar its volcanoes ; and I have known him sit for of Trim, and afterwards by his granddaughter hours in forgeries and founderies to inspect Mrs. Ewing, widow of Mr. Thomas Ewing, their successive operations. I enter not into a Dublin bookseller. CHAPTER V. A RECLUSE IN RHODE ISLAND. 1729— 1732. On the 23rd of January, 1729, the ' hired ship of 250 tons/ in which Berkeley and his party sailed from Gravesend, was visible in the Narragansett waters, on the western side of Rhode Island. It was making for the secure and beautiful harbour of Newport, after a voyage of rather more than four months from the Thames. The arrival of the romantic expedition, in this remote region, on its mission of 'godlike benevolence,' was thus announced in the New England Weekly Courier of the 3rd of February, 1729 : — Newport, January 24, 1729. Yesterday arrived here Dean Berkeley of Londonderry, in a pretty large ship. He is a gentleman of middle stature, of an agreeable, pleasant, and erect aspect. He was ushered into the town with a great number of gentlemen, to whom he behaved himself after a very com- plaisant manner. 'Tis said he proposes to tarry here with his family about three months. An event so singular as this arrival has left its mark upon the traditions of the place. Some of them are to be found in Up- dike's rare and curious History of the Episcopal Church in Narra- gansett, a gossipping local history of that country, which probably gives as exact an impression as any book of the social and eccle- siastical atmosphere that surrounded Berkeley in his American home. 'Dean Berkeley,' we are here told\ 'arrived in Newport by a circum- stance purely accidental. He, with other gentlemen his associates, were bound to the Island of Bermuda, with an intention of establishing there a College for the education of the Indian youth of this country — a plan ' History of the Episcopal Church, &c., p. 395 ; being part of Bull's Metjioir 0/ Trinity Church, Newport. A Recluse in Rhode Island. 155 however which wholly failed. The captain of the ship in which he sailed could not find the island of Bermuda, and having given up the search for it, steered northward until they discovered land unknown to them, and which they supposed to be inhabited by savages. On making a signal, however, two men came on board from Block island, in the character of pilots, who, on inquiry, informed them that the town and harbour of New- port were near ; and that in the town there was an Episcopal Church, the minister of which was Mr. James Honeyman. On which they pro- ceeded to Newport, but an adverse wind caused them to run into the west passage, where the ship came to anchor. The Dean wrote a letter to Mr. Honeyman, which the pilots took on shore at Conanicut island, and called on Mr. Gardner and Mr. Martin, two members of Mr. Honey- man's church, informing them that a great dignitary of the Church of England, called Dean, was on board the ship, together with other gentle- men passengers. They handed them the letter from the Dean, which Gardner and Martin brought to Newport with all possible dispatch. On their arrival, they found Mr. Honeyman was at church, it being a holiday on which divine service was held there. They then sent the letter by a servant, who delivered it to Mr. Honeyman in his pulpit. He opened it and read it to the congregation, from the contents of which it appeared the Dean might be expected to land in Newport every moment. The church was dismissed with the blessing, and Mr. Honeyman, with the wardens, vestry, church, and congregation, male and female, repaired immediately to the ferry-wharf, where they arrived a little before the Dean, his family and friends^.' Part of this is undoubtedly false, for it is contradicted by - Berkeley himself, in his Gravesend letter to Prior, and also by the Historical 'Register. There can be no doubt that it was his intention from the first to go to Rhode Island. The idea seems to have been to purchase land there, as an investment for Bermuda, and perhaps also to establish friendly correspondence with influential New Englanders. Newport was then a flourishing town, nearly a century old, of the first importance, and an emporium of American commerce. It was in those days the maritime and commercial rival of New York and Boston. Narragansett Bay formed its outer harbour j and the inner harbour, on which the town was ^ Other traditions vary a little from this. end of Rhode Island to Newport. Others Some of them say that the ship made no say the first land made after the vessel got into land till it arrived at the east or Sachuest the passage was Narragansett, on the Con- river, from which it came round the north tinent opposite Newport. 156 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH. built, was well protected from the ocean. It was a natural place for the President of St. Paul's to choose as a basis of his opera- tions. The residence, too, in that part of New England of some missionaries of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, who had been placed there a few years before, may have been another inducement. One lingers over the picture of the pious philanthropist, his newly married wife, her friend, and their three companions, wend- ing their way from the ferry-wharf of Newpoit, with their colonial escort, on that far-off winter day, in the beginning of 1 729. This 'f gentleman of middle stature,' with his manly courtesy, found himself at last in the crisis of an enterprise, preparation for which had absorbed his energy for seven long years, and which aimed at establishing the American civilization of the future on the basis of the University and the Chuich. He was ' never more agreeably surprised,' he says, ^ than at the sight of the town and harbour ' of Newport, where he first saw the continent that has so long filled his imagination. Around him was some of the softest rural, and grandest ocean scenery in the world, which had fresh charms even for one who, educated in the vale of the Nore, was f^imiliar with the south of England, had lingered on the bay of Naples, and wandered in Inarime and among the mountains of Sicily. The island in which Newport is situated is about fifteen miles long, and from three or four in breadth. It was Berkeley's home for nearly three years — years of waiting for the fulfilment of the promise on the faith of which he left England. He was here nearly seventy miles from Boston, and about an equal distance from Newhaven and Yale College. The Indian name of the island was Aquidneck or the Isle of Peace. The surface was undu- lating, and there was a central ridge with pleasant meadows gently sloping to the shore. This hill-top commanded homely farm- houses, pastures, cornfields, orchards, and woodlands, with streams of water making their way through deep ravines to the bay, or to the Ocean with its lofty cliffs, a scene which might remind the English visitor partly of the Isle of Wight and partly of Anglesea. Orchards screened the houses from the northern blasts. The atmosphere was delightful, with brilliant sunsets in summer and autumn, and sea breezes from the south, tempered by the Gulph stream, and securing perpetual verdure to the fields. Few things, v.] A Rechise in Rhode Island. 157 visitors tell us, can be imagined more soothing and beautiful than the rippling of the waves in the inner waters of Rhode Island on its smooth and shelving sands, the reflection of the verdant banks, and the glistening surface under the broad moon- light ^ or more sublime than when in winter the deep rolling billows from the ocean break upon its rocky shore. The island contained about eighteen thousand inhabitants, when Berkeley landed in 1729. Of these fifteen hundred were negroes — freemen and slaves, for many of the Newport merchants then engaged in the slave trade. A few native Indians, too, might still be seen in the island, and a larger number on the opposite or Narragansett shore. At that time Newport possessed attractions, as a rich centre of foreign and domestic trade, different from those of the fashionable watering-place it has now become. Its early wealth may be explained by several causes. The salubrity of the climate drew strangers from the Continent and from the West Indies ; its harbour gave security, near the open ocean ; and the spirit of religious toleration which reigned in the Island made it then in America what Holland was in Europe in the end of the seventeenth century. This little State was colonized by Roger Williams in 1636. Its society was constituted in a way unlike the surrounding com- munities; for religious freedom was granted here while it was unknown in every other State in America. Religionists from all the Colonies betook themselves to this city of refuge. Jews and Quakers, persecuted elsewhere, flourished in Newport in peace. The island was crowded with religious refugees, who professed often the most fantastic beliefs. An unusual independence of in- dividual opinion prevailed, and indeed prevails there at the present day. At the time of Berkeley's arrival, the population of Newport was, accordingly, a motley one. The slave trade brought negroes to the place. The white inhabitants were of many religious sects — Quakers, Moravians, Jews, Episcopalians, Congregationalists, Presbyterians, sixth principle and seventh principle Baptists, and as many others besides '^ There was a large merchant population, ^ 'In one thing the different sectaries at Esq.; the men in flaming scarlet coats and Newport, both men and women, all agreed waistcoats, laced and fringed with brightest — in a rage for finery, to the great amuse- glaring 3'ellow. The sly Quakers, not ven- ment of Berkeley's two learned, elegant turing on these charming coats and waist- friends, Sir John James and Richard Daltoii. coats, yet loving finery, figured away with 158 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. and a fleet of merchant ships, some employed in the whale fishery, and others in commerce with the West Indies. In the interior of this verdant Island, and also on the Narra- gansett shore, lived a pastoral population. In their snug wooden farm-houses there was plenty and good cheer in summer and in winter. The slaves and the Indians worked for the farmers at hay harvest and in the sheep-fold. A landed aristocracy was inter- spersed among the sheep and cattle farmers. The country was remarkable in those days for its frank and generous hospitality. Travellers were entertained as guests, and inns were rare ; New- port contained only one or two in 1720. The society, for so remote a region, was intelligent and well-informed. The landed gentlemen took good care of the education of their children. Private tutors were employed by some, and others were taken to be educated in the houses of the missionaries. The girls were sent to Boston for their education. The family libraries and pictures which still remain show the taste and culture of the gentlemen of the island and of Narragansett even in those early times — the Updikes, Hazards % Potters, Browns, and Stantons. Smibert, Berkeley's artist friend, soon found employment. Some of his portraits still adorn the houses of the country. The Rhode Island aristocracy of Berkeley's time maintained the character of the old English country gentlemen from whom they were descended. A state of society supported by slavery produced festivity. Tradition records the genial life of those days in the colony. Excursions to Hartford to luxuriate on bloated salmon were annual indulgences in May. Pace races on the beach for silver tankards were the social indulgences of summer. When plate on their sideboards. One, to the no as well as Quakers were then prominent in small diversion of Berkeley, sent to England, Newport. President Stiles, some years after and had made on purpose, a noble large tea- this, loved to walk on the Parade there with pot of solid gold, and inquired of the Dean, the Jewish Rabbles, learning from them the when drinking tea with him, whether Friend mysteries of the Cabbala. See Dr. Park's Berkeley had ever seen such a "curious Memoir of Hopldm, ^. ^^. thing." Oil being told that silver ones were * The name of Hazard associates Rhode much in use in England, but that he had Island with philosophy at the present day, — never seen a gold one, Ebenezer replied : — in the person of Rowland G. Hazard, of " Aye, that was the thing ; I was resolved to Peacedale, near Newport, whose acute trea- have something finer than anybody else. tises on the W/ZZ (1864), and on Cai^saftow They say that the Queen [Caroline] has not (1869), are known on both sides of the got one." The Dean delighted his ridicu- Atlantic, and to whose kindness I am in- lous host by assuring him that his was an debted for information about Berkeley's home unique ; and veiy happy it made him.' in his native island. (Preface to Moiich Berkeley, p ccccliv.) Jews v.] A Rechise in Rhode Island. 159 autumn arrived, there were harvest-home festivities. Large numbers of both sexes gathered on those occasions. Gentlemen in their scarlet coats and swords, with laced ruffles over their hands, silk stockings, and shoes ornamented with silver buckles, and ladies dressed in brocade, with high-heeled shoes and high head-dresses. These festivities would sometimes continue for days, and they were shared by the slaves as well as their masters. Christmas was the great festival of the year : twelve days were then given to hospitalities. The wedding, too, was a great gala in the olden time. And the fox chase, with hounds and horns, as well as fishing and fowling, were favourite sports in Narragansett ^\ Berkeley and his wife seem to have lived in the town of Newport for the first five or six months after their arrival. Mr, Honeyman, the missionary of the English Society, had been placed there, in Trinity Church, in 1704. This was the earliest episcopal mission in that part of America. The church, which was finished a few years before Berkeley's arrival, is still a conspicuous object from Newport harbour. He preached in it three days after his arrival, and often afterwards during his stay in the island ". We have a slight picture of him as he appeared in Trinity Church, given by Colonel Updike-'s'^ son Ludowick, who used to say that when a boy his father often took him to hear Berkeley preach. Like all really learned men, he was tolerant in religious opinion, which gave him a great and deserved popularity with all de- ' It may be interesting to record the and discord engendered by the Revolution names of some of the old families who were broke up and destroyed their previously living this pleasant rural life when Berkeley existing intercourse, and harmonious rela- was in Rhode Island. ' Among them,' says tions were never restored. By that event Updike, 'were Dr. Badcock, Colonel Stanton, we became another and a new people.' Colonel Champlin, the two Gov. Hazards, (p. 187.) Gov. Robinson, Col. Potter, Judge Potter, '^ The BerMey Papers contain skeleton the Gardniers, Col. Willet, Elisha Cole, John notes of sermons preached in Trinity Church, and Edward Cole, Judge Holme, Col. Up- Newport, and in the Narragansett country, dike, Matthew Robinson, Col. Brown, Dr. printed in another part of this volume. M'Sparran, and Dr. Fayerweather. They They were for the most part preached in received frequent visits from others in 1729, one or two in 1730. Boston. These constituted a bright, intel- ' Colonel Upside was Attorney-General lectual, and fascinating society. Great of the Colony for twenty-four years. He sociality and interchange of visits prevailed was an intimate friend of Berkeley, who among them, and strangers were welcome, presented to him, on his departure from and treated with old-fasliioned urbanity and Rhode Island, a silver coffee-pot, which re- hospitality ; but the political acrimony, strife, mains as an heirloom in the Updike family. i6o Life and Letters of Berkeley. [en. nominations. All sects, it seems, rushed to hear him ^ even the Quakers with their broad-brimmed hats came and stood in the aisles. Updike reports that Berkeley in one of his sermons very emphatically said— 'Give the devil his due, John Calvin was a great man ^.' Three months after his arrival at Newport, Berkeley describes his new experience in the following letter to Prior : — Newport, in Rhode Island, April 24, 1729. Dear Tom, I CAN by this time say something to you, from my own experience, of this place and people. The inhabitants are of a mixed kind, consisting of many sorts and sub- divisions of sects. Here are four sorts of Anabaptists, besides Presby- terians, Quakers, Independents, and many of no profession at all. Notwithstanding so many differences, here are fewer quarrels about religion than elsewhere, the people living peaceably with their neighbours, of whatever profession. They all agree in one point, that the Church of England is the second best. The climate is like that of Italy, and not at all colder in the winter than I have known it every where north of Rome. The spring is late ; but, to make amends, they assure me the autumns are the finest and longest in the world, and the summers are much pleasanter than those of Italy by all accounts, forasmuch as the grass con- tinues green, which it doth not there. This island is pleasantly laid out in hills and vales and rising grounds ; hath plenty of excellent springs and fine rivulets, and many delightful landscapes of rocks and promon- tories and adjacent islands. The provisions are very good ; so are the fruits, which are quite neglected, tho' vines sprout up of themselves to an extraordinary size, and seem as natural to this soil as to any I ever saw. The town of Newport contains about six thousand souls, and is the most thriving flourishing place in all America for its bigness. It is very pretty and pleasantly situated. I was never more agreeably surprised than at the sight of the town and its harbour, I could give you some hints that may be of use to you if you were disposed to take advice ; but of all men in the world, I never found encouragement to give you any. By this opportunity I have drawn on Messrs. Wogan and Aspinwall for ninety-seven pounds, and shall soon draw for about five hundred pounds more. I depend on your taking care that my bills be duly * Metnoirs of the Rhode Island Bar. p. ^^. v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. i6i paid. I hope you have well concerted that matter with Swift and Com- pany, as I desired you. My draughts shall always be within my income ; and if at any time they should be made before payment thereof into their hands, I will pay interest. I doubt not you keep my farmers punctual. I have heard nothing from you or any of my friends in England or Ireland, which makes me suspect my letters were in one of the vessels that wreck'd. I write in great haste, and have no time to say a word to my brother Robin. Let him know we are in good health. Once more take care that my draughts are duly honoured (which is of the greatest importance to my credit here) ; and if I can serve you in these parts, you may command your affectionate humble servant, GEOR. BERKELEY. Send the date of my accounts and affairs, directed and enclosed to Thomas Corbet, Esq., at the Admiralty Office in London. Direct all your letters the same way. I long to hear from you. In the spring of 1729, accompanied by his friends Smibert and Colonel Updike, he visited th? Rev. James M'Sparran '^, the mis- sionary minister of St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Narragansett, whose America 'Dissected bears traces of an acute and vigorous mind. Smibert's portraits of the good missionary and his wife remain as memorials of this visit. It gave Berkeley an oppor- tunity of visiting the Indians in their huts and encampments. At least one of his manuscript sermons is marked as having been ' preached in the Narragansett country,' We learn, on Mrs. Berkeley's authority, that ' when the season and his health permitted, he visited the Continent [of America], not only in its outward skirts, but penetrated far into its recesses. The same generous desire of advancing the best interests of mankind which ^ I quote the following from Duyckinck's lady of the place. He was intimate with Cyclop:vdia of American Literahire : — ' The Berkeley during the residence of the Dean Rev. James M'Sparran of St. Paul's Church, at Newport. In 17,^6, he visited England, Narragansett, wis one of the pioneer band and returned with the title of Doctor of of English clergymen whose influence is Divinity from Glasgow In 1752, he often to be noticed in cementing the founda- wrote an historical tract of merit — America tions of American progress. His family was Dissected, which was printed at Dublin in from the north of Ireland, having emigrated 175.^ It was his intention to publish from Scotland. He had a good classical an extended history of the Colonies, espe- education, and came a missionary to Narra- cially of New England He died at gansett, in the State of Rhode Island, from his house, in South Kingstown, December I, the Society for the Propagation of the 1757, having sustained manfully a career of Gospel in Foreign Parts, in 1721. The next many difficulties.' (pp. 143 — 44.) year he married Miss Harriet Gardner, a VOL. IV. M 1 62 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cH. induced him to cross the Atlantic did uniformly actuate him whilst America was the scene of his ministry.' ' Dean Berkeley/ says Updike, ' repeatedly visited Narragansett, accompanied by Smibert, Col. Updike, and Dr. M'Sparran, to examnne into the condition and character of the Narragansett Indians^".' It is not to be supposed, however, that Berkeley travelled extensively in America. His knowledge of that country from personal observation was limited to a narrow region. We find no traces of him. to the south or west of Rhode Island, in the direction of Newhaven and Stratford, or on the Connecticut river. And we have the almost contemporaneous testimony of the Rev. Noah Hobart. ' Tis true," this gentleman says ^^, ' that Berkeley resided in Rhode Island for some time, but whether he was per- sonally acquainted with any number of our most eminent ministers I confess I do not know. In the general, it is well enough known that this * great and good man,' as Mr. Beech very justly styles him, partly through indisposition, and partly through a close application to his beloved studies, lived a very retired life while in this country. He saw very little of New England, was hardly ever off Rhode Island, never in Connecticut, nor in Boston till he went there to take his passage to London.' The following letter to Prior was written while Berkeley was living in the town of Newport : — Newport iti Rhode Island, June 12, 1729. Dear Tom, Being informed that an inhabitant of this country is on the point of going for Ireland, I would not omit writing to you, and acquainting you that I received two of yours, dated September 23 and December 21, wherein you repeat w-hat you formerly told me about Finney's legacy. The case of Marshall's death I had not before considered. I leave it to you to act in this matter for me as you would for yourself if it was your own case. I depend on your diligence about finishing what remains to be done, and your punctuality in seeing my money duly paid in to Swift and Company, and sending me accounts thereof. If you have any service to be done in these parts, or if you would 1 See Biog. Brit. vol. III.—' Addenda ;' i' Second Address to the Members of the and Updike, pp. 176, 523. Episcopal Separation, Boston, 1751. v.] A Rechise in Rhode Island. 163 know any particulars, you need only send me the questions, and direct me how I may be serviceable to you. The winter, it must be allowed, was much sharper than the usual winters in Ireland, but not at all sharper than I have known them in Italy. To make amends, the sum- mer is exceedingly delightful ; and if the spring begins late, the autumn ends proportionably later than with you, and is said to be the finest in the world. I snatch this moment to write ; and have time only to add, that I have got a son, who, I thank God, is likely to live. My wife joins with me in her service to you. I am, dear Tom, your affectionate humble servant, G. BERKELEY. I find it hath been reported in Ireland that we propose setding here. I must desire you to discountenance any such report. The truth is, if the King's bounty were paid in, and the charter could be removed hither, I should like it better than Bermuda : but if this were mentioned before the payment of said money, it may perhaps hinder it, and defeat all our designs. As to what you say of Hamilton's ^^ proposal, I can only answer at present by a question, viz. Whether it be possible for me, in my absence, to be put in possession of the Deanery of Dromore.? Desire him to make that point clear, and you shall hear farther from me. This letter announces the birth of Berkeley's first child. The records of Trinity Church, Nevi'pjrt, contain the following rather curious relative information: — '1729, September 1. Henry Berke- . ley, son of Dean Berkeley, baptised by his father^ and received into the Church.' In the following extract from a letter written by Dr. Zachary Grey to Dr. Timothy Culter, formerly of Yale College, and now of Boston, we have a reference to Berkeley ^-^i — Boston, New E^iglajid, July 18, 1729. Dean Berkeley is at Rhode Island, honoured by the whole Church, and dissenters of all denominations. He will pass the next ''^ Probably John Hamilton, Dean of Houghton Conquest in Bedfordshire. He Droniore. This adds to the difficulty about corresponded for many 3'ears with Dr. Cutler that deanery. at Boston. See Nichols's Lit. Anec. vol. II. *^ Nichols's Illustrations of Literature, p. 546. vol. IV. p. 289. Dr. Grey was rector of M 2 164 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH. winter there ; and we promise ourselves he will use his interest to place his College in these parts, and this will be some compensation for the loss the Church has sustained as to Harvard College. We have other glimpses of Berkeley this summer. ' Elder ' Corner, who at that time preached to a congregation of Baptists at Newport, left some manuscript diaries, which are preserved in the archives of the Rhode Island Historical Society, at Providence. In these, the following entry occurs: — ' 1729, July 14. This day Mr. John Adams and I waited on Dean George Berkeley at his house. Kindly treated.' The following memorandum of the worthy ' Elder' is curious : — ' From July 28 to August 7, 1 729, the heat was so intense as to cause the death of many. Through the first nights in August, the lightnings were constant and amazing.' It was probably in this July or August of 1729, that Berkeley, with his wife and child, removed from Newport to the pleasant valley in the interior of the island, where he had bought a farm and built a house. His three friends, James, Dalton, and Smibert, soon afterwards went to live in Boston. Berkeley's farm was a tract of land of about ninety-six acres. He bought it from Captain John Anthony, a native of Wales, then a wealthy grazier in Rhode Island, whose daughter afterwards married Gilbert Stuart, father of the American artist ^^. It adjoined a farm which belonged to the missionary Honeyman, from whom Honeyman's Hill in the neighbourhood takes its name. In this sequestered spot Berkeley planned and built a commodious house. He named his island home Whitehall, in loyal remembrance of the Palace of the English kings from Henry VIII to James II. It was in the farm-house of Whitehall that, at the age of forty-four, he began domestic life, the father of a family. Till the autumn of 1729, he had lived in Trinity College, Dublin, in hired apart- ments in London, or in France and Italy — not at aU, as it seems, domesticated at Dromore or Derry. He had now more oppor- tunity for meditative reading than almost since he left Dublin in 1 713, and he had one to share his life whose sympathy was with Fenelon and mystic Quietism. " See Updike, p. 254. I have not been tions of the Hon. J. R. Bartlett, of Provi- able to get a copy of the original deed of dence. The Records at Newport were lost purchase, notwithstanding the kind exer- or injured in the revolutionary war. v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. 165 The house at Whitehall may still be seen, in its green valley, near a hill which commands a wide view of land and ocean and neighbouring islands. When asked why he built it in the valley, when he might have gratified his love of nature more if it had been placed on the high ground, Berkeley is said to have answered, with philosophic appreciation — ' To enjoy what is to be seen from the hill, I must visit it only occasionally; if the prospect were constantly in view it would lose its charm.' The house stands a little off the road that runs eastward from New- port, about three miles from the town. The engraving here given is from drawings taken on the spot ^-5. WHITEHALL, BERKELEY'S RESIDENCE IN RHODE ISLAND. 1' In a book entitled Travels through the Middle Settlements in North America in the years 1 759 and 1760, by Andrew Burnaby, M.A., Vicar of Greenwich, we have some account of Whitehall nearly thirty years after Berkeley left it. The following extract is interesting : — ' At Newport, about three miles from town, is an indifferent wooden house, built by Dean Berkeley, when he was in these parts. The situation is low, but commands a fine view of the ocean, and of some wild rugged rocks that are on the left hand of it. They relate here several strange stories of the Dean, which, as they are characteristic of that extraordinary man, deserve to be taken notice of. One, in particular, I must beg the reader's indulgence to allow me to repeat to him. The Dean had formed the plan of building a town upon the rocks which I have just now taken notice of, and of cutting a road through a sandy beach which lies a little below them, in order that ships might come up and be sheltered in bad weather. He was so full of this project as one day to say to one Smibert, a designer, whom he had brought over with him from Europe, on the latter's asking some ludicrous question concerning the future importance of the place — " Truly you have very little foresight ; for, in fifty years time, every foot of land in this place will be as valuable as the land in Cheapside." The Dean's house, notwithstanding his pre- i66 Life and Letters of Berkeley, [CH. No spot in that island can be dearer to the thinker or the philanthropist than the quiet vale in which Berkeley lived and studied for more than two years. The changes of a century and a half have left the place nearly as it was, though the house now bears marks of decay. It is built ot wood. It has an architectural character of its own, different from the other farm-houses in the neighbourhood. Within, the ceilings are low, the cornices deep, and the fireplaces ornamented with quaint tiles. The house looks to the south. The south-west room was probably the library. The old orchard has mostly perished ; here and there aged apple-trees stand, whose gnarled trunks have resisted the winter storm. A few old cedars are near. The well from which Berkeley drank may be seen, with its old-fashioned apparatus for drawing water. Sheep and cattle still feed in the sunny pastures, and the sur- rounding meadows and corn-fields are well cultivated. A rivulet runs through a small ravine near the house. The ocean may be seen in the distance — while the groves and wild rocks off^er the diction, is at present nothing better than a farm-house, and his library is converted into the dairy.' A reviewer in the Gentleman's Magazine (vol. XLV. p. 13.:;), who seems to be well informed, observes as follows upon this passage : — ' Several mistakes in this strange story we have a particular pleasure in being able to correct, in justice to a man who, though extraordinary, was also excellent, and whose zeal, however unsuccessful, in the best of causes, entitles him to much better epithets than wild and chimerical. Far from pro- jecting a town, &c., the building, and the only building, which Dean Berkeley had planned, was a tea-room and a kitchen, not even a bed-chamber. For what he said to his designer (or rather painter), Smibert, a painter without imagination, as to the probable value of that ground, there is not the least foundation. Possibly the proprietor of it might conceive that there was some latent scheme in contemplation which might eventually increase the value ; and certain it is that, influenced by this notion, he de- manded a greater price than the Dean chose to give, and therefore declined the purchase Had Mr. Burnaby been so disposed, Rhode Island would have furnished him with some traits of Dean Berkeley as a philanthropist more pleasing and more true.' Lord and Lady Amberley visited White- hall in September, 1867— more than a century after Mr. Burnaby. I extract the following sentences from a letter giving an account of the visit, with which I was favoured by Lady Amberley : — ' The house is built of wood, as they all are in this part of the country— white horizontal planks. Berkeley's parlour was a good sized square room, with four win- dows, and a large fireplace, with pretty, old- fashioned, painted tiles. His bedroom was above — a narrow massive staircase, with wooden bannisters, leading to it. There is an old orchard in front of the house, with pear-trees in it that were there in Berke!e3''s time. An old vine creeps over the house. .... A simple-minded woman, named Brown, who inhabits it, was surprised at our interest in every corner of the place From the house we went to what is called the Second Beach, nearly a mile off, Berke- ley's chief resort, and where the rocks are known by the name of Paradise. The beach is sandy. The rocks stand back a little way from it. One gets to the foot of them across a brook, and through long tangled grass, full of beautifully coloured wild flowers. The alcove is a lonely spot, open only to the south, with a grand view of the ocean, and quite protected from rain and sun, and from all intruders — a capital study for any recluse.' v.] A Rechtse i7i Rhode Island, 167 same shade, and silence, and solitude which soothed Berkeley in his recluse life. No solicitations of his friends in Boston could withdraw him from the quiet of this retreat, where he diverted his anxieties about Bermuda and the expected endowment by the ingenious and beautiful thoughts which are blended with subtle feeling and gleams of humour in the dialogues of Aldphron^ pub- lished after his return to England. This most popular of all his writings was the result of reading and meditation in Rhode Island. None of his previous works *show so much learned re- search. We may infer from its pages that Berkeley must have had a considerable library within his reach at Whitehall. Alclphron is redolent of the fragrance of rural nature in Rhode Island, and of the invigorating breezes of its ocean shore. BERKELEY'S ALCOVE, RHODE ISLAND. Smith of Philadelphia, in his preface to the London edition of Johnson of Stratford's philosophical works, says that one day when visiting him Johnson took up the book, and reading some of Berkeley's rural descriptions, told him that they were copied from the charming landscapes in that delightful island, which 1 68 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. lay before him at the time he was writing. The tradition is that much of Aldphron was studied in the open air at a favourite retreat below a projecting rock, commanding a view of the beach and the ocean, with some shady elms not far off. The spot is still shown to visitors, and the chair in which Berkeley was ac- customed to sit in this natural alcove in the Hanging Rocks is still preserved with veneration ^*^. We have pictures of Rhode Island in the book. The following pas- sage, for instance, describes the scenery round Whitehall ": — 'After dinner we took our walk to Crito's, which lay through half a dozen pleasant fields, planted round with plane-trees, that are very com- mon in this part of the country. We walked under the delicious shade of these trees for about an hour before we came to Crito's house, which stands in the middle of a small park^ beautified with two fine groves of oak and walnut, and a winding stream of sweet and clear water.' Here is a picture of the Second Beach and the Hanging Rocks ^^i — 'Next morning Alciphron and Lysides said the weather was so fine they had a mind to spend the day abroad, and take a cold dinner under a shade in some pleasant part ot the country. Whereupon, after breakfast, we went down to a beach about half a mile off-], where we walked on the smooth sand, with the ocean on the one hand, and on the other wild, broken rocks, intermixed with shady trees and springs of water, till the sun began to be uneasy. We then withdrew into a hollow glade between two rocks, where we seated ourselves.' The conversation in the fifth Dialogue is introduced by a picture of the town of Newport and Narragansett Bay as seen from Honey man's Hill : — ' We amused ourselves next day, every one to his fancy, till nine of the clock, when word was brought that the tea-table was set in the library, which is a gallery on a ground floor, with an arched door at one end opening into a walk of limes, where, as soon as we had drank tea, we were tempted by fine weather to take a walk which led to a small mount of easy ascent, on the top whereof we found a seat under a spreading tree. Here we had a prospect, on the one hand of a 1^ Dr. Coit in a letter says,- — ' Through An engraving of the chair is given by my grandfather, the chair in which Dean Updike, p. },o(i. It was here, according to Berkeley used to sit at Newport has de- Updike, that he wrote his celebrated verses scended to me, and is still in good preserva- — so oracular as to the future destiny of tion. It is the one in which he is believed America. Cf. note 15. to have composed his Minute Philosopher.^ " Dial. I. sect. I. "" Dial. II. sect. I. v.] A Recluse in Rhode Island. 169 narrow bay or creek of the sea, enclosed on either side by coast beautified with rocks and woods, and green banks and farm-houses. At the end of the bay was a small town, placed upon the slope of a hill, which, from the advantage of its situation^ made a consider- able figure. Several fishing-boats and lighters gliding up and down, on a surface as smooth and as bright as glass, enlivened the prospect. On the other side, we looked down on green pastures, flocks and herds basking beneath in sunshine, while we, in our situation, enjoyed the freshness of air and shade. Here we felt the sort of joyful instinct which a rural scene and fine weather inspire; and proposed no small pleasure in resuming and con- tinuing our conference till dinner.' The spirited picture of a fox chase, which follows, represents what might be seen not in Eng- land only, but also in the Narragansett country. Though Berkeley loved chiefly domestic quiet at Whitehall, and the 'still air of delightful studies,' he mixed occasionally in the society of Newport, with its clergymen, lawyers, and physicians, and its enterprising and liberal merchants. Some of them had been trained in European universities, and were attracted to the colony by its prosperity. Soon after he settled at Whitehall, he took an active share in forming a philosophical Society in New- port, where he found persons not unqualified to consider ques- tions v/hich had long occupied his thoughts, and who could see that his philosophical system implied no distrust of the senses, nor disregard of reason in the conduct of life. Among the members were Col. Updike, Judge Scott (a granduncle of Sir Walter Scott), Nathaniel Kay, Henry Collins, Nathan Townsend, the Rev. James Honeyman, and the Rev. Jeremiah Condy. John-- son of Stratford and M'Sparran of Narragansett were occasional members. The Society seems to have been very successful. One of its objects was to collect books. It originated, in 1747, the Redwood Library, one of the most useful institutions in Newport at the present day^^. Berkeley's house at Whitehall was a place of meeting for the missionaries of the surrounding country. ' The missionaries '^ Berkeley corresponded in French with lived at Providence. (Updike, pp. 41-59.) Galiriel Bernon, an aged Huguenot refugee, The letters I have not been able to re- who emigrated to America in 169S, and cover. I 70 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. from the English Society, who resided within a hundred miles of Newport/ according to the affectionate testimony of Mrs. Berkeley '^", ' agreed among themselves to hold a sort of Synod there, twice in a year, in order to enjoy the advantages of his advice and exhortation. Four of these meetings were accordingly held. One of the principal points which he then pressed upon his fellow-labourers was the absolute necessity of conciliating by all innocent means the affection of their hearers, and also of their dissenting neighbours. His own example indeed very eminently enforced his precepts; for it is hardly possible to conceive a con- duct more uniformly kind, tender, beneficial, and liberal than his was. He seemed to have only one wish in his heart — that was to alleviate misery, and diffuse happiness.' In the delightful seclusion of this studious life, the recluse in Rhode Island was not forgotten by his friends in England. He continued to correspond with Prior at Dublin, and also with friends about Court in London, praying for a settlement of the Bermuda claims. The following letter from Dr. Benson '•^^ may have reached Whitehall in the autumn of 1729, and now throws some light upon Berkeley : — Dear Mr. Dean, It was great joy to me to hear from your own hand, what I had before heard from others, that you were safely arriv'd in Rhode Island, and that Rhode Island is so agreeable to you ; and I am the more pleas'd it is, as I find so litde likelihood of the £20,000 being paid in order to remove you to Bermuda. I know how much it is your desire to be doing a great deal of good wherever you are, and I hope it is in your power to do it in some other place, if they will not permitt you to do it where you at first proposed. [I said] to Ld. Pembroke as a thought of my own whe[ther] they would give some part of the money if they f^could not be] persuaded to pay in the whole. This he said it [would be danjgerous to propose, because the offering to accept [a part] might be interpreted by them the giving up a right [to the whole], and that such an offer should come from them and not from [your] Agents. The old Earl has been enquiring and rum[inating?] much about these affairs, but with what intention, [or with] any or not I do not know. This I know, that if you do not take •" Biog. Brit. vol. III. — ' Addenda.' Durham, and one of the king's chaplains. ^* Ber]e Motu and in Alciphron. Baxter, in his Inquiry^ among his other objections to the new conception of matter and space, alleged that it forced the author ' to suspect that even mathematics may not be very sound knowledge at the bottom.' Stock says that Addison was connected with this crusade against the mathematicians, for that he had told Berkeley that Garth, in his last illness, was impervious to the consideration of Christianity, on the ground that Dr. Halley, that great mathematician and dealer in demonstration, had convinced him that the Christian religion must be an imposture, because its doctrines were incomprehensible 3^. This story as told is not a very likely one. Garth died in January ^ Dissertation, Part II. sect. 4. bers of Mankind, and the Rev. Dr. Steven- ^ I have failed to find any documentary son, Professor of Logic and Metaphysics in record of this interesting incident. The the University of Edinburgh, were among Royal Society of Edinburgh is, however, the leading members. They were young said to have taken its rise in the Society men, prosecuting their studies in Edinburgh, referred to, which was called the /2ara^enfa« about 1720 — 24, when Berkeley was in Cluh. Nor have I been able to determine London and in Dublin, after his return from the exact date of this club, and of the corre- Italy. Perhaps the Society to which Mr. spondence which the members are said to Stewart refers was making its inquiries have held with Berkeley. The Rev. Dr. about that time. Wallace, author of a Discourse on the Nttm- '^* See also Spence's Anecdotes, p. 140. VI.] Back to London. 225 1719, and Addison in the following June. Berkeley was then in Italy, and there is no evidence that he was in correspondence with Addison. But however this may be, his thoughts, during this spring in London, were employed about a form of religious scepticism, said to prevail among mathematicians, which was founded on the existence of incomprehensibilities in religion. In January 1734, he told Prior, that though he could not read, yet his thoughts seemed as distinct as ever ; and that therefore, ' for amusement,' he passed his early hours ' in thinking of certain mathematical matters which might possibly produce something.' The result was the Analyst^ which appeared in March, on the eve of his departure to Ireland. The general aim of the Analyst^ apart from the involved mathematical details, is clear enough. It is an argumentum ad hominem. Similar reasoning is to be found in the last dialogue of Alciphrottj where it is argued that signs may have another use than that of marking and suggesting ideas : without sig- nifying ideas, they may form rules for us to act by. At the root of all knowledge concerned with ideas, there are practical principles, he thinks, which cannot be analysed into ideas, and are in that sense incomprehensible. It is unreasonable to insist on resolving them into ideas. In this respect religion and science are upon the same footing. Force is as incomprehensible as grace. Both have a practical meaning; but we can have no ideas, in sense or in imagination, of what either force or grace means. So too with the mathematicians. They object to receive religion, because its rudimentary principles cannot be presented and represented in sensations and sense images. Now, the very same thing is found, he tries to show, in mathematics; especially in the new and admired doctrine of fluxions. Its elementary principles do not admit of being reduced into either sensations or images. Fluxions are regulative and not speculative, as the first principles of religion are. In this congenial field, Berkeley shows his characteristic subtlety. He boldly challenges the leaders of mathematical analysis; proves that modern analysts are obliged, even in their demonstrations, to assume what they cannot resolve into finite sensibles ; and concludes that reasoners who can accept mysteries, and even what seem to be contradictions, in their own province, are inconsistent in rejecting religion, merely because it makes VOL. IV. Q 2 26 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. a similar demand upon them. All knowledge, physical, mathe- matical, and theological, is thus, with him, in the last analysis, practical art rather than speculative science. It must be allowed, I think, that Berkeley's natural ardour, and inclination to push any conception which he accepts to extremes, has led him in the Analyst to a position where he is at any rate very apt to be misunderstood. Not contented with pressing the incomprehensibility, on a sensationalist basis, of the principles of mathematics, and especially of fluxions, he alleges fallacies in the new science of Newton. He speaks as if fluxions involved abso- lute contradictions as well as relative incomprehensibility j and mathematicians complain that he is blind to the Newtonian conception of continuity, confounding it with the monadism of Leibnitz. But it is to be remembered that he is arguing with persons who are supposed to assume that all signs should signify what is capable of resolution into a sensationalist meaning, and who reject the mysteries of religion, on the ground that they are not open to this analysis, but involve us in contradictions when we attempt so to analyse them. He probably regarded the Newtonian conception of continuity as open to the same objection; as in- capable of reduction into ideas of sense and imagination, and as involving us in contradictions when we treat it as if it could. If this was his thought, his language is sometimes unguarded. Carnot and Lagrange, Euler and D'Alembert, have since tried by various expedients to resolve diflRculties in the calculus similar to some of those which Berkeley first brought to light •^^. The mathematicians, as we shall see, did not long leave the Analyst untouched. In the meantime, Berkeley made his escape to his new bishopric in Ireland. The following letter to Prior shows that in the end of April, after repeated postponements, he was at last on the road : — Dear Tom, ^^- '^^^''"''' ^P'''^ 30, 1734- I WAS deceived by the assurance given me of two ships going for Cork. In the event, one could not take in my goods, and the other took freight for another port. So that, after all their delays and 3^ Kant's criticism of Space was partly geometry, and mechanics. But Berkeley founded on the need for showing the pos- had not learned to look at the question sibility of pure mathematics — arithmetic, from this point of view. VI.] yoiirney to Dublin. 227 prevarications, I have been obliged to ship off my things for Dublin on board of Captain Leech. From this involuntary cause, I have been detained here so long beyond my intentions, which really were to have got to Dublin before the Parliament, which now I much question whether I shall be able to do ; considering that, as I have two young children*" with me, I cannot make such dispatch on the road as otherwise I might. I hope Skipton's first payment hath been made ; so that you have got the money you returned, and that the rest is lodged with Swift and Company to answer my draughts ; otherwise I have overdrawn. The lodging in Gervais-street*\ which you formerly procured for me, will, I think, do very well. I shall want, beside the conveniences I before mentioned, a private stable for six coach-horses; for so many I bring with me. I shall hope for a letter from you at the post-office in Chester, giving an account of the lodging, where and what it is, &c. My wife thinks that on breaking up of the Duke's kitchen, one of his under-cooks may be got; and that a man-cook would be a great convenience to us. If you can procure a sober young man, who is a good cook, and under- stands pickling and preserving, at a reasonable price, we shall be much obliged. The landlady of the lodging must, in your agreement, be obliged to furnish linen and necessaries for the table, as also to dress our meat. This is to be included in the price that we pay by the week for the lodgings. In your last, you mentioned black cattle and sheep of Bishop Synge's''^, which I am resolved to purchase, and had long ago signified the same to my brother, if I remember rightly. If I meet with a good ship at Chester, I propose going from thence. As for sending a ship, I doubt this will not come time enough; and write sooner I could not, because of my uncertain situation. However, you can tell what passage-ships are on this side the water, and what is proper to be done. If a ship be sent, you will take care it is the best can be got. I have a coach and six to embark. We propose being at Chester on Saturday evening. I write this on Tuesday morning from St. Alban's. We are on the point of taking coach. So with my little family's compliments and my own, I remain your af- fectionate humble servant, GEORGE BERKELEY. I hope to find a letter at the post-office in Chester, informing where the lodging is taken. A few days after this letter was written at St. Alban's, Berkeley left England. He did not see it again for nearly twenty years ■"* Henry and George. " In Dublin. ^'^ His predecessor at Cloyne. Q2 CHAPTER VII. FIRST YEARS IN THE IRISH DIOCESE. 1734—1739- On Sunday the 19th of May, 1734, Berkeley was consecrated to the bishopric of Cloyne, in St. Paul's Church, Dublin, by Dr.Theo- philus Bolton, Archbishop of Cashel, assisted by Dr. Nicholas Forster, Bishop of Raphoe, and Dr. Charles Carr, Bishop of Killaloe. The old church which witnessed the consecration service has since been removed, to make way for the unadorned modern structure which now occupies its place in North King Street. Berkeley was now once more in his native country, in circum- stances for concentrating his intellectual powers and benevolent sympathies to the advantage of his countrymen. We have not followed him to Ireland since he left it in September 1724, the newly-appointed Dean of Derry, on his way to London, impatient to resign his deanery in the service of America. His stay in Dublin, in the ' lodging in Gervais Street,' on the north side of the Liffey, in this month of May 1734, was probably short. In his letter to Prior he had desired the lodging to be taken ' only by the week ; for I shall stay no longer in Dublin than needs must-' and Stock says that 'immediately after his consecration he repaired to his manse-house at Cloyne.' He wished when in Dublin to be 'near Baron Wainwright,' and alluded to his 'brother Robin,' perhaps then living in College 1. Thomas Prior seems to have been in Dublin at the time, and Bishop Forster, who had presented him for holy orders, a quarter of a century before, in the old College Chapel, was one of those who ^ His brother Robert was married in 1734, in Dublin. First Years in the Irish Diocese. 229 now assisted at his consecration in St. Paul's. Swift, whose letter to Lord Carteret records Berkeley's departure from Dublin in 1724, was still in his old quarters at St. Patrick's. On a day in the early summer of 1734, Berkeley, with his wife and two infant boys, and their considerable retinue, might have been seen wending their way over the rough roads which then connected the county of Cork, and its secluded Diocese of Cloyne, with the Irish metropolis. Cloyne is more than a hundred and fifty miles from Dublin. The most direct road in those days was through Kilkenny; and thus Berkeley, a wanderer among many men and cities, after years of ingenious thought and holy aspiration, may have been brought again for at least a passing hour within sight of the ' famous school' of Kilkenny, the old Castle of the Ormonds, and the banks of the Nore. We have no record of visits to them since he matriculated at Dublin, and curiously none of his remaining writings contain any reference, except the most incidental, to his native county. Before autumn set in, he was settled in his ' manse-house ' at Cloyne, ' continuing his studies,' Stock says, ' with unabated at- tention,' and applying a fresh and original mind to the discharge of episcopal duties. He was accustomed to rise early in his new home; his mornings were given to study, in company with Plato and Hooker. The Cloyne life seems soon to have become a very sedentary one ; partly perhaps from habits of study formed in Rhode Island, and partly from indifferent health. His health was broken before he left London. He had over-studied, we may suppose ; and that too in the anxious crisis of his life : he now looked with hope to a quiet life in his Irish Diocese. The region in which he came to live was in harmony with these growing inclinations. The eastern and northern parts of the County of Cork formed his Diocese. It was bounded on the west by Cork harbour and the river Lee; on the east by the beautiful Blackwater and the mountains of Waterford ; while the hills of Limerick protected it on the north, and the ocean formed its southern boundary, approaching within three miles of the little town of Cloyne. At that time the Diocese contained forty-four churches, and about fourteen thousand Protestants. The Roman Catholic churches were almost twice as many, with a population of more than eighty thousand. The Cathedral and the 230 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. Bishop's residence were in the village of Cloyne, in the barony of Imokilly. This barony, as a glance at the map shows, is a compact territory, apart from the great currents of life, about twenty miles in length, from Cork harbour to the mouth of the Blackwater at Youghall, and extending inwards about twelve miles from the ocean. Except on its north side, Imokilly is surrounded by the ocean or its estuaries. The interior consists of two nearly parallel limestone valleys, extending from west to east, and separated from one another by a low range of hills, partly cultivated, but on which few trees could then be seen. Imokilly was then, as it still is, a fertile region. Its two valleys were well planted, and contained a number of gentlemen's seats. In the northern vale were Midleton, now a considerable town, and Castlemartyr, the residence of the Shannon family of Boyles. The southern valley, about six miles in length, from Aghada and Cork harbour eastward to Ballycottin Bay, contained Rostellan, the ancient seat of the lords of Inchiquin, with its charming demesne, washed by the waters of the harbour- and, next to Rostellan eastward, Castle Mary, the abode of the Longfields. A mile further on in the valley stood the Cathedral and See-house of Cloyne, with their dependent village, contain- ing perhaps fifteen hundred souls, and the Round Tower, still a conspicuous landmark in all the surrounding country. Eastward of Cloyne was Ballymaloe Castle, then the seat of the Lumleys, and the lands of Shanagary, which touch the spacious expanse of Ballycottin Bay. In more distant times the Fitzgeralds were seneschals of Imokilly, and reigned supreme in both its valleys. Cloyne itself, which consists of four streets meeting in the centre of the little town, is situated on a gentle partly wooded elevation, in the centre of the valley, not three miles east of Cork harbour. It is of great antiquity. Tradition says that the Cathe- dral was founded by St. Colman in the sixth century, and the picturesque Round Tower is probably nearly as old as the Cathe- dral. The bishops of Cloyne originally lived in an old castle, which was at an angle of the four cross ways in the centre of the town. The last bishop who occupied the castle was Dr. St. George Ashe, who was translated to Clogher in 1697. The See- house in which Berkeley lived was built a few years after this, by Bishop Pooley. VII.] First Vcars in the Irish Diocese. 231 Cloyne and its surroundings are described, as they appeared in 1796, by Bishop Bennet, one of Berkeley's successors, in a letter to Dr. Parr-. 'You ask me,' he says, 'to explain, at length, the particulars of my situation at Cloyne. This place, which is a dirty Irish village, lies in a valley that seems evidently to have been formed in some distant age by the waters of Cork harbour in their way to the sea ; a branch of that harbour still reaching a con- siderable way up the S.W. part of it, and the bay of Ballycottin encroaching on it towards the N.E. On every other part extends a chain of hills, well cultivated but without trees. In the middle of the valley, about three miles from the harbour and as much from the sea, rises a small insulated hill, or rather hillock, on which lies the village, church, and house ; and as this spot has a few tolerable trees about it, and is ornamented by a fine Round Tower, I do not wonder that an Irishman coming from Dublin, through a naked country for a hundred and fifty miles, should think it a beautiful spot, or that an Englishman landing in Cork harbour, and comparing it with his own rich and well-dressed vallies, should wonder at Berkeley's liking it. The church is large, but not handsome, with one bell only^ a very good organ, and its proper appurtenances of vicars choral, and singing boys. The Episcopal House is at the east end of the village, a large irregular building, having been altered and improved by different Bishops, but altogether a comfortable and handsome residence ; the side next the village has a very close screen of shrubs and trees, and the three other sides look to a large garden and farm of four -hundred acres. I keep about fifty acres, enough to supply my ^ Parr's Worlts, vol. VII. pp. io6 — 109. Clo3'ne. The bishopric, at a distance from Dr. Bennet was Bishcp of Cloyne from Dublin, and an appendage to the See of 1794 to 1820. He was an Englishman, Cork and Ross, with which it was once educated at Harrow and Cambridge. He and again united, was long the prey of the was translated to Cloyne from the See of neighbouring magnates, especially the Fitz- Cork and Ross Parr was his schoolfellow geralds. Some of the demesne lands of at Harrow, and had a great regard for this which Cloyne was deprived at the Reforma- accomplished prelate, with whom he long tion were recovered afterwards, but when maintained a close correspondence. Some of Berkeley was there it was still one of the Bennet 's letters are published in Parr's works. poorer bishoprics of Ireland, and accordingly ' Sweet,' writes Parr, ' is the refreshment its bishops held Youghal and Aghada in afforded to my soul by the remembrance covimetidam. The increase of the ecclesi- of such a scholar, such a man, and such a astical rents later in the century made it friend as Dr. William Bennet, Bishop of much more valuable, and in Bishop Bcnnet's Cloyne.' Much interesting information time the endowment of Cloyne was esti- about the bishopric of Cloyne is contained mated at about £5000 a year. in his MSS., preserved in the registry of . 232 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH. stable with hay, and my dairy with milk, in my own hands ; and these fifty acres compose three fields immediately contiguous to the house. The garden is large, four acres, consisting of four quarters, full of fruits, particularly strawberries and raspberries, which it was soon found his lordship had a predilection for; and separated^ as well as surrounded by shrubberies, which contain some pretty winding walks, and one large one of nearly a quarter of a mile long, adorned for a great part of its length by a hedge of myrtles six feet high, planted by Berkeley's own hand, and which had each of them a large ball of tar put to their roots ^ : the evidence of this fact is beyond contradiction. At the end of the garden is what we call the Rock Shrubbery, a walk leading under young trees, among sequestered crags of limestone, which hang many feet above our heads, and ending at the mouth of a Cave of unknown length and depth— branching to a great distance under the earth, sancti- fied by a thousand wild traditions, and which, I have no doubt, sheltered the first wild inhabitants of the town in its gloomy wind- ing : and gave rise at last to the town itself, cluatn being the Irish name for a cave or place of retirement. Caves were, you know, till lately, places of retreat in the Scotch islands, to which the natives fled in the time of invasion; they were the fortresses of the first savages, and gave birth naturally to towns in their neighbourhood, as the Roman camps and Saxon castles did in England at a later period. I have enclosed this place, which is a favourite spot of mine, with a low wall, enlarged its limits, and planted it with shrubs which grow in this southern part of Ireland (where frost is unknown) to a luxuriance of which the tall myrtles I have mentioned may give you some idea. * On Sunday the gates are thrown open, that my Catholic neigh- bours may indulge themselves with a walk to the Cave^. On all other days of the week no one ventures to intrude upon my retire- ment, not even the Prebendary in residence : — ' In May of this year (1S70), I saw the case. Bishop Stopford, in 1754, raised the last remaining myrtle ; but not ' the ball present front attics, and Berkeley, who kept of tar.' much company, lived principally in the * The Cave of Cloyne is still a summer rooms on the ground floor, near the garden, resort, and can be explored in dry weather. The walk to the Cave and the Rock Shrub- The See House has undergone many changes bery, with its ancient elms, is said to have since Berkeley lived in it. The oldest part been a favourite resort of Berkeley for medi- is the lower S. and W. front, looking into tation and study. the g-irden, which contains the great stair- VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 233 " pavet ipse sacerdos Accessuin, Doniinunique timet deprendere luci." At least SO 1 found the rule established j but, as I hate the inso- lence of wealth, I have been employing the carpenters some time past in making that sort of gate which cannot be left open for cattle, or shut against man. ' Of Berkeley little is remembered ^^ though his benevolence, I have no doubt, was very widely diffused. He made no improve- ment to the House, yet the part of it he inhabited wanted it much, for it is now thought only good enough for the upper servants. I wish he had planted instead of building — if, indeed, he built anything, for I cannot find any tradition of it. Crowe, one of his predecessors, and Johnson, one of his successors, appear to have contributed most to the comfort of the place j but had there been a venerable oak or two nursed by the care of this excellent man, with how much respect should I have rested under its branches : and in no spot of earth do trees grow with more vigour. There is no chapel in the house j but a private door from the garden leads to the Cathedral. The bell is in the Round Tower, the gift of Davies, Dean of Ross. 'I have thus, I think, run through everything relative to the situation of Cloyne. The neighbourhood is good ; the barony of Imokilly, which surrounds it, particularly fertile. Two lords are near me. Shannon and Longueville, hostile to each other, but vying in civility to me. The common people getting rich, from the money spent by the large detachments of the army and navy occa- sionally detained in Cork harbour ; and giving any price for fresh provisions. Protestants, comparatively, none. We are twenty English miles from Cork, which lies much further from its own harbour than we do. On the whole, if you survey this place with an English eye, you would find little to commend ; but with an Irish one nothing to blame.' Altogether Cloyne was, and is, a place for a recluse, in which a philosopher might bury himself in his thoughts, and among his ' Still less is remembered now. A recluse I could find only a faint local tradition even student, of cosmopolitan aspirations, Berke- of the tar water, during a recent visit to ley seems to have left no deep local mark. Cloyne. It is strange that the Cathedral Notwithstanding the efforts of my friend should contain no memorial of the greatest Mr. Creed, who now occupies the See-house, name associated with it. 2 34 Life and Lettei^s of Bei^keley, [CH. books — shut off by its geographical position from all the great centres, and reserved for meditative quiet, with its spacious garden, and silent, green, undulating country. Here, with his increasing disinclination to travel, Berkeley was almost as much removed from former friends as he had been at his farm in Rhode Island. The city of Cork took the place of Newport, but Cork was twenty miles from Cloyne, while Newport was only three miles from Whitehall. His first episcopal neighbour at Cork was Dr. Peter Browne, his old Provost at Trinity College, and more recently the assailant of Akiphron. If they had inclination, they had little opportunity either for continued controversy, or for neighbourly intercourse. Browne died about twelve months after Berkeley was settled in Cloyne ^ He was succeeded by Clayton, Berkeley's College friend and correspondent, who was brought from Killala to Cork, and was his neighbour there till he removed to Clogher in 1745. Though no trace of such intercourse has been found, we may suppose that Clayton and Berkeley sometimes exchanged visits or letters. The country seats in the two valleys of Imokilly, we ^ Bishop Browne died at Cork, on the 25th of August 1735. and was buried in the little chapel at Balliiiaspic, near Cork, where he had built a pleasant retreat for study. Here probably his Procedure, and his Divine Analogy were meditated. This summer (l8jo) I saw his portrait in the Palace of Cork. Through the kindness of Richard Caulfield, E^q., LL.D., of Cork, I have before me a manuscript catalogue of his library, written by his own hand — a small quarto, bound in vellum, labelled on the back, ' Catalogue of Books belonging to Peter, Lord Bishop of Corke.' I he library con- tained a considerable store of early ecclesi- astical literature. He left behind him in manusciipt a second volume of the Divine Analogy, and other writings, theological and metaphysical. His Sermons were published in 742, in two vols. We have few details of the life of this philosophical bishop, but his mortal part was seen again only a few years ago, nearly a hundred and thirty years after his death, by my friend Dr. Caulfield. A report, it seems, was in circulation, that the vault at Ballin- aspic had been desecrated, and the remains of Bishop Browne stolen. To vindicate his countrymen from the charge. Dr. Caulfield made an examination on Jan. 12, 1 86 1. After three hours' work the labourers reached the flag that closed the entrance to the vault. The lead coffin, after all, had never been disturbed. I give his own words — ' On the lid, embedded in the de- ca3ed timber, we found the plate, which required the greatest care to touch, as it was quite corroded, and not much thicker than a sheet of paper. This we succeeded in raising. It was originally square, and in the centre was an oval with a bead pattern, within which were the letters " P. C. & R. 1735." As the lid of this coffin had never been soldered, and had yielded a little to the weight of the decayed timber that lay on it, it was found necessary to take it off, when all that was mortal of Bishop Browne pre- sented itself. There was no appearance of an inner shell. The body was placed in the lead, enveloped in folds of linen, which was not in the slightest degree discoloured. The body was nearly entire, from the middle up ; so perfect were the features that any one who had seen his portrait at the Palace of Cork would readily have detected the resemblance. The coffin was 5 feet 8 inches long.' After an investigation which occupied more than an hour, the lid was replaced, and the entrance closed up. The remains of Bishop Browne were afterwards removed for re-interment beneath the new Cathedral Church of St. Finbarre. at Cork, where they now rest, for ever out of the reach of human eye. VII.] First Yeai's in the Irish Diocese. 235 gather from incidental allusions, soon supplied local visitors and resorts. Among the clergy, Isaac Gervais, one of the neighbouring prebendaries of Lismore, soon appeared as a correspondent, and often came to enliven the family circle at Cloyne. The annual visits of Thomas Prior, and his continued correspondence, main- tained that early friendship to the end. We have few remains of Berkeley's own letters during his first year in his Diocese. But here is one written to him by his friend Seeker, the new Bishop of Bristol", which contains some interesting allusions, and comes first in chronological order among the remains of the Cloyne correspondence : — My dear Lord, I RETURN you my heartiest thanks for your very friendly congratula- tions : and we are all very happy that you consider us in the view of neighbours ; for that relation gives us an undoubted right to a visit from you immediately upon our arrival at Bristol. And I take it Master Harry's obligations in point of gallantry to make Miss Talbot* that compliment are quite indispensable. Then from Bristol we will beg leave to wait upon you to the palace of my good lord of Gloucester^, who indeed, to do him justice, bears with tolerable composure his being restrained from the pleasures of street walking ; but all his honours avail him not, so long as Dicky Dalton continues to beat him at chess. But perhaps, my lord, before the time comes of receiving a visit from you, we may send an old acquaintance to pay you one. For I take it for granted Dr. Rundle^" will now be made an Irish bishop, and probably of Derry, unless it can be filled up in such a manner as to vacate some good deanery for him here, which I believe he would rather chuse. His health is much better than it was, and this new prospect seems to have ^ Berkeley Papers. Seeker was nominated with Whiston and Clarke in their endea- to the bishopric of Bristol in December, 1734- vours to promote what they called Primitive " Miss Catherine Talbot. This accom- Christianity, and became subject to a charge plished lady, grand-daughter of Bishop Tal- of Deism. The interposition of Gibson, bot, lived in Seeker's family for many years. Bishop of London, stopped his preferment to The above is the only reference by name to the bishopric of Gloucester (which Benson the son Henry in any of the correspondence. was with difficulty induced to accept), and ^ Benson was made Bishop of Gloucester a paper war broke out. Rundle was, how- in 17.34, and occupied that See till his death ever, considered good enough for an Irish in 175^' See. He is described as a man of warm '" Rundle was appointed to the bishopric fancy, and brilliant conversation, apt to be of Derry in I'J^-,. He was early patronized carried by his wit into indiscreet expressions. by Talbot, Bishop of Durham, having been. As a bishop, however, he conciliated general like Seeker and Butler, a cdllcge friend of good-will in his remote diocese, where he young Talbot. Rundle was also connected died in 1743. 236 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. done him great service. The pamphlet war about him is not quite extinguished, but the attention of the world is almost entirely turned from it to other matters. The parliament hath done nothing yet be- sides giving each side an opportunity of shewing their numbers, which are sufficiently in favour of the court. The Queen is perfectly well again, and Sir R. Walpole's unseasonable gout is going off. It con- tinues doubtful whether any petition will be brought in against the Scotch peers. And it does not appear that we shall have any Church work this session. Dr. Waterland was chosen prolocutor last week, but declines it, upon which Dr. Lisle, archdeacon of Canterbury, was chosen yesterday. There hath lately been a proposal made by the Bishop of London" for reprinting by subscription the most considerable tracts against popery that were written in and about King James the Second's time, I think in two folios. Whether such a work would meet with any number ef subscribers in Ireland I know not. Your friend, Mr. Pope, is publishing small poems every now and then, full of much wit and not a httle keenness ^'^. Our common friend. Dr. Butler, hath almost com- pleted a set of speculations upon the credibility of religion from its analogy to the constitution and course of nature, which I believe in due time you will read with pleasure ^^. And now, my good lord, give me leave to ask what are you doing ? As you seem to write with cheerful- ness, and make no complaints of your health, we are wiUing to believe the best of it. And your diocese, we hope, cannot but leave you some intervals of leisure which you must allow the friends of religion and virtue to promise themselves publick advantages from. My whole family desire to joyn their sincere assurances of the greatest respect and friendship to you and good Mrs. Berkeley, and their com- pliments to the young gentlemen, with those of, My Lord, Your Lordship's most affectionate brother and most obedient servant, THO. BRISTOL. Feb. I, 1734—5- '^ Bifhop Gibson, who soon after carried this 1 736. He was then rector of Stanhope, and proposal into execution, in his well-known a prebendary of Rochester, by the patronage ■^ox\L,\\\t Preservative againU Popery, \i\i\Qh of Lord Chancellor Talbot, to whom the appeared in 1738. Analogy is dedicated. He was made Bishop '^ It was a few years after this that of Bristol in 1 738, and translated to Durham Pope's famous eulogistic line on Berkeley in 1750. The Analogy of Bishop Butler was published, in the Epilogue to the Satires. has nothing but the name in common with " Butler's Analogy appeared in June the Analogy of Bishop Browne. VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 237 The following letter from Benson, the new Bishop of Gloucester, also preserved in the Berkeley Papers, was received at Cloyne in May :— St. James Street, May 13, 1735. My dear Lord, I WRiTBf to you immediately upon the receipt of yours, as I can give you the answer you wish to the chief part of your letter, that the person you mention is not to come over with the Bishop of Derry [Rundle], and he is determined to bring no chaplain over with him. There is a cousin- german of his, who has a small living here, whom he thinks himself obliged to provide for, but he does not carry him over with him. If A. [.?], Bishop Goodwin's son, shall take orders, he will, I believe, think himself obliged to take him for his chaplain preferably to any other in Ireland; but he tells me he goes over determined to prefer those educated in the countrey, with regard only to their merit and learning. I heartily wish you joy of the birth of your son^^; this is one of the greatest blessings Providence can send you, and you are so wise and happy as to understand the value of it. I hope I may by this time give you and Mrs. Berkeley joy on her entire recovery, and may God grant you both life and health to give your boys what is better than all the wealth which you or all the world can give them, a religious and good educadon. I beg you to write a line to the Baron ^^ and acquaint him with what I acquainted you at the beginning of my letter. I wish we had the Baron in our own Court of Exchequer, more for the clergy's than for his own sake. The clergy have been used extremely ill in that Court, and their only hope was in an appeal to the House of Lords. But the House on Monday was se'nnight passed such a decree upon an appeal in relation to modus, that all their hopes are gone there, and they have great reason to fear that the consequences of this decree will be very fatal. The clergyman who brought the appeal was a distinguished Tory, and he thought, I believe, he should find favour, and all thought at least he would have common justice from that quarter. But several '* A third son was born in April, and Bishop of Cloyne, was buried i6th day of taken away in October, 1735. This appears October 1735.' from the following entries which I found in *' Probably Baron Wainwright. The case the registry of Cloyne : — referred to in what follows was apparently 'Baptised 1735, llth day of April, John that in which the dean and chapter of Berkeley, son to George, Lord Bishop of Norwich appeared, in an appeal to the Cloyne. H. Wainwright, Captain Maule, House of Lords in regard to the payment of godfathers ; Mrs. Margaret Longfield, god- tithes by the occupiers of demesne lands, mother.' Modus is composition for tithes in kind. ' John Berkeley, son of George, Lord 238 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. lords of that party appear'd in a cause in which I am not sure if any one even of the Scotch lords would appear. The case was exceedingly clear ; but it was given out that the consequences of this case would affect every man that had an estate, and that it was time to put a stop to the growing wealth of the clergy. My Lord Chancellor and the Bishops of London and Salisbury spoke on one side, and Lord Bathurst and Lord Onslow on the other. Lord Hardwicke, unfortunately, was obliged to attend a cause at Guildhall that day. When the House came to divide, fifteen of the lords present had the modesty to retire to the throne, and not vote at all, but enough staid to make a majority, and the bishops had only the Chancellor and the Duke of Bedford with them. This affair makes a great deal of noise, as it affects the rights of all the parochial clergy, and as the injustice of the case is very notorious — the most notorious, perhaps, of any that has been decided for a hundred years past in the House of Lords. But Lord Bathurst did not seem to think that enough, but talked a great deal, tho' quite forein to the purpose, about the clergy having raised their fines. I am sorry I have not a more agreeable subject to write to you upon; but, as it is at present the chief subject of discourse, at least among the clergy here, I have made it the greatest part of my letter. I have only room to add many services from the Bishop of Bristol [Seeker] and his family to you and yours. My sister has been very ill, but is now better. — I am, my dear Lord, your most affectionate faithful servant and brother, M. GLOCESTER. The following letter i*', from Gibson, Bishop of London, reminds us of the Analyst.^ and refers to the controversy of which it was the occasion : — Fulham, July 9, 1735. My Lord, I HAVE now before me a letter from your Lordship of so old a date that I know not how to excuse the lateness of this answer, unless you will make allowance for the hurry of our winter campaign, and my re- moving hither, and my holding a Visitation in part of the months of May and June. What your Lordship observes is very true, and appears to be so in experience here, that the men of science (a conceited generation) are the greatest sticklers against revealed religion, and have been very open in their attacks upon it. And we are much obliged to your Lordship for 1* Berlieley Papers. VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 239 retorting their arguments upon them, and finding them work in their own quarters, and must depend upon you to go on to humble them, if they do not yet find themselves sufficiently humbled. If there be a prospect of bringing the Irish to come to our churches, in case the Liturgy were read to them in their own language, the rest of your scheme will bear no deliberation ; nor are the abilities of the per- sons ordained deacons for that purpose to be regarded, so long as they are sober and virtuous. My great doubt is, whether the priests, by terror and persuasion, have not such influence upon the lower people, for whose sake chiefly it is intended, as to hinder them from joining in a Protestant service. And though it might prove so at last, I can see no inconveni- ence in making the experiment. But your Lordship and the Bench of Bishops there must be far better judges of what is prudent and practic- able than we can be. It is taken for granted here, that our Dissenters will bring their Bill for repealing the Test Act next winter, and that whether the Court encourage them or not. It is probable that they rely upon promises which have been made by candidates in the late elections, to secure the dissenting interest in cities and boroughs ; but I cannot think that all these promises will be remembered if the Court should oppose it, nor that the Court will wantonly divest itself at once of the whole Church interest. I find that a new Lord-Lieutenant has been talked of on that side the water, but on this side we hear nothing of it. And I have reason to believe, from a circumstance that happened to come lately to ni}' know- ledge, that my Lord-Lieutenant himself does not think of it at present. I am, my Lord, Your Lordship's very faithful servant and brother, EDM. LONDON. The Analyst had given rise to a controversy which has left its mark in the history of mathematics^ if not of theology. Dr. Jurin, under the name of ' Philalethes Cantabrigiensis/ was the first to reply, in his Geometry no Friend to Infidelity ^ to Berkeley's analogical reasoning, and argumentum ad homhiem. Berkeley rejoined in a Defence of Free-thinking in Mathematics.^ which appeared early in 1735, and must have employed some of his studious hours during his first winter at Cloyne. Dr. Jurin parried the blow in the same year, in his Free Thinker no Just Thinker. While Berkeley was thus engaged with Jurin, he had also to meet an attack by Walton, 240 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. a Dublin mathematician and professor, to whom he replied in an appendix to his Defence against Jurin, and afterwards in a combination of reasoning and sarcasm, called Reasons for not replying to Mr. Walton's Full Answer^ in which he affects to treat his opponent as a disguised convert. This 'Analyst Controversy,' in which Berkeley was thus engaged in his first year or two at Cloyne^ was afterwards prolonged by the mathematicians among themselves. It engaged Pemberton and Benjamin Robins, as well as Jurin. The world owes one of the best productions of Colin M'Laurin, the Edinburgh mathematical professor, to the Analyst^ which was the occasion besides of more than twenty controversial tracts and pamphlets''^. Berkeley did not forget his friends on the other side of the Atlantic, in his episcopal seclusion in Ireland. Here is a letter, characteristically full of queries, addressed to Mr. Smibert, at Boston'^ : — Cloyne, '^isi 0/ May, 1735. Dear Mr. Smibert, A GREAT variety and hurry of affairs, joined with ill state of health, hath deprived me of the pleasure of corresponding with you for this good while past, and indeed I am very sensible that the task of answering a letter is so disagreeable to you, that you can well dispense with re- ceiving one of mere compliment, or which doth not bring something pertinent and useful. You are the proper judge whether the following suggestions may be so or no. I do not pretend to give advice ; I only offer a few hints for your own reflection. What if there be in my neighbourhood a great trading city .-' What if this city be four times as populous as Boston, and a hundred times as rich .? What if there be more faces to paint, and better pay for painting, and yet nobody to paint them .'' Whether it would be dis- agreeable to you to receive gold instead of paper ? Whether it might be worth your while to embark with your busts, your prints, your drawings, and once more cross the Atlantic ? Whether you might not find full business at Cork, and live there much cheaper than in London ? Whether all these things put together might not be worth a serious ^^ See the annotations in my edition of the Benjamin Robins, which contains a ' Dis- Analyst, and the Defence. In addition to the course on the Methods of Fluxions.* list of works mentioned there, there is a ^^ Preserved in the Gent. Mag. volume of Mathematical Tracts (1761), by VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 241 thought ? I have one more question to ask, and that is, whether myrtles grow in or near Boston, without pots, stones, or greenhouses, in the open air ? I assure you they do in my garden. So much for the climate. Think of what hath been said, and God direct you for the best. I am, good Mr. Smibert, Your affectionate humble servant, G. CLOYNE. A few days later, what follows was written to Johnson, at Stratford : — Cloyne, June 11, 1735. Reverend Sir, It is very agreeable to find that the public examinations appointed in your College have not failed of their design in encouraging the studies of the youth educated therein. And I am particularly pleased that they have given to some of your own family an opportunity of distinguishing themselves. One principal end proposed by me was to promote a better understanding with the Dissenters, and so by degrees to lessen their dislike to our communion; to which methought the improving their minds with liberal studies might greatly conduce, as I am very sensible that your own discreet behaviour and manner of living towards them hath very much forwarded the same effect. The employing young men, though not in orders, to read a sermon, and some part of the Liturgy, in those places where they are unprovided with churches and ministers, I always thought a reasonable and useful institution ; and though some among you were prejudiced against it, yet I doubt not their prejudices will wear off when they see the good effects of it. I should imagine it might be some encouragement to well disposed students to reflect that by employing themselves in that manner they not only do useful service to the Church, but also thereby recommend themselves in the properest manner to Holy Orders, and consequently to missions, whenever vacan- cies shall make way for them, or when the Society shall be enabled to found new ones. My wife is obliged to you for your kind remembrance, and sends her compliments to you. Our little family is increased to three boys, whereof the two eldest past the small pox last winter. I wish you and yours all happiness, and pray God to forward your good endeavours for the advancement of true religion and learning, being very truly. Reverend Sir, Your faithful brother and humble servant, GEORGE CLOYNE. VOL. IV. R 242 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. When any from your College have encouragement to pass over to England, in expectation of Holy Orders and a mission, I would have them, now I am absent myself, to apply to Dr. Benson, the Bishop of Gloucester, as they were used to do to me. He is a most worthy prelate, and attends the meetings of the Society; and in my present situation I cannot do better service, than by recommending your can- didates to his protection. The social condition of Ireland, especially of the aboriginal population, began to engage Berkeley's thoughts as soon as he was settled in Cloyne. The condition of modern society had long been in his mind. The South Sea disasters, fifteen years before, moved him then to address his countrymen on this subject. It was at the bottom of his American enthusiasm, which was sustained by the desire to advance the colonial, and also the native Indian population of the western hemisphere. And now in Ireland he had before him a large native Irish population, and a small one of English colonists, unconnected with the other by common national or church sympathies, and in which the natives, long governed in the interest of the stranger, had become unable to govern them- selves. The industry and self-reliance which he had preached as the ' means for preventing the ruin of Great Britain ' were a thou- sandfold more needed in Ireland, where this gospel of work was unknown, and where the simplest maxims of social or domestic economy were neither practised nor understood. It was a state of society that was fitted to arouse the intellectual activity and benevolence of one less inquisitive, and less devoted to mankind, than the new Bishop of Cloyne, whose favourite motto was non siy't sed toti. The Protestant bishops of Ireland were not then conspicuous leaders of enterprises for the social good of the whole Irish nation, but Berkeley was too independent to suffer his aspi- rations to be confined by ecclesiastical conventionalities. The social state of Ireland occasioned what some readers may think the most fruitful of all Berkeley's writings. Under the influence of surrounding social phenomena, his active mind dis- charged itself in questions. He began to publish the questions in annual instalments. The work was entitled the ^Ij^eristj and the First Part appeared in 1735. It was published anonymously, and edited by his old friend Dr. Madden of Dublin. Madden, in VII.] First Year's in the Irish Diocese. 243 conjunction with Tliomas Prior, had a few years before founded the Dublin Society for promoting useful arts and sciences in Ireland, to which that country now as then owes so much 1^. The ^Ijier'ft was meant to second their endeavours. The com- bined effort was not lost. There was an appreciable amend- ment in the circumstances of Ireland towards the middle of the last century, which can be partly traced to their influence, and partly to the manly patriotism of Swift -^. But the thoughts proposed in the ^Ijerist are of more than transitory interest, and more large and generous than those of Swift, After the lapse of nearly a century and a half, the student of society and the statesman may here find maxims which legislation has not yet outgrown. It is only now that we are fairly resolving ' whether a scheme for the welfare of the Irish nation should not take in the whole inhabitants ; and whether it be not a vain attempt to project the flourishing of our Protestant gentry, ex- clusive of the bulk of the natives,' Berkeley was probably the first among Protestant ecclesiastics to propose the admission of Catholics to the College of Dublin, without being obliged to attend chapel, or divinity lectures; and he generously mentions the Jesuits, in their Colleges in Paris, as an example of the greater liberality in this respect of the Church of Rome^^. The following letter from the Bishop of London, contained in ' '" Samuel Madden, D.D., born in Dublin at le^st £300 per annum,' which be had re- in 1687,3 leader in last century of various ceived from the Bishop of Cloyne ; 'unasked, efforts for promoting the civilization of lie- and unexpected, and without any regard to land, in conjunction with Berkeley, Prior, kindred or application, especially valuable as and others, and especially in connexion with coming from a person you have an esteem the Dublin Society. He wrote various works for. . . . The Bishop of Cloyne desires you in literature and social economy, and some will accept of his best services.' It is curious of the Essays by the Duhliii Society, on flax- that I have not found extant a single letter husbandry, Irish linens, road making, &c., either from Swift to Berkeley, or from which appeared in 1737 and the following Berkeley to Swift. years : also Memoirs of the Twentieth Cen- ^' ' Berkeley,' says Sir J. Mackintosh, tury, or Original Letters of State tinder ' though of English extraction, was a true George VI. He died in 1765. Irishman, and the first eminent Protestant *" Though I have not found any signs of after the unhappy contest at the Revolution, intercourse between Berkeley at Cloyne, and who avowed his love for all his countrymen. Swift, there are occasional indications of Perhaps the Querist contains more hints, remembrance. In this very year (1735), then original, still unapplied [in 1 829] in there is a letter to Swift from, the Rev. legislation and political economy, than are Mr. Donellan, dated Cloyne, October 31, in to be found in any equal space.' Disserta- which he mentions some preferment, ' worth tion, p. 211. R 2 244 Z?y^ and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. the Berkeley Papers, reminds us of the Analyst^ and connects us with Berkeley in the early part of i 736 : — Whitehall, Feb. 7, 1735 — 6. My Lord, I HOPE this will find your Lordship perfectly at ease, and at liberty to attend your mathematical infidels; for, though I am not a competent judge of the subject, I am sure, from your espousing it with so much zeal, and against such adversaries, that, in pursuing the point, you are doing good service to religion. Here we have now little trouble from professed infidels, but a great deal from semi-infidels, who, under the title of Christians, are destroying the whole work of our Redemption by Christ, and making Christianity little more than a system of morality. But their design is so bare-faced and shocking that they make little pro- gress among serious people. It has been a doubt for some time, whether the Dissenters would trouble this Session with their Bill for repealing the Corporation and Test Acts. But now it is said with some assurance that we are to ex- pect it, though without any probability of success. The Court are openly and avowedly against them, and so are the Tories ; and from what quarter their support is to come, we do not yet see or conceive. It is given out that they do it to know their friends from their foes, and I believe they reckon that the beginning it now, though without success, will make the way for better quarter in some future Session. On the contrary, their bringing in the Bill is so much against the declared judg- ment of many members who otherwise wish them well, that we think they will provoke their friends, and lose much ground by the attempt. Whether they or we judge right, time must show^^. I shall be glad to see the proportion between Protestants and Papists fairly stated ; not only because the accounts have hitherto been repre- sented very differently, but also because it is a point upon which great stress is laid, upon some occasions, both with them and us. I am, my Lord, Your Lordship's very faithful servant and brother, EDM. LONDON. °^ Contrary to the remonstrances of Sir was negatived b)' 251 to 123. The morn- R. Walpole, the Dissenters insisted on trying ing after, the Bishop of London went to the repeal of the Corporation and Test Acts. Walpole to thank him in the name of the Walpole opposed his old friends when the bishops for his support of the Established repeal was proposed in the House, on the Church. See Lord Hervey's Memoirs of the 1 2th of March, 1736, and the proposition Reign of George II, ch. XXIIL VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 245 In the following month Berkeley writes thus to his friend Johnson about American missions and Yale College : — Cloync, March 12, 1735 — 6. Reverend Sir, My remote distance from London deprives me of those opportunities which I might otherwise have of being serviceable to your missionaries, though my inclinations are still the same. I am very glad to find persons of Mr. Arnold's character disposed to come over to our Church, which, it is to be hoped, will sooner or later prevail over all their prejudices. It were indeed to be wished that the Society was able to establish new missionaries as often as candidates offer themselves ; but I persuade myself that what their funds will allow them to do will not be wanting in favour of your natives. I have wrote to my friend the Bishop of Gloucester, desiring an allowance from the Society may be obtained for Mr. Arnold towards defraying the expenses of his voyage^^ But for a salary he must wait till provision can be made, or till a vacancy occurs. It is no small satisfaction to me to hear that a spirit of emulation is raised in our scholars at Newhaven, and that learning and good sense are gaining ground among them. I do not wonder that these things should create some jealousy in such as are bigotted to a narrow way of thinking, and that this should produce uneasiness to you and other well- wishers of our Church. But I trust in God that the prudence and temper of yourself and your associates will, with God's blessing, get the better of misguided and unruly zeal, which will never be a match for the wisdom from above. I have passed this winter at Cloyne, having been detained from Parlia- ment by my ill-health, which is now pretty well re-established. My family are all well, and concur with me in best wishes to you and yours. I am, Reverend Sir, Your most faithful, humble servant and brother, GEORGE CLOYNE. As to your postscript, I can only say that Ireland contains ten times more objects of charity, whether we consider the souls or bodies of men, than are to be met with in New England. And indeed there is so much ^'Jonathan Arnold, the successor of Samuel lost on a second voyage to England in Johnson at Westhaven in the Congregational 1739. See Updike, p. 163 ; also Beardsley's ministry, joined the Church of England in History of the Episcopal Church in Connec- 1734. He went to England for orders in ticut, ch. VIII. I 736, and, after returning to America, was 246 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. to be done (and so few that care to do it) here at home, that there can be no expectations from hence. In the summer of this year the following pleasant effusion was sent to his old friend James, then Sir John James, Bart., of Bury St. Edmonds, whose succession took place in 1736, and who seems about that time to have returned from America : — Cloj'fie, '^oth of June, 1736. Dear Sir, In this remote corner of Imokilly, where I hear only the rumours and echoes of things, I know not whether you are still sailing on the ocean, or already arrived to take possession of your new dignity and estate. In the former case I wish you a good voyage ; in the latter I welcome you, and wish you joy. I have a letter written and lying by me these three years, which I knew not whither or how to send you. But now you are returned to our hemisphere, I promise myself the pleasure of being able to correspond with you. You who live to be a spectator of odd scenes are come into a world much madder and odder than that you left. We also in this island are growing an odd and mad people. We were odd before, but I was not sure of our having the genius necessary to become mad. But some late steps of a public nature give sufficient proof thereof. Who knows but when you have settled your affairs, and looked about and laughed enough in England, you may have leisure and curiosity enough to visit this side of the water .? You may land within two miles of my house, and find that from Bristol to Cloyne is a shorter and much easier journey than from London to Bristol. I would go about with you, and show you some scenes perhaps as beautiful as you have seen in all your travels. My own garden is not without its curiosity, having a number of myrtles, several of which are seven or eight feet high. They grow naturally, with no more trouble or art than gooseberry bushes. This is literally true. Of this part of the world it may truly be said that it is — ' Ver ubi longum, tepidasque praebet Jupiter brumas.' My wife most sincerely salutes you. We should with compliment be overjoyed to see you. I am in hopes soon to hear of your welfare, and remain, dear Sir, your most obedient and affectionate servant, G. CLOYNE. It was in this month of June that the Second Part of the i VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 247 ^luertst was published. In 1 736 too he issued A Discourse addressed to Magistrates and Men in Authority ^ occasioned hy the enormous license and irreligion of the Times. This is more in the tone of his contro- versial writings against the Free-thinkers in the Guardian^ and in Alciphron j but with particular reference to some appearances in Ireland by a contemptible association of so-called Blasters^ in Dublin, who about this time attracted ecclesiastical attention. The Cathedral registry informs us of the birth of another son, William, before the end of 1736 ^■*. Early in 1737, there was a letter from Berkeley to Thomas Prior, at Dublin, of whom we have heard nothing for nearly three years, any correspondence between them in these years having been lost. It presents an interesting picture of rural industry at Cloyne, and announces the publication of the Third Part of the ^luerist : — Cloyne, March 5, 1736 — 7. Dear Tom, I HEEK send you what you desire. If you approve of it, publish it in one or more of our newspapers ; if you have any objection, let me know it by the next post. I mean, as you see, a brief abstract ; which I could wish were spread through the nation, that men may think on the subject against next session. But I would not have this letter made public sooner than a week after the publication of the Third Part of my Querist, which I have ordered to be sent to you. I believe you may receive it about the time that this comes to your hands ; for, as I told you in a late letter, I have hastened it as much as possible. I have used the same editor (Dr. Madden) for this as for the foregoing two Parts. I must desire you to purchase for me six copies of the Third Part of the Querist, which I would have stitched in six pamphlets ; so that each pamphlet shall contain the First, Second, and Third Parts of the Querist. I would have these pamphlets covered with marble paper pasted on white paper, and the leaves cut and gilt on the edges; and you will let me know when they are done — the sooner the better. ^* In the following entry : — December, 1736. Hugh Lumley, James ' William Berkeley, son to George, Lord Manle, godfathers, and Mrs. Margaret Long- Bishop of Cloyne, was baptized loth of field, godmother.' 248 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. Our spinning-school is in a thriving way. The children begin to find a pleasure in being paid in hard money ; which I understand they will not give to their parents, but keep to buy clothes for themselves. Indeed I found it difficult and tedious to bring them to this ; but I believe it will now do. I am building a workhouse for sturdy vagrants, and design to raise about two acres of hemp for employing them. Can you put me in a way of getting hemp-seed ; or does your Society distribute any } It is hoped your flax-seed will come in time. Last post a letter from an English bishop tells me, a difference between the king and prince is got into parliament, and that it seems to be big with mischief, if a speedy expedient be not found to heal the breach. It relates to the provision for his Royal Highness's family. My three children have been ill. The eldest and youngest are recovered ; but George is still unwell. We are all yours truly. Your affectionate humble servant, GEOR. CLOYNE, The following is the letter referred to, containing some thoughts about a National Bank, which was sent to Prior for publication in the newspapers, and appeared in the Dublin Journal: — Sir, You tell me gentlemen would not be averse from a national bank, provided they saw a sketch or plan of such bank laid down and proposed in a distinct manner. For my own part, I intended only to put queries, and offer hints, not presuming to direct the wisdom of the public. Besides, it seemed no hard matter, if any one should think fit, to convert queries into propositions. However, since you desire a brief and distinct abstract of my thoughts on this subject, be pleased to take it as follows. I conceive that, in order to erect a national bank, and place it on a right foot, it maybe expedient to enact — i. That an additional tax often shillings the hogshead be laid on wine, which may amount to about ten thousand pounds a-year ; or to raise a like sum on foreign silks, linens, and laces. 2. That the fund arising from such tax be the stock for a national bank ; the deficiencies whereof to be made good by parliament. 3. That bank-notes be minted to the value of one hundred thousand pounds in round numbers, from one pound to a hundred. 4. That these notes be issued either to particular persons on ready money or on mortgage, or to the uses of the public on its own credit. 5. That a house and cashiers, &c., be appointed in Dublin for uttering and VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 249 answering these bills, and for managing this bank as other banks are managed. 6. That there be twenty-one inspectors, one third whereof to be persons in great office under the crown, the rest members of both houses, ten whereof to go out by lot, and as many more to come in once in two years. 7. That such inspectors shall, in a body, visit the bank twice every year, and any three of them as often as they please. 8. That no bills or notes be minted but by order of parliament. 9. That it be felony to counterfeit the notes of this bank. 10. That the public be alone banker, or sole proprietor of this bank. The reasons for a national bank, and the answers to objections, are contained in the Querist ; wherein there are also several other points relating to a bank of this nature, which in time may come to be con- sidered. But at present thus much may suffice for a general plan to try the experiment and begin with ; which plan, after a year or two of trial, may be further improved, altered, or enlarged, as the circumstances of the public shall require. Every one sees the scheme of a bank admits of many variations in minute particulars ; several of which are hinted in the Querist, and several more may easily be suggested by any one who shall think on that subject. But it should seem the difficulty doth not consist so much in contriving or executing a national bank, as in bringing men to a right sense of the public weal, and of the tendency of such bank to promote the same. I have treated these points, and endeavoured to urge them home, both from reason and example, particularly in the Third Part of the Querist lately published ; which, with the two former, contain many hints, designed to put men upon thinking what is to be done in this critical juncture of our affairs ; which I believe may be easily retrieved and put on a better foot than ever, if those among us who are most concerned be not wanting to themselves. I am. Sir, your humble servant, The QUERIST. The Third Part of the Querist was the last which appeared. This first edition of the work, in three Parts, is now extremely rare, and was inaccessible to former editors. It contains nearly twice as much matter as the reduced, and now common, edition (published in 1750); in particular, a number of queries about a National Bank for Ireland — a subject much dis- cussed at the time. I have been fortunate enough to obtain the original edition, and I have given some account of it in the 250 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. Appendix to the third volume of the Works^ where the queries omitted in all the later editions are reprinted for the first time. The following letter -^ was written to Berkeley by Bishop Benson in April : — My dear Lord, I MUST first mention what is first in the thoughts and mouths of every one— the death of my Lord Chancellor^". It is lamented so much as a public loss that it seems too selfish to bewail it as a private one. Never loss was so publickly and universally lamented. All degrees and orders and parties of men, however opposite in other respects, all unite in their sorrow upon this account, and none express a greater than the friends of the Established Church. He had given so strong and late an instance of his affection to it, by getting the Bounty of the late Queen, which had been so violently attacked at the end of the last session, so well settled by an Order of Council, and he was ready on all occasions so powerfully to have espoused the interests of the Church, and so able to have defended them, that none more than the clergy express their sorrow on this occasion, and among the clergy none more than the Bp. of London. The Bp. of Oxford will, I doubt not, make a very good Archbishop. Upon his promotion it was proposed to me to remove to Oxford, and that, besides the Commendam I already have, I should have a Canonry of Christ Church, which is vacant, added to it. I am, I thank God, so much contented where I am that I have no desire to move to Oxford, or any other place. My Brother Seeker^'' has since had an offer of the Bpk. of Oxford, but he also has declined accepting it, and it is not as yet disposed of My Lord Bathurst^*, whom you mention, has lately said a great deal to me, to assure me of his good intention towards the Church and Uni- versities, to both of which he has of late been looked upon to be so great an enemy. [I will] hope his professions are real, though other persons are not inclined to believe them. My Lord Bolinbroke set himself up for an old Whig, a great patron of republican principles, and a great admirer of such religious ones as Thomas Chubb and some others ^■^ BerJieley Papers. ^' Allan, first Lord Bathurst, the friend ^^ Lord Chancellor Talbot, son of Bishop of Pope. The poet as well as the peer Talbot. He was created Baron Talbot in are both associated with the sylvan beauty 173;?, and is the ancestor of the present Earl of Cirencester. Lord Bathurst was a of Shrewsbury. centre of the wits of Queen Anne and "" Seeker was after all translated to the first two Georges. He died in 1775' Oxford in 1737, where he succeeded Potter, aged 91. who was made Archbishop of Canterbury. VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 251 have been advancing. His Ldp. has endeavoured to proselyte as many of the Tories as he could, but he has made few disciples among them, and most of them, to their honour be it spoken, have declared their detestation of his new scheme, and have acted [like] honest and consistent men. I am rejoiced to hear of the increase of your health and of your family. My best wishes attend them. My humble services wait upon Mrs. Berkeley. My sister''^^ is still at Bath, and there is little likelihood of her being able to come to London this Spring. Mr. Walpole, the second son of Sir Robert, is appointed Secretary to the Duke of Devonshire. My Lord Hardwicke^" has succeeded my Lord Talbot, and he was the only person in the kingdom capable of filling that post. We have had an unhappy contest between the K. and Prince, about settling an allowance for the latter". It has been moved in both Houses to address his Majesty to settle ioo,ooolb. p. afi. on his son, which was rejected by a majority of against 204 in the H. of Com., and of 10 in the H. of Lds. I have enclosed with this Mr. Tryon's account of his having rec'l the money. He and his son are Joint Treasurers of the Society. I am, my dear Lord, Most affectionately and faithfully yours, M. GLOCESTER. Si. James Street, Ar. i, i73f. The Adventures of Signor Gaudentio di L.ucca^ an anonymous work of fiction, published in 1737^^, which gained some applause as an elegant production of imaginative benevolence, has been some- times attributed to Berkeley. It describes a journey to a Utopian community, called Mezoranians, supposed to be flourishing in the centre of Africa, and to have been accidentally visited by Signor ^ Mrs. Seeker. 103 to 40 in the House of Lords, where '" Philip Yorke, Lord Hardwicke, sue- Lord Carteret moved the grant. The dis- ceeded Lord Talbot as Lord Chancellor. putes between the Prince of Wales (after There had been a rivalry between them. his marriage) and the king were the scandal ^^ See Lord Hervey's Memoirs, chap. of that, the preceding, and the following XXVIII — XXX. The Prince's claim, and year. the relative debates in Parliament, was the '^ Other editions of Gaudentio di Lucca great subject about this time. The debate followed — at Dublin in 1738, at London in the Commons was on the 22nd of 1 748, and at Edinburgh 1761. The book February, when the Prince was defeated by was translated into French in I 746. 334 to ?04; and on the following day, by 252 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. Gaudentio, an Italian gentleman, in the course of his travels. Like the Republic of Plato, the Utopia of More, or the New Atlantis of Bacon, this romance was meant to paint an ideal society, founded on purer principles than those of European civilization. Berkeley's Bermuda enterprise, his former connec- tion with Italy, his fondness for Plato, some vague resemblance in the ingenuity of the fancy, and the amiable spirit of Gaudentto di Luccaj may have given rise to the supposition that he was the author. There is no sufficient ground in the qualities of the work, in the absence of any definite testimony, to justify this conjecture. It was at first favoured by the biographer of Berkeley in the Biographia Britannicaj and again by others; but Stock afterwards withdrew the statement, on the assertion of George Berkeley, ' that his father did not write and never read through the Adventures of Signor Gaudentio di Lucca •■^^.' Berkeley's employments about this time were hardly consistent with a diversion of his energy to writing a romance, and we may fairly infer that he, at any rate, was not the author. The work is now assigned, on what seems to be sufficient evidence, to Simon Berington, a Catholic priest ■''*. The only break in Berkeley's secluded life at Cloyne, during the many years of his residence there, was in the autumn of 1737, when he went to Dublin with his family for some months, to attend to his parliamentary duties in the Irish House of Lords. That more than three years should have elapsed after his consecration before he took his seat in Parliament was a want of conformity to the custom of his order which adds to the '^ Biog. Brit. vol. III. — ' Addenda ; ' and Herefordshire gentleman. The authorship Gent. Mag. vol. L. p. 125. See also Dun- of Gaudentio di Lucca was first attributed to lop's History of Fiction ; Southey's Common- this excellent person by a correspondent of place Book; and Pinkerton's Correspon- the Gent. Mag. (vol. LV. p. 747), where he dence. is described as a Cathohc priest who had ^* ' This well-known fiction,' says Sir G. chambers in Gray's Inn, (where he was Coruewall Lewis, ' which has long been keeper of a library for the use of the Romish erroneously ascribed to Bishop Berkeley, was Clergy), and author of a Dissertation on the in fact the work of Simon Berington, a Mosaical acco7mt 0/ the Creation, Deluge, 8cc., Catholic priest. The statement in the (London, l7iio), — the learning and other Gent. Alag. which assigns to him the qualities of which resemble Gaudentio di authorship of this work, is confirmed by Lucca. Berington lived at one time in the traditions of his family in Herefordshire, Staffordshire. The authorship of Gaudentio as I have ascertained from authentic infor- has also, but without evidence, been at- mation.' Methods of Observation and Reason- tributed to a Dr. Swale of Huntingdon. See ing in Politics, vol. II. p. 273, note. The Notes and Queries for 1850. Rev. Simon Berington was the son of a VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 253 evidence of his recluse tendencies. The Journals of the House give the following information : — Die Mercurii^ 2 Nov. 1 737. — ' The Rev. George Berkeley, Doctor of Divinity, being by Letters Patents, dated 5 die Martii, 7° Georgii Secundi Regis, created Bishop of Cloyne, was this day in his robes introduced between the Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Kildare ^5, and the Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Corke and Ross ^% also in their robes. The Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, and Ulster King at Arms, in his coat of arms, carrying the said Letters Patents, preceding his Lordship,' presented the same to the Lord Chancellor, on his knee, at the Woolsack, who gave them to the Clerk of the Parliaments, which were read at the table. His Writ of Summons was also read. Then his Lordship came to the table, and took the oaths, and made and subscribed the Declaration, pursuant to the Statutes, and was afterwards conducted and took his place on the Lords and Bishops bench.' And with this ceremonial we have the philosophic Bishop in a new scene. In the following winter he took his part in parliamentary business. That Session was opened on the 4th of October 1737, by a speech by the Duke of Devonshire, then the Lord Lieu- tenant. Parliament was prorogued on the 23rd of March. From the Journals, Berkeley seems to have been present on the following days: — 1737. November 9, 10, 14, 18, 21, 29 j December 10, 23. 1738. January c^, 5; February 14, 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 27, 28 j March 3, 6, 10, 11, 18, 20, 22^ 23. The Discourse to Magistrates, as I have said, was partly occa- sioned by an impious society in Dublin, which, according to Stock, * it put a stop to.' He adds that Berkeley ' expressed his sentiments on the same subject in the House of Lords, the only time he ever spoke there. The speech was received with much applause.' I have not been able to find any other account of this speech. From the Journals of the House, however, it appears that, on the 17th of February 1738, it was ordered 'that the Lords' Committees on religion do meet immediately after the rising of the House, and examine as to the causes of the present noto- rious immorality and profaneness, and that the Judges do assist.' During February the subject received continued attention. On the ^ Charles Cobb, D.D. '« Robert Clayton. D.D. 254 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH. ] oth of March the Earl of Granard reported from ' the Committees for ReHgion.' As this Report contains some curious information about the Blasters, it is presented in the appended note ^7. ^ ' The Lords' Committees for Religion, appointed to examine into the causes of the present notorious immorality and profane- ness, beg leave, before they report to your Lordships what progress they have made in that inquiry, to observe, that an uncommon scene of impiety and blasphemy appeared before them, wherein several persons must have been concerned ; but by reason of their meeting late in the Session, they have not been able to prepare a full and satisfactory account thereof for your Lordships : how- ever, they think it their duty to lay it be- fore your Lordships, as it hath appeared to them, that before the conclusion of this Session, some measures may be taken to put a stop to the spreading of these impieties, which it is to be hoped, in the next Session of Parliament, your Lordships will be able, by proper laws and remedies, wholly to extinguish and prevent for the future. ' The Lords' Committees have sufficient grounds to believe (though no direct proof thereof upon oath hath yet been laid before them) that several loose and disorderly per- sons have of late erected themselves into a Society or Club under the name of Blasters, and have used means to draw into this impious Society several of the youth of this kingdom. ' What the practices of this Society are (besides the general fame spread through the whole kingdom) appears by the examina- tions of several persons, taken upon oath before the Lord Mayor of this City, in rela- tion to Peter Lens, painter, lately come into this kingdom, who professes himself a Blaster. ' By these examinations, it appears, that the said Peter Lens professes himself to be a votary of the devil ; that he hath offered up prayers to him, and publickly drank to the devil's health ; that he hath at several times uttered the most daring and execrable blasphemies against the sacred name and Majesty of God ; and often made use of such obscene, blasphemous, and before uh- heard-of expressions, as the Lords' com- mittees think they cannot even mention to your Lordships : and therefore choose to pass over in silence. ' As impieties and blasphemies of this kind were utterly unknown to our ancestors, the Lords' committees observe, that the laws framed by them must be unequal to such enormous crimes, and that a new law is wanting, more effectually to restrain and punish blasphemies of this kind. ' The Lords' committees cannot take upon them to assign the immediate causes of such monstrous impieties ; but they beg leave to observe, that of late years there hath ap- peared a greater neglect of religion and all things sacred, than was ever before known in this kingdom ; a great neglect of Divine Worship, both publick and private, and of the due observance of the Lord's Day : a want of reverence to the laws and magis- trates ; and of a due subordination in the several ranks and degrees in the community; and an abuse of liberty, under our mild and happy constitution : a great neglect in educa- tion ; and a want of care in parents and masters of families, in training up their chil- dren in reverence and awe ; and keeping their servants in discipline and good order ; and instructing them in moral and reli- gious duties ; a great increase of idleness, luxury and excessive gaming : and an ex- cess in the use of spirituous and intoxicating liquors. ' Wherefore the Lords' Committees are come to the following resolutions, viz. : — Resolved, that it is the opinion of this Committee, that his Majesty's Attor- ney-General be ordered to prosecute Peter Lens with the utmost severity of the law. Resolved, that it is the opinion of this committee, that an humble address be presented to his Grace the Lord Lieutenant, that he would be pleased to order that proclamation may issue with a reward for apprehending the said Peter Lens ; and that he would be further pleased to give it in direc- tion to the Judges in their several circuits, to charge the magistrates, to put the laws in execution against immorality and profane cursing and swearing and gaming, and to inquire into atheistical and blasphemous Clubs. Resolved, that it is the opinion of this Committee, that the Bishops be de- sired, at their visitations, to give it in particular charge to their clergy to exhort their people to a more frequent and constant attendance on divine service. VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 255 The following letter ^^, addressed to him at this time by his wife's uncle, Bishop Forster, refers to this subject : — My Lord, I HAVE ye favour of y^ letter that came by last post, and hope yr family, which, yu say, have been twice laid down with colds, is up again, and that ye season of y^ year that is coming in wil bring y" relief from y colic. I am persuaded y" have made a true representation of y^ present state of ye Church, and, God knows, it is a melancholy one. When y^ laity form themselves into a party in opposition to y® clergy, how can we expect any good success from our labours among them 1 Men wil never receive instruction from those to whom they bear ill wil, and their con- tempt of our labours wil, I fear, bring an increase of vice and infidelity among us. However, it is our duty to be circumspect, and give no offence ; to be diligent in y^ discharge of our office, and moderate in y^ demands of our temporaltys ; that y' laity may see that ye cause of reli- gion more at heart than any worldly gain. These are ye likelyest means, with God's blessing, to allay those heats that are raised against us ; but, if violent measures be taken on both sides, what hope can we have of a reconciliation? The clergy in this part of ye country have had their share in y- common calamity \ but I find that angry spirit that has been awfully stirred up in ye minds of ye people against them begins to abate, and they receive their dues with less opposition than they did some time ago ; and I have good hopes that time and patience on our side will bring ye people to reason. , Your account of y'' new society of Blasters in Dublin is shocking : the zeal of all good men for y^ cause of God should rise in proportion to y^ impiety of these horrid blasphemers. I am glad to hear both ye King and his ministry are determined to give no countenance to innouators in Church affairs ; there is reason to believe they have ill designs against ye State as wel as ye Church. I pray God give peace in our time on earth, and bring us safe to heaven, Resolved, that it is the opinion of this to the laws and religion of their Committee, that the visitors of the country.' university, and of all schools, do ex- The grandson of the Lord Granard who hort and require the fellows and conducted this investigation married, in masters, carefully to instruct the 1 766, Georgiana, daughter of Augustus, youth committed to their care in the fourth Earl of Berkeley. She is referred to principles of religion and morality ; in the Preface to Monck Berkeley, p. cxxiv. and to inculcate a due reverence "* Berkeley Papers. 256 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. where there is no contention. We are happily freed from those two pernicious bills y" mention, and may be content now with a blank session. I am, my Lord, Y"" Lordship's most faithfull brother and humble servant, N. RAPHO. Rapho, Feb. 20, 173 1 — 8. If yr lordship's health and leisure wil allow, I should desire y" would, on ye return of y^ bills, favour me with an account of such of them as relate to y^ Church. There is no proof that the Blasters deserved the notoriety which these proceedings conferred upon them. The parliamentary Journals give us no further information about their history, and it does not seem that this legislative notice of their existence conferred any permanent influence upon them. The foUow^ing letter ^^ from his friend the Bishop of Gloucester was addressed to Berkeley when he was at Dublin : — Berry Street, Westminster, Feb. 7, 1737—8. My dear Lord, I WAS much pleased to hear that you were come to Dublin and at- tended the Session of Parliament there. For, though I love to be in my Diocese as much as I can, and wish that some of my brethren loved it more, yet it is so necessary for supporting the interest of the Church that the Bishops should be present in Parliament, that it is our duty, I think, to appear there ; and if we take care to shew that it is not our private interest which brings us thither and rules us there, we may be able to do some good, or at least to hinder a good deal of mischief. A great deal is designed against us, and every opportunity is watched and waited for to put it in execution. The Queen's death*'' is a severe blow, and those who would not be persuaded, while she lived, how zealous a friend she was to our Church and Constitution, have, since her death, been fully convinced of it. Both the King and the Minister seem firmly resolved to suffer no innovation, and to keep things as they are both 39 Berkeley Papers. chap. XXXVII1_XL., for a remarkable *" The ' philosophic Queen' Caroline died account of her last illness and death. Nov. 20, i7.-i7. See Lord Hervey's Mettioirs, VII.] First Years in the Irish Diocese. 257 here and in Ireland. And the great man you mention is, I believe, in the same way of thinking ; but ^here are so few others in it, that, not- withstanding this support, we stand, I fear, upon very dangerous ground. Not that I ihink the danger so near as you apprehend. There are some few wise men who would be for saving the Church upon political con- siderations, and some few good men who would be for preserving it upon religious ones ; and those who are for destroying it, though many, yet are so divided, that though they agree to pull down, yet they differ so much about what they would have erected in the place, that this may be a means of keeping the old building up. Though the memory of Crom- well is not publicly drank to on this as it is on your side the water, yet we have those who are silly enough to think that he was a Republican, and venerate him upon that account. I made your compliments to my Lord Chancellor^', who desired his in return to you, and spoke with great esteem and regard of you. I have sent your letter to Mr. Wolfe's lodgings. He is not in town, but they promised it should be sent safely to him*'^. We are likely to do little in Parliament, and you will think, I believe, the less the better. The less harm it certainly is so, but when so many good things are so much wanted to be done, it is very shameful to see us sit so idle. It looks as if a power of doing harm only, and none of doing good, was lodged with us. The King is still very disconsolate ; he sees no company, nor is enter- tained with any diversions. He is very thoughtful and serious, and if serious people were about him, a great deal of good both to himself and the nation might come from the situation and turn of mind he is at present in. There has been talk of a reconciliation between the Prince and him, but I could never find there was any sufficient ground for it. ■ Severe colds have been general here as well as in Ireland. I have escaped pretty well, but I am sorry to hear you and your family have had so large a share of this epidemical evil. My humble service and best wishes of health wait upon Mrs. Berkeley, and always attend all your family. I am very exact in my diet and regular in my hours, and both agree very well with me. I am better, I thank God, both in my health and spirits now than I have been for many years. The Bishop of Derry's [Rundle] recovery is very surprising ; but I wish that what some reckon the cure does not prove the ruin of his health, and that is, his return to flesh and wine. While the Queen lived I had fair hopes of seeing the Baron here. *' Lord Hardwicke. twelve years old. His parents were living *^ This confirms the Wolfe connection. at Greenwich where the two sons were at The 'hero of Quebec' was then only about school. VOL. IV. S . 258 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. The prospect is since much clouded, but it perhaps may brighten up again. It would be great joy to myself and to the Bishop of Oxford's [Seeker] family to hear that you and yours design to visit England. James ^^^ had deserted it before I got to London, and he does not talk of returning before I shall have left it again. Our Lords have made a less important order in their House than that you mention to be made in yours, and that is, that I should print a ser- mon preached before them January 30th ''^ The Bishop of Carlisle not coming^up, it came to my turn sooner than it should. This order, how- ever, ought to have weight enough to excuse me to my friends for trou- bling them with one of the sermons, above all, as the order does not extend so far as to oblige them to read it. I am, my dear Lord, Ever most affectionately and faithfully yours, M. GLOCESTER. From the following note to Johnson at Stratford, v^^hich again speaks of infirm health, the Berkeley family seem to have returned to Cloyne early in the summer of 173H : — Dublin, May 11, 1738. Reverend Sir, I SHOULD not have been thus long in arrear in regard to my corre- spondence with you, had I not been prevented by ill health, multiplicity of business, and want of opportunities. When I last heard from you I was at Cloyne, and am returning thither now with my family, who, I bless God, are all well except myself, who for a long time past have been troubled with an habitual colic, nor am I yet freed from it. My wife sends you her compliments, and we both join in good wishes to you and your family. The accounts you sent me from the College at Newhaven were very agreeable, and I shall always be glad to hear from you on that or any other subject. I am sensible you have to do with people of no very easy or tractable spirit. But your own prudence will direct you when and how far to yield, and what is the proper way to manage with them. I pray God preserve you and prosper your en- deavours. And I am, Reverend Sir, Your very faithful servant and brother, G. CLOYNE. " Sir John James (?). almost the only published production of his, « This was a Sermon preached before but Archdeacon Rose has an interesting the House of Lords, by Bishop Benson, on volume of Benson's Sermons and Charges Ps. LXXXni. 5—8, published in 1738— in MS. VII.] Fi7^st Years in the Irish Diocese. 259 The following letter ^^ to Colonel Thomas Evans of Milltown, near Charleville, whose daughter was married to Dean Brucc's 'f' son, illustrates Berkeley's amiable disposition. It is the only scrap I can find belonging to the months which immediately fol- lowed his return from Dublin : — Cloyne, 7ier y, 1738. To Tho77ias Evans, Esq., at Mill-towne. Sir, Two nights ago I received the favour of your letter, but deferred answering it till I should have seen Dean Bruce at my visitation ; from which the Dean happened to be detained by the illness of his son. I am very sorry there hath arisen any difference between you ; but, as you have been silent as to particulars, and as the Dean hath mentioned nothing of it to me, either by word of mouth, letter, or message, I can do no more than in general terms recommend peace and good neigh- bourhood, for the providing of which my best endeavours should not be wanting. In the meantime give me leave to assure you that I have not the least reason to entertain ill thoughts of your conduct; and that where no blame is imputed all apology is useless. Upon the whole, since the Dean hath not stirred in this matter, I hope it may die and be forgotten. My wife presents her compliments, and I remain, Sir, y' very obedient humble servt., G. CLOYNE. The Cloyne register records the baptism of Berkeley's daughter Julia, in October 1738 ^". In November we are introduced to the Rev. Isaac Gervais^*, *' See Brady's Records, vol. III. p. Il8. bishopric of Cloyne- 1726 — 31, when he was *'' Reverend Jonathan Bruce, Vicar of translated to Dromore. He had two sons, Charleville, Co. Cork, descended from Sir Captain Thomas Maule. and James Maule, Andrew Bruce of Earlshall in Scotland. who married a daughter of Lord Barrymore From 1724 to his death at Charleville, in 1727. ' Mrs. Longfield' was of Castle in 1758, he was Dean of Kilfenora. See Mary; 'Hugh Lumley ' was of Ballymaloe ; Brady's /2efor(fs, vol. II. pp. 37 40, for an and 'the Rev. Robert Berkeley ' was the account of the family. Bishop's brother. " The entry is as follows : — *** Isaac Gervais was a native of Mont- ' Julia Berkeley, daughter of George, pelier, born about 1 680, and carried out of Lord Bishop of Cloyne, was baptised Oc- France, on the revocation of the Edict of tober the 15th 1738. Godfathers, the Rev. Nantes, in lC-85— a member of one of the Mr. Robert Berkeley, and Hugh Lumley, Huguenot families who then fled from Esq. ; Mrs. Longfield and Mrs. Maule, god- France, and settled in Youghall, Waterford, mothers.' The Maules in these entries and other parts of Ireland. He was Vicar were connected with Bishop Maule, one of Choral of Lismore in 1708, Prebendary of Berkeley's predecessors, who held the Lismore in 1723, and became Dean of Tuam S 2 2 6o L ife and L dtcrs of Berkeley. then a prebendary in the cathedral church of Lismore, a vivacious and every way pleasant clerical neighbour, of French extraction, who often visited Berkeley, and with whom he had much friendly correspondence during the remaining years of his life. The fol- lowing note is the earliest dated among the fragments which have been preserved of that long continued correspondence : — Cloytu, November 25, 1738. Reverend Sir, Mv wife sends her compliments to Mrs. Ger^•ais and yourself for the receipt for his friend Dr. Palliser, the Vice Provost, in whose family it long re- mained. It seems to be the latest, and is one of the most interesting portraits of Berkeley. A very good engraving has been taken from it. Another picture of Berkeley, now in Dublin, is possessed by his descendant, Mr. Robert Berkeley, Q.C., Upper Mount Street. It seems to have been the earliest done of all, for I am told it was painted when he was in Italy. It came to its present pos- sessor from Mrs. Sackville Hamilton, daughter of Dr. Robert Berkeley. Three other pictures are in England. The oldest of these belongs to the Rev. Dr. Irons, rector of Wadingham. It was done by Smibert in 1725, when Berkeley was living in London. It is rather less than life size, a sitting posture, the left hand resting on a book perpendicularly placed on the knee, and the right supported on the elbow of his chair. The dress is a plain black cassock, large lawn bands, with a clericnl cap fitting close to the head. Another was the property of the Bishop's grandnephew. General Sackville Berkeley, and is now possessed by his son, the Rev. Sackville Berkeley. It is a life size, showing as far as the knees. The date is unknown. He is dressed in episcopal robes. Some labourers are seen at work through a win- dow. At Lambeth there is a life-size standing figure, seen to the knees. He rests his left hand on a blue covered table, above which, seen through a square window, is a ship with full sails on a dashing sea. There is a small book in his right hand, inscribed ' Voyage to the Indies.' The eyes and hair are dark brown, and the complexion almost a ruddy brown. He wears episcopal robes. The artist is not known. There is, lastly, a remarkable picture of Berkeley, said to be by Vanderbank, in his lawn sleeves, with the ' broken cisterns ' which form the frontispiece of Alciphron in the background. According to a letter by Dr. Todd, in Notes and Queries (April 30, 1853), a picture corresponding to this description was at one time intended for Trinity College, Dublin, by the mother of Monck Berkeley, and a curious letter from her, dated February ig, 1797. is given by Dr. Todd. She may have changed her mind, as the picture was never presented to the University. The one I refer to came into the possession of the late Sir David Brewster, in whose house at Allerly I had an oppor- tunity of seeing it. Engravings of Berkeley are not uncom- mon, and Mrs. Berkeley, in the Preface to her son's Poems, mentions ' a wonderfully fine ivory medallion, taken of Bishop Ber- keley at Rome, when a young man,' but this I have not been able to trace. Nor can I trace the picture done by Mrs. Berkeley, and sent to Prior (cf. p. 308), or identify it with one of those now mentioned. 11 IX.] Oxford. — The End. 349 and unaffected, but with turns of thought of surprising ingenuity, served by a ready memory and fancy, and with information cor- responding to his uncommon observational inquisitivencss. Of the tones of his voice, whether Irish, or English, or cosmopolitan, there is no account ; nor has any Boswell preserved examples of his table-talk. Hardly anywhere, I almost think, do we come nearer to him, in the daily life of his rather restless prime, than when we follow him in the diary of his wanderings in Italy, now given to the world, and there see how cordially he entered into everything around him, how genial he was in his intercourse with strangers, and how energetically inquisitive into the insti- tutions and customs of the countries through which he passed. His love for the beautiful, and his artistic eye, are shown in the constant references to the treasures of ancient and modern Italy. The good nature with which he meets the inconveniences of travelling show how pleasant a companion he must have been. One wishes for a diary of his life in Rhode Island — or in the episcopal palace at Cloyne, domesticated among his children and his poor neighbours, and among his books. Most of his letters which have been recovered inadequately represent the intellectual power which might have marked his intercourse with friends to whom liigh speculation was con- genial. They naturally reflect, in some measure, the qualities of his correspondents. Thomas Prior, to whom so many of them were addressed, was hardly one to draw out Berkeley's singular powers of reason and imagination. Two of his letters to Johnson show what his correspondence, for instance, with Clarke, or with Butler, might have been: the few addressed to Pope which remain, make us wish that we could recover morels. Those to Dean Gervais are relieved by gleams of humour and touches of pensive beauty, in the years of suffering at Cloyne. At Cloyne he seems to have withdrawn more and more into his library. He spent the morning and a great part of the day in study, in the company often of Plato, whose manner he has caught more nearly than any English writer. In the family dissolution, "^ Pope, we all know, was moved to enthu- had written an Address to our Saviour, siasm by his admiration for Berkeley. He imitated from Lucretius' compliment to yielded to his judgment in omitting a pas- Epicurus, but omitted it, by advice ot Dean sage in the original version of the Essay on Berkeley.' Man. ' In the Moral Poem,' he says, ' I 350 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. his large and valuable collection of books and pictures was un- fortunately dispersed after the death of his son ; and we cannot now tell who were his favourite associates among the illustrious dead. It appears as if his library contained many foreign books ^*^. Berkeley was far removed from pedantry. He united much of the learning of the scholar with a knowledge of the world that was occasionally overborne by his own benevolent simplicity and gentle enthusiasm. As a scholar he was accomplished rather than profound. He wrote and spoke French fluently, and seems to have been not less familiar with Italian. His Latin style was clear, easy, and correct. His love for the languages and literature of the ancient world was shown in the donations and bequests he made to Yale College, and to Trinity College, Dublin ; and his Italian diary, Alapkron^ and 6'/m, illustrate his classical accom- plishments and philosophical learning. If one may judge of his intimacy with the best English books by his own style, it must have been extensive, for the purity and beauty of his language are perhaps unequalled by previous prose authors. While he wants the terse vigour of Hobbes, and the manly Saxon of Swift, he is unapproached in the English literature of metaphysical philo- sophy, in the power of adapting the expressions of ordinary lan- guage to philosophical meanings the most subtle and refined 2'^. No abstract thinker in these islands has produced works so well fitted at once to excite metaphysical reflection, and at the same time to cultivate the sentiment of artistic beauty. His philosophy takes the form of a work of art, which raises wonder by its ingenuity, if it sometimes disappoints us by its want of mas- sive strength. What Cicero says of Plato's reasoning in favour of the immortality of the soul, might be applied with more truth to Berkeley's speculations on kindred subjects — though all the vulgar philosophers in the world were to unite their powers, they could not comprehend the ingenuity of the reasoning. The study of his writings, and the contemplation of his life, is in itself an education of taste and understanding. But it must be allowed that he did not always see round the difficulties which he pro- ^" Preface to Monck Berkeley. the Academies of France ; a design in which '•' He was deeply interested, it is said, in a Swift, Bolingbroke, and others were united, scheme for promoting the English language but which came to nothing at the death of by a society of wits and men of genius, Queen Anne. established for that purpose, in imitation of IX.] Oxford. — The End. 351 fessed to remove j and that, without a tincture of disingcnuous- ness, he sometimes evades the question. The beauty of the conception is unapproached by Locke, .ut we miss Locke's solid force, or Butler's • and one sometimes feels in Berkeley's company as if playing with speculation. In the fresh and singular trans- parency of his thought, there is some want of the feeling of the sublime and awful mystery of the universe, and a defect too of the large grasp of reason which comprehends the involved diffi- culties of a great intellectual whole — for Berkeley was acute, and subtle, and uncommon, rather than endowed with masterly com- prehension. Especially in his earlier works, one sometimes wishes that his unborrowed, evidently self-elaborated thought, had been balanced by deeper consideration of the thoughts of others, while he might still exemplify his own words, in his first published writing — ' Neminem transcripsi ; nuUius scrinia expilavi.' A retrospect of his life discovers in it something else than dreamy idealism. A practical vein, which reminds one occasionally of Arnold or even of Paley, runs distinctly through his speculations and his actions : he had this in common with the theological moralists, and indeed the general tone, of the age in which he lived. It is seen in his treatment of the disinterestedness of virtue, and of the sanctions of supernatural reward and punishment. His evident inclination was to bring everything — theologies and social institutions included — to the test of utility and matter-of-fact j though this tendency was, I think, less in his later years, for instance in the metaphysical parts of Siris. Prolonged study of the attempted performances and actual per- formance of the life increases our sense of the goodness and purity of its intention — even more than our reverence for its intellectual power or sagacity. ' Non sibi, sed toti,' might truly have been its motto. This was no Stoical life, but subject to the chivalrous impulses of an ardent human heart — generous almost to knight- errantry. The steadiness and intensity of its social sympathies were expressed in its three great and holy enthusiasms — the American enthusiasm of middle life — the Tar-water enthusiasm of old age — and the enthusiastic spiritual conception of the Universe which runs through all. His spirit is seen in his religion. This governed his daily actions, in an unwearied performance of duty, rather than ex- 352 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. pressed itself obtrusively in words, for he seldom made it directly the subject of talk. Few have so exemplified the gentle self-sacrifice of the Life unfolded in the Gospels. The mild, pious, candid, and ingenious Berkeley, lived and died in charity with God and men — like Locke his great predecessor, in communion of heart with the Universal Church, by whatever name it was distinguished. He was unperverted by controversial theology, and dead to ecclesiastical ambition. While his taste and sensibility approved of the grave and beautiful ritual of Anglican worship, and its freedom from fanaticism, his large heart kept loyal to the Church Catholic ; and he seemed always glad to escape from the disputes of metaphysical theology^ to the practical religion of Charity. After Berkeley's departure we have some glimpses of the family. A long period of recluse life left few remaining friends to sympa- thise with the little circle so suddenly bereaved. The splendid society of long-past years in England, in which Berkeley used to move, had passed away. Of the few bishops and other eccle- siastical dignitaries with whom he corresponded in his later years, Seeker was almost the only survivor. His wise friendship was now at the service of the widow, and her son and daughter. Among other letters of sympathy which I find among the Berkeley Papers, there is the following, which was addressed to the widow by Seeker, from whom, and from the Church, Butler, Benson, and Berkeley had all been taken away within six months-^: — St. Paul's Deanery, Jan. i6, 1753. Madam, I AM beyond expression surprised and grieved at the sad news which I received from Oxford last night. May God who hath taken to Himself, in wisdom and mercy, no doubt, that excellently great and very good man, comfort you and yours, under this most sudden and heavy affliction, in which I and my family bear a large, though we are sensible, a very unequal share with you. But even we have lost in him our oldest surviving friend. Within a few months there * * * * had been still longer and more intimately -® Seeker himself was a few j'ears after this translated from Oxford to Lambeth, where he died in 1768. X.] The Fa^nily Dissolution. 353 such. ' Help, Lord, for the godly man ceaseth ; for the faithful fail among the children of men/ We heartily wish that we were nearer you, to give you such poor consolation as we could. But you have the truest support within yourselves, the knowledge and the imitation of his piety : and God grant you, in this severest of trials, to experience the full [strength] of it. If we can possibly be of service to you at this distance, if a retreat at Cuddesden would be a relief, if a supply of m[oney] on this most sad emergency would be a convenience, if in anything small [or great], we can give a proof of that sympathy which we feel in the highest degree ****** But at least let us hear some way, as soon as you are able, from yourselves, how you are. In the meanwhile we will hope it is as well as your melancholy situation will permit. I am, dear Madam, Your most faithful, humble servant, THOS. OXFORD. Since I wrote this I have received good Mr. Berkeley's letter. God be thanked, who hath enabled him to think so immediately, in so reason- able and religious a manner. Our most fervent prayers are offered up for you, and him, and dear Miss Berkeley. The next, apparently in ansv/er to a letter v^hich has been lost, is from young Berkeley to Seeker 2' : — "^ Among the letters of condolence pre- and every day before our eyes, that we should served in the collection of Berkeley Papers, be prepared for, rather than surprised at the following, addressed to the son George- them. Though I confess when they come by Lord Mornington", the grandfather of the so near as to our own fimily, grief and afflic- Duke of Wellington, has a certain adven- tion for a while is not to be avoided, as I titious interest : — well know by what I have suffered in my Sir, own case more than once. I have the favour of yours, for which I However, as submission to the Will of God am much obliged to you, and heartily wish is a necessary duty, and that by the course it had been upon some better occasion, as of nature we must all part with this lite in the melancholy subject of it is too affecting. the time Providence has allotted for us, it is The loss of so great and good a man as the incumbent on us to bear our mistortunes late Bishop of Cloyne must be sensibly felt with patience, which I hope and doubt not by the public (to whom his learned labours but you and the good lady your mother had been of such general use), as well as by will consider for your own sakes and the his particular friends, of whom I had the rest. honour and great pleasure of being one, with Pray be pleased to make my best comph- no less esteem and value for him than the ments of condolence to Mrs Berkeley, and most zealous of them. believe me to be, with great respect. But instances of mortality are so common, Sir, Your most obedient humble servant. MORNINGTON. " He died in 1758, and was succeeded by ^^^^^.^^^ ~ ,-.3. his son, the second Lord Mornington, the n • 1 celebrated musician and composer. There is also, in the same collection, the VOL. IV. A a 354 i-^f^ ^^^^ Letters of Berkeley. [ch. My dear Lord, I CANNOT defer acknowledging the honour of your Lordship's very kind letter. Dr. Johnson's book^" I have not seen, but shall be greatly obliged to you for a copy of it, as I suppose it is not reprinted in England, and as my dear father had a very high esteem for the author. Notwithstanding the kind sympathy of your Lordship and the good ladies, as well as of all our friends here, and the utmost endeavours of my sister and myself to conceal our grief, I cannot say that I perceive my poor mother's at all abated. What human aid can't do, I trust that Divine will do. My sister is extremely thankful for Miss Talbot's very useful and friendly letter. She joyns with my mother and myself in most grateful acknowledgments to your Lordship and the ladies, and I beg leave to assure you that I am, with the greatest respect, My dear Lord, "^'our most dutiful and very obliged humble servant, GEO. BERKELEY. Oxford, Feb. i, 1753. In Seeker's manuscript Memoirs of himself, preserved in the library at Lambeth, I find the follovi^ing: — '1753, June 8. We went to Cuddesden. My good friend Bishop Berkeley dying at Oxford in January, his vi'idov^, and son, and daughter spent the summer with me.' In March of the following year. Seeker writes following letter from Synge, Bishop of El- I shall soon follow him. Oh that I could phin, who died in January, 1762 : — in his life! Even sudden death would then Sir, lose its terrors in prospect. Your melancholy news flew hither. We 1 desire you would present my best re- had it on Sunday. It affected me greatly. spec's to your good mother. If I can be in But the first surprise being over, yours re- any way useful to her or you, I shall be ceived yesterday gave me real and great always ready to receive her commands. But, pleasure. It will always give me pleasure to in your present situation, your father's old be considered as your good father's friend. friends have no room except for wishes. I have been so these forty-three years with The best I can form for you is, that you exquisite pleasure and great advantage to may inherit the perfections of your excellent myself while we were together, but with father, and emulate his virtues. I am, with much regret and uneasiness since the distance the greatest truth, of our situations and his constant residence. Sir, interrupted all intercourse, except now and Your very affectionate friend then by letter. At last the final separation and humble servant, is made — I hope it will have the effect on EDW ELPHIN me which it ought to have. The death of Dublin Jan. 26 17 ■^. so old, so loved, and so esteemed a friend should admonish me of mine own. I am, 2" The Elementa Pbilosopbica. indeed, some years younger. But probably IX.] The Family Dissolution. 355 as follows from the Deanery of St. Paul's to Dr. Samuel Johnson in America, to thank him for his book : — ' I am particularly obliged to you for sending me your book, of which I made a very accept- able present to the late excellent Bishop of Cloyne's son — a most serious, sensible, and prudent young man, whom his father placed at Christ Church, and who, with his mother and sister, spent the last summer with me in Oxfordshire. I have now lately received from Mr. Smith another copy of it, printed here 2^, and have read several parts of it, and all with much pleasure. . You have taken very- proper care to keep those who do not enter into all the philo- sophy of the great and good man from being shocked at it^'^.' Two years after this we find the family scattered ^'^ On the 25th of May, 1756, George Berkeley writes thus from Christ Church to Dr. Johnson : — 'My mother has been settled, with my brother and sister, for a year and a half past, in Dublin, where I paid them a visit about three months last summer, and intend, God willing, to spend half a year with them as soon as I have kept next term. My poor sister has been for above a year in a very bad state of health, and subject to violent fits, which have reduced her much, and made my mother's life very unpleasant — that is, as unpleasant as circum- stances can render the life of a sincere Christian, which I bless God she is^*.' An outline of the family history after this, till its final dissolu- tion, can be summed up in a few words. =" This was the London edition of Johnson's Bishop of Cloyne, and by the present Bishop Elementa Philosophica, edited by William of Cloyne, signed by the Bishops of Meath Smith, which appeared in T754. and Elphin.' Their excellencies are desired 32 See Chandler's Life ofJohTison—Appen- to refer the petition ' and the annexed case ' dix. In one of Seeker's MS. Commonplace to the Commissioners of His Majesty's Re- Books are some observations on Berkeley's venue in Ireland. I have not followed manner of conceiving sensible things, and this further, but it rather indicates scanty its superiority to the unextended monads finances. into which Leibnitz resolves the material "* Johnson's MSS. I owe this extract to world ; also a suggestion that Spinoza's Mr. Gilman The ' brother ' referred to notion of God may have been partly mis- must have been Henry. The extract is understood, and be capable of a better in- part of a large correspondence between terpretation. George Berkeley and Johnson, which was S3 From a letter (in the records at Dub- ended by Johnson's own sudden death in lin Castle) dated, Whitehall, Sept. 6, 1754. January 1772. Some of this correspondence, addressed by the Duke of Dorset to the Lords I understand, still remains,^ but I have failed Justices of Ireland, it appears that a petition to find more of Johnson's correspondence was about that time sent to the King by ' Mrs. with the Bishop than has been given in Berkeley, widow and executrix of the late former chapters. A a 2 356 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. The eldest son, Henry, who seems to have been in weak health, but of whose later history I can find nothmg, died in Ireland, in Queen's County ^^. The second son, George, took his Master's degree at Oxford in January, 1759, ^"^^ ^^ ^^^ same year, by Seeker's influence, he was presented to the celebrated vicarage of Bray, in Berkshire. The Bishop's widow, of whom one has so many good and pleasant associations with the recluse life in Rhode Island and at Cloyne, lived at Bray with her son for some years before and after his marriage, which took place in March 1761. The eccentric jealousy of the wife at last separated her from her son. She died at Langley in Kent on the 37th of May, 1786, in her eighty- sixth year 36. The daughter Julia, who lived with her mother, probably survived her, but I have found no record of her death. She was not married. The Berkeleys at Bray had four children, two daughters who died in infancy, a son, George Monck, and another son, George Robert, who died in childhood, in 1775"'^. George Monck, the eldest son, born in 1763, was educated at Eton, and afterwards in Scotland, at the university of St. Andrew's, where he entered in 1782. From the Preface to the posthumous quarto volume which contains some of his poetical fragments gleanings have already been offered to the reader. His Literary Relics, as I formerly ex- plained, supply the best edition of his illustrious grandfather's correspondence with Thomas Prior. George Monck Berkeley died in January 1793. Archdeacon Rose, to whom future students of Berkeley owe so much, has kindly contributed some additional particulars in the following Brief Memoir of George Berkeley, the Bishop's second and last surviving son. ' It will be remembered that Bishop Berkeley, not long before his death, went to reside in Oxford. One of the inducements to this change of residence was a desire to superintend the education of ^ Brady's Records, vol. III. p. 1 19. ■'■^ One of Monck Berkeley's Poems is an S8 See Europ. Mag. vol. IX. p. 470. Some Elegy on the death of this brother (pp. of her letters are among the Berkeley Papers. 165 — 78). IX.] The Family Dissolution. 357 his son George, who was born in London in September 1733, '^"^ was trained by his father at Cloyne till he was ready for the Uni- versity. He was admitted at Christ Church in 1752, where Bishop Conybeare, who was then Dean of Christ Church, conferred a Studentship upon him. The education of his children had been with the Bishop so sacred a duty, that he devoted himself to it with the utmost ardour, and having educated his son until he was of age to enter the University, he was desirous of continuing such superintendence over his studies, as the regulations of the University would permit. It happens that among the Berkeley Papers there is a long letter from the widow of the Bishop to her son, in which she recounts the great pains bestowed by the Bishop on this labour of love during the childhood and early youth of his son. The following passages are quoted from this address : — ' " I sit down with the greatest pleasure to talk a cceur ouverte with my son upon every subject which shall present itself. The slight reflection you made on your dear father and my dear husband carried me back many years, and in all those years I saw infinite cause of gratitude from you and me to God for all his favors, and for all his crosses, which are disguised favors. How carefully was your infancy protected by your dear Father's skill and Mother's care. You were not for our ease trusted to mercenary hands : in childhood you were instructed by your father — he, though old and sickly, performed the constant, tedious task himself, and would not trust it to another's care. You were his business and his pleasure. Short-sighted people see no danger from common vulgar errors of education. He knew that fundamental errors were never cured, and that the first seasoning of the cask gives the flavor, and therefore he chose rather to prevent than cure. As much as possible he kept you with himself or else alone. He never raised your vanity, or your love for vanity, by prizing or mentioning the vanities of life (unless with the derision they deserve) — which we have all renounced in baptism, before you — such are Titles — Finery — Fashion— Money — Fame. His own temperance in regard to wine was a better lesson to you than forbidding it would have been. He made home pleasant by a variety of employments, conversa- tion, and company ; his instructive conversation was delicate, and when he spoke directly of religion (which was seldom) he did it in so masterly a manner, that it made a deep and lasting impression. You never heard him give his tongue the liberty of speaking evil. Never did he 358 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [en. reveal the fault or secret of a friend. Most people are tempted to detraction by envy, barrenness of conversation, spite and ill will. But as he saw no one his superior, or perhaps his equal, how could he envy any one? Eesides, an universal knowledge of 7ne7i, Ihwgs, and books, pre- vented the greatest wit of his age from being at a loss for subjects of conversation ; but had he been as dull as he was bright, his conscience and good nature would have kept close the door of his lips, rather than to have opened them to vilify or lessen his brother. He was also pure in heart and speech ; no wit could season any kind of dirt to him, not even Swift's. Now he was not born to all this, no more than others are, but in his own words his industry was greater ; he struck a light at twelve to rise and study and pray, for he was very pious ; and his studies were no barren speculations, for he loved God and man, silenced and confuted Atheists, disguised as mathematicians and fine gentlemen. . . . His scheme for our Colonies and the World in general is not forgot before His eyes for whom it was undertaken. No man of the age was capable of projecting and bringing into execution such a design but himself — that it failed was not his fault. . . . Humility, tenderness, patience, generosity, charity to men's souls and bodies, was the sole end of all his projects, and the business of his life. In particular I never saw so tender and so amiable a father, or so patient and industrious a one ! Why were not you and Willy rotten before you were ripe, like Lord 's sons } Because you had so wise, so good a father. It is true he took no care to purchase land for you; but where are Lord 's sons now, and what enjoyment have they of their great estates .-^ . . . Exactness and care (in which consists economy) was the treasury upon which he drew for charity, generosity, munificence ; and exactness and care, regularity and order, prevented his ever having the temptation to be covetous, and surely it should be guarded against with strict care since ' covetousness is idolatry.' Most people think with the wise, but act with the vulgar. Your father slighted the Que dira-t-on? &c.,&c." 'Such was the education which George Berkeley received at Cloyne — and if this be a faithful picture of his father's care of his childhood and youth, we cannot wonder that when he was launched into the greater world of Oxford, that tender father was anxious to watch over his son during his University career. 'After Mr. Berkeley had taken his degree of Master of Arts on the 26th of January, i 759, he was presented to the Vicarage of East Garston, which is in the gift of the Society— and soon IX.] The Fa7)iily Dissolution. 359 afterwards to the \'icarage of Bray. Mr. Berkeley, as a young man, formed an attachment to Miss Talbot, afterwards so well- known as the authoress of the admirable reflections on the Seven Days of the Week, often published by the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge. Although this attachment appears to have been reciprocal, some obstacles intervening, the engagement, if there was any positive engagement, was given up by mutual consent. Mr. Berkeley afterwards, in the year 1761, married Miss Eliza Frinsham^''*^, daughter of the Rev. Henry Frinsham. Rector of W'hite-Waltham, in Berkshire. From the period of this marriage, it ought to be mentioned that Miss Talbot never ceased to show the utmost kindness and friendship to Mrs. George Berkeley, who speaks of her as the kindest of all her fiiends''"^. Miss Frinsham appears to have been possessed of great personal charms and considerable abilities, but she was evidently very excitable. Eventually her eccentricity exceeded all bounds, and her writings exhibit traces of partial derangement. This cir- cumstance contributed very much to cloud the happiness of her home. A large mass of letteis rebate to the unhappy dil^erences which arose from this cause ; but as it can be or no possible interest to the world at large, this notice of the matter will suffice. It seems needful thus slightly to mention it, because it will serve to explain the strange statements which we occa- sionally meet with in her publications. She published in 1799 a volume of posthumous sermons, preached by her husband, v.-ith a most extraordinary preface ; and also, two years earlier, some poems of her son, to which she prefixed a Preface of nearly 700 quarto pages I No one who reads it can doubt the partial dc- langcment of mind of the writer^''. ^ This ladv was descended from Francis qmted their kindness by adopting the widow Cherry. Esq.. ot" Shotte>brooke. in Kent. In and d.-iughter of the Bishops son. as nieni- 1729 his d.iughter sent a picture of him. and bers of his own family. They lived with a valuable collection of MS? to the Univer- him to the time of his death. Mrs. G. sitv of Oxford, which benefactions are ac- Berkeley, in the Preface to her son's Poems, kn'owledged in a letter from Sam. Parker on speaks of her ' angelic friend." Miss Catherine behalf of the Vice-Chancellor, now in the Talbot. Miss Talbot died in 1770. There Berkeley CoUection, as well as the Vice- is a charming letter from Miss Ta'bot to Chancel'lcr-s letter. a new-U^m child, a daughter ot Mr. John =^ Miss Catherine Talbot was the erand- Talbot (.son of Lord-Chancellor TalboO. in daughter oi Dr. Talbot, Bishop of Durham. the Selections from ibt Gemlemans Maga- who died in 17^0. Seeker had been his zine. vol. III. p. ^5- chaplain, and w'as much indebted to the "" This volume is ver>- rare. It is. a» far Talbot family for his preferment. He re- as I can ascertain, not to be »ound either in 360 Life and Letters of Bei^keley. [ch. ' It is well known that Miss Talbot and her mother were inmates of Lambeth Palace, during the Primacy of Archbishop Seeker, who was much attached to Bishop Berkeley, and remained always a very kind friend to his son, who held successively several benefices, besides a Prebendal Stall in Canterbury. He was Vicar of Bray, which he exchanged for Cookham, and Rector of St. Clement Danes, East Acton in Middlesex, and of Ticehurst in Sussex. He was also Chancellor of Brecknock, but in the later years of his life he appears to have been very far from rich. In February 1768, he took the degree of LL.D. 'Dr. Berkeley was evidently much beloved by a large circle of friends, many of whom were persons of considerable distinction. Dr. Home, the President of Magdalen, and Dean of Canterbury, who in 1790 became Bishop of Norwich, was through life one of his most attached friends, as the numerous letters from that truly Christian Prelate, found among the Berkeley Papers, abun- dantly testify. Dr. Samuel Johnson in America, Dr. Glasse, Dr. Whitaker, Bishop Gleig, and others also among his friends, were well known as men of high attainments. Dr. Berkeley having passed some time at St. Andrew's and elsewhere in Scotland, took a deep interest in the Scottish Episcopal Church, and was in some degree instrumental in obtaining the removal of the restric- tions under which it laboured at that time. He had a long correspondence with Bishop Gleig on the subject, a large portion of which is still in the Berkeley Collection. Bishop Home also was much interested in the movement for the removal of the cruel restrictions, which were continued so long after the ne- cessity for them, if it ever existed, had altogether ceased. It appears also that it was very much through the influence of Dr. Berkeley that the Scottish Bishops were induced to conse- crate Dr. Seabury. The importance of that event to the Churches of England and America it would be difficult adequately to ex- press. Dr. Berkeley was evidently a man of considerable powers of mind, and of so amiable a disposition that he appears to have been universally popular. 'There is little to narrate connected with his life. The Memoir of his son, George Monck Berkeley, by the mother the Bodleian or the Cambridge University belonging to the Chapter Library at Can- Library. I am indebted to the kindness of terbury. Canon Robertson for the use of a copy, IX.] The Family Dissolution. 361 of the young man, contains many anecdotes about the father, showing his excellent qualities and his religious character. But there is little to record. Had he become illustrious by his published works, like Bishop Berkeley, the smallest fragment of his writings would have been worth publishing, because it would serve to illustrate the habits of thought which contributed to that eminence. But his letters, though invested with a certain value from their liveliness and their good sense, do not contain sufficient matter of public interest to justify their publication. There are, however, some letters from Bishop Home addressed to him which deserve to be rescued from oblivion. It may be mentioned that a sermon by Dr. Berkeley, preached on Jan. 30, 1785, on The danger of Violent Innovations in the State^ how specious soever the pretence^ exemplijied from the reigns of the tico first Stuarts J went through six editions. The intimacy of Dr. Ber- keley with the Archbishop of Canterbury, and with the ladies who resided with his Grace at Lambeth, enabled him to put forward the claims of some deserving clergymen for preferment. Among these was the celebrated William Jones, of Nayland, who obtained Pluckley through his interest. A letter to Dr. Berkeley from Dr. Jemmett Brown, Bishop of Cork and Ross, in March 1768, begins pleasantly enough — "Dear Doctor, I wish, sincerely, I could substitute Lord for your new title," &c. 'Dr. George Berkeley died on the 6th of January, 1795, two years after his son Monck, leaving his widow apparently in straitened circumstances.' This son, George, was the last of that branch of the Berkeley family in which the philanthropist and the philosophical world are most interested, and which we have now followed from its beginnings on the bank of the Nore till it disappears from this 'shadowy scene.' The philosophy of Berkeley survives the family dissolution, as its permanent heritage to the world. To that philosophy I must now ask the reader to return, in order to contemplate as a whole, and in some lights in which it has not, I think, been sufficiently considered, what in the foregoing chap- ters has appeared only at intervals and in fragments. CHAPTER X. THE PHILOSOPHY OF BERKELEY. A. Berkeley's Neiu ^Ij/esfionj and the Essence of his Ansiver to it. There is a discernible unity in the life of Berkeley. It may be traced in the chapters of his personal history, in his hitherto un- published thoughts, and in the three volumes which contain those of his purely philosophical, mixed, and miscellaneous writings which appeared when he was alive. The function of the material world in the universe of existence — the true meaning of unper- ceiving substance, identity, space, and force or power — employed his intellect and imagination from the beginning to the end. In- genious occupation with this problem is what gives character and strength to that beautiful and singular life. The immediate re- sult was, his own steadily sustained conception of what the reality of sensible things means; and his persistent, but strictly conse- quent, endeavour to confine the material world to the subordinate function in relation to Spirit or Mind which is implied in that conception. The remoter result has been that he inaugurated a new and second era in the intellectual revolution which Des Cartes set agoing. This Second Period in Modern Philosophy has been marked by the sceptical phenomenalism of Hume (now represented by Positivism) ; the Scotch psychology of Common Sense j and the German critical and dialectical philosophy of Reason. Berkeley's belief about the sensible world was not a mere in- tellectual whim : we see this when we follow the story of his life. It was the issue of deep human interest and sympathy. Men had Philosophy of Berkeley. 363 suffered, and were suffering, he believed, from wrong ways of conceiving the manner in which the material world exists, and the powers which may reasonably be attributed by physical science to sensible things. He suspected that their manner of thinking about Matter was making them sceptical about everything; or, at any rate, that it was leaving them satisfied with the supposed powers of the world of sense, as a sufficient explanation of them- selves and of all that is. Materialists were making unperceived Matter supreme; yet philosophers found it difficult to deduce its existence from what alone they allowed us to be able to perceive. Now, by substituting in people's thoughts — in room of an inde- finitely powerful Matter — the subordinate kind of material world, which he found given in sense and sanctioned by reason, the difficulty of proviiig its real existence would, he thought, be at once removed : spiritual life, above all^ would have room to grow in, when Matter ceased to be regarded as the deepest thing in existence : and the physical sciences, too, might have freedom to enlarge themselves, without hindrance by restored faith, when it was demonstrated that no possible progress in the interpretation of sensible signs, could interfere with religion, whose roots are in the heart and conscience of man. Matter was apt to make philosophers sceptical about reality of every sort, because they had assumed it to be something the existence of which it was impossible to prove, and the nature of which it was impossible even to conceive. Yet without the acknowledged existence of a sensible world nothing external to the individual mind could be assured. Berkeley, accordingly, found Des Cartes, Malebranche, Locke, and other philosophers of the century in which he was born, trying, but with indifferent success, to verify the existence of Matter. And then he found even Locke suggesting that this same unperceived Matter may be the cause of consciousness. Hobbes, indeed, dogmatically asserted more than this, assuming, in his explanation of intelligent man, that the body accounted for the mind, and that Matter was the deepest thing in the universe. Spinoza too unfolded the divine system according to a geometrical, which seemed to be a materialistic, imagination of it ; and although the hypothesis which resolves the material world into unextended monads might place Leibnitz in a different category, it was an assumption almost as open to objection as that 364 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [€H. of the materialists, that a plurality of inconceivable forces is the constitutive essence of extended things. Again, a mathematical or spacial conception of what is real — in a word, atomism — was involving men, in that age of Newtonian discoveries, in the per- plexities of infinitesimals and the infinite, which all result from the supposition of an absolute quantity that is infinitely divisible. Metaphysicians were, by this means, able to raise a dust, and then complain that they could not see. And the unreflecting multitude were then as always apt to look for, and be satisfied with, ex- planations of things — including animal and even conscious life — that made Matter their sufficient cause. The material world was in short, in many ways, disturbing the balance or equilibrium of true belief, in the beginning of the eighteenth century; and it had always been doing so, more or less. A powerful hand was required to put it back into its proper place, and to confine it to its assigned function. This, his appro- priated office, was employment enough for Berkeley's hand, which was subtle — whatever may be said about its strength. Berkeley may be pictured as one trying in vain all his life to get a hearing for a New Question about space and the material world. His philosophical contemporaries, and their predecessors, had been busy offering evidence that unperceivable Matter really exists — in answer to supposed demands for such evidence ; or in referring to this Universal Substance for the explanation of the perplexing phenomena of conscious life. He entreated them to address themselves to another task altogether; and also to sus- pend the assumption that the unperceiving world could explain everything, till they had made sure that it could really explain anything. Instead of offering doubtful evidence of the former, and also dogmatically taking the dynamical efficiency of Matter for granted, let us first ask, Berkeley in effect says, what the words existence^ reality^ externality^ and cause mean, when they are affirmed of sensible objects 1. Perhaps we shall then find that ^ Cf. Principles of Hitman Knowledge, latiou as to what the concrete world, revealed sect. 89 ; also passages in the Commonplace in the phenomena presented to the senses, Book. This is metaphysics, or the specu- necessarily is. It is an attempt to translate lation of Being. Berkeley's Principles is his the abstract Being of the old ontologists into juvenile metaphysics — in the form of a specu- concrete fact, and then to describe the fact. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 365 the only reality these can have is a reality that does not need proof; and that their only possible externality is not an incon- ceivable — even contradictory — externality, but one easy to be conceived and believed in. Instead of trying to show that Matter is the cause of this or of that, he invites us to inquire what physical causality means, and in what respect, or to what extent, anything unconscious and involuntary can be the cause of any- thing at all. Perhaps if we do so we shall find that the actual material world cannot contain any power or causality; that the so-called relations of causation, discovered in physical science to belong to sensible things, are examples of another sort of relation altogether, and not of efficient or proper causation. Berkeley's life-long labour as a philosopher was, in short, an endeavour to get the previous question put in place of the pre- valent question, and the prevalent assumption about Matter. He wanted to induce men to settle what the substantial existence of the sensible world could in reason amount to — not to prove its substantiality, which (in a conventional meaning of 'substance') no sane person could doubt. He wanted to settle the meaning of physical power — not to prove the causality of visible and tangible things, which too (in a conventional meaning of ' cause ') could as little be doubted. His historical position in philosophy is, I think, not intelligible to those who overlook the fact that his speculative life (whether he was fully aware of this himself or not) was an endeavour thus to change the question about the unconscious world with which modern philosophy had busied itself. The result of the change would be, to make metaphysics not the demonstrator of the existence of the real things of sense — which do not need to be demonstrated ; nor the expositor of their so-called effects — which the physical sciences undertake to interpret ; but to make it the analyst of the meaning of reality, and the meaning of causality, when reality is affirmed of sensible things by everybody, and causality especially by men of science. Find what physical causality and physical substantiality can reasonably mean ; answer first this new question : — this is his constant prayer. His promise is that, when we shall have done this, we shall find that there is no need to press the old demand for evidence of the existence of such a substance as physical sub- stance can be proved to be ; and that there is no room for the old 366 Life and Letters of Berkeley, [cii. assumptions about the powers of bodies when physical science is confined by iron reasoning to the merely physical sort of causality. Such existence, reality, substantiality, and causality as the actual world of the senses can be shown to be capable of having, that^ he assumes, beyond all possibility of scepticism, the unperceiving world has : but that, no doubt, turns out to be a modest, restricted, dependent, sort of reality; and as for the causality, it turns out to be, not efficient, but a divinely effected constancy of sensible order, or a divinely effected growth of vital organism. Berkeley, in short, moved modern thought by changing Its question, and manner of thinking, about Matter — by withdrawing philosophy from the attempt to show that Matter exists, although- it is unperceived by us in the senses, and from the dogmatic as- sumption that Matter operates, to a metaphysical analysis of what unperceiving or unconscious reality and causality can amount to or involve '. The nev/ question and method of thought of Berkeley was pushed further in the new direction by Hume, who sought, as it were, to paralyse and humiliate the entire Divine Universe {to -nav)^ on principles partly similar to those applied by Berkeley to paralyse and humiliate the solid and extended universe. Hume, as it happened, was moved to speculate by Berkeley, traces of whom appear all through his metaphysical writings. But in Berkeley's method Hume read scepticism : he says that most of Berkeley's writings ^ form the best lessons of scepticism which are to be found either among the ancient or modern philosophers, Bayle not excepted,' because ' they admit of no answer and pro- duce no conviction •'*.' ''■ Berkeley's philosophy, in its most com- or Law according to which it evolves ; the prehensive aspect — increasingly in its later efficient Act itself ; and the End contemplated developments in Alciphron and Siris — is a in the act. The three last are involved in philosophy of the causation that is in the Berkeley's causation proper. His 'cause' universe, rather than a philosophy of the unites the three last, and dispenses with the mere material world. It is the reasoned ex- first, resolving it into sensible pheno- pression of an assumed intuition of the effi- • mena. As to the first — Matter, or Material ciency of Mind — of which the very essence Cause — cf. Siris, sect. 31 1 — 18, with my is conscious acting — as the only real cause notes, and the references to Aristotle's v\r}, of what appears in dead and living Nature. and Plato's to atrdpov, and to enpov, in It must be remembered the word ' cause ' which Berkeley's doctrine about Matter is is ambiguous. Aristotle's four causes agree compared with these dark negations, in being four sorts of conditions of change, ' Hume's E'.s.fajy.s vol. II Note N. Hume's viz. a previously unformed Matter ; a Form reversal of Berkelev's intended function is X.] PhilosopJiy of Berkeley The antithesis of Hume and Berkeley is the turning-point of modern thought. They are at opposite poles regarding the curious. The Scotch psychologists of last century who followed him — admirable in so many other respects, never got fairly in sight of Berkeley's New Question. Ac- cordingly, they can hardly be said to accept or to reject his answer. Their op- position is based on an ignora'io elenchi. Take the following unintentional caricature of Berkeley's results by Beattie, one of the most eminent of them : — ' A great philo- sopher has actually demonstrated, we are told — that Matter does not exist. Truly this is a piece of strange information. At this rate any falsehood may be proved to be true, and any truth to be false. For it is impossible that any truth should be more evident to me than this — that Matter does exist. . . . Till the frame of my nature be unhinged, and a new set of faculties given to me, I cannot believe this strange doctrine, because it is perfectly incredible. But if I were permitted to propose one clownish question, I would fain ask — Where is the harm of my continuing in my old opinion, and believing, with the rest of the world, that 1 am not the only created being in the universe, but that there are many others, whose existence is as independent on me as mine is on them ? Where is the harm of my believing that if I were to fall down yonder precipice and break my neck, I should be no more a man of this world ? My neck, sir, may be an idea to you, but to me it is a reality, and an important one too. Where is the harm of my believing that if, in this severe weather, I were to neglect to throw (what you call) the idea of a coat over the ideas of my shoulders, the idea of cold would produce the idea of such pain and disorder as might possibly terminate in real death ? What great offence shall I commit against God or man, church or state, philosophy or common sense, if I con- tinue to believe that material food will nouiish me, though the idea of it vvdl not ; that the real sun will warm and enlighten me, though the liveliest idea of him will do neither ; and that if I would obtain true peace of mind and self-approbation, I must form not only ideas of compassion, justice, and generosity, but also really exert these virtues in external performance? What harm is there 'n all this ? . . . I never heard of any doctrine more scandalously absurd than this of the non-existence of Matter. There is not a fiction in the Persian Tales that I would nit as easilv believe ; the silliest conceit of the most contemptible superstition that ever disgraced human nature is not more shocking to common sense. . . . If a man professing this doctrine act like other men in the common affairs of life, I will not beUeve his profession to be sincere. ' But if a man be convinced that Matter has no existence, and believe this strange tenet as steadily as I believe the contrary, he will have, I am afraid, but little reason to applaud himself in this new acquisition in science. If he fall down a precipice, or be trampled under foot by horses, it will avail him little that he once had the honour to be a disciple of Berkeley, and to believe that those d*igerous objects are nothing but ideas in his mind . . . What if all men were in one instant deprived of their understanding by Almighty Power, and made to believe that Matter has no existence but as an idea in the mind ? Doubtless this catastrophe would, according to our metaphysicians, throw a wonderful light on all the parts of know- ledge. But of this I am certain, that in less than a month after there could not, without another miracle, be one human creature alive on the face of the earth. . . . This candle it seems hath not one of those qualities it appears to have : it is not white, nor luminous, nor round, nor divisible, nor extended ; for to an idea of the mind not one of these qualities can possibly belong. How then shall I know what it really is ? From what it seems to be, I can conclude nothing ; no more than a blind man, by handling a bit of black wax, can judge of the colour of snow, or the visible appearance of the starry heavens. The candle may be an Egyptian pyramid, or the king of Prussia, a mad dog, or nothing at all, for anything I know, or can ever know to the contrary — except you allow me to judge of its nature from its appearance ; which, however, I cannot reasonably do, if its appearance and nature are in every respect so different and unlike as not to have one single quality in common. I must therefore believe it to be, what it appears to be, a real, corporeal, external object — and so reject Berkeley's system. . . . This system leads to Atheism and universal scepticism Suppose it universally and seriously adopted ; suppose all men divested of all belief and conse- quently of all principle: would not the disso- lution of society, and the destruction of mankind, ensue? It is a doctrine according to which a man could not act nor o 68 Life and Letters of Bei'keley. [cii. efficient causality in the universe, which to both is the central thought — with Berkeley the Great Concrete Reality, with Hume the greatest human illusion. Now, is Berkeley's principle for the paralysis of the sensible world applicable also to all existence ? Hume raises this question. Hume and Positivism dissubstantiate spirits, and deny free activity to mind, as well as to solid and extended things, and so paralyse the higher life altogether — as far as it depends upon philosophy. Is there a rational obstacle to this result ; and tf so, what is it? That is the one question for the mo- dern spiritual thinker to answer. Berkeley hardly looks at his own problem in this extensive light. Hume's universal paralysis afterwards induced a reconsideration and critical analysis of reality and causality — universally or abso- lutely, not merely, as with Berkeley, in their sensible or physical relations. It is exactly this reconsideration and analysis which is due to Kant and his successors in Germany. Kant indeed disowns Berkeley as a subjective Idealist, who reduced space and the contents of space to the workings of imagination *. But it must not be forgotten that it was Berkeley who virtually made modern philosophy critically analytic of the necessities and uni- versal of Being, rather than alternately sceptical or dogmatic, as it had been, about the reality and causality of unperceivable Matter. For, the Germans, roused by the greater thoroughness and comprehensiveness of the question which Hume entertained — ■ partly at the suggestion of Berkeley; and also by Hume's own reason in the common affairs of life without to Berkeley. There is as much subtlety of incurring the charge of insanity and folly, thought, and more humour, in the Irish and involving himself in distress and per- story of Berkeley's visit to Swift on a dition. . . . From beginning to end it is all rainy day, when, by the Dean's orders, he a mystery of falsehood, arising from the use was left to stand before the unopened door, of ambiguous words, and from the gratuitous because, if his philosophy was true, he could admission of principles which could never as easily enter with the door shut as have been admitted, if they had been open. thoroughly understood.' {Essay on Truth, * Kritili d.r. Vernimft — ' Widerlegung vol. I. pp. 242 — 260.) This is of a piece des Idealismus' — Berkeley refers to the with other professed representations and re- presumed constant activity of the supreme futations of the new conception of what efficient Cause or Mind for the explanation sensible reality is, metaphysically considered, of the permanence of sensible things, and of which were in vogue in last century. When their validity for all sentient intelligence, the English Samuel Johnson wanted to refute He does not require for this a presupposi- Berkeley, his refutation consisted in striking tion of space. With Kant, and perhaps his foot with characteristic force against Hegel, space is an absolute intuition, and a stone. With the witty Voltaire ten thou- experience necessarily presupposes its real sand cannon balls, and ten thousand dead existence, in three dimensions, as the con- men, were ten thousand ideas, according dition of externality — or other-than self. X.] • Philosophy of Berkeley, 369 disintegration of all absolute and universal knowledge into habits blindly induced in subjective association — by the unintelligible customs of the universe, have sought, in fresh analysis, to find Intelligibility instead of blind Custom at the bottom of things. Now Berkeley's change of front was the beginning of all this. It put him logically, as he almost is chronologically, in the centre of modern speculation. This change of front cannot be too much pondered. There is evidence that he himself was not wholly un- conscious of it, and of its great significance. Berkeley's philosophy, I repeat, was for him, and indeed is for science still, no mere speculative crotchet. There is an earnest human interest that animates his constant struggle to analyse Per- manence, Power, and Extension in the unperceiving world. He doss not want to show that Matter is unsubstantial, and that it cannot be the cause of anything — far from this. No sane person can doubt its reality, or its being in some sense a cause. To discuss that would be to discuss a frivolous question. But if people ask — In what meaning of the word existence the sensible world may be said to exist j and in what meaning of the word cause it may be said to be a cause ? that question — in his view above all other questions — deserves serious discussion : the true answer to it makes Scepticism and Materialism appear in a new light. For, the Berkeleian philosophy is, in its conception if not in its execution, a reasoned exposition of the dependent and rela- tive character of the reality and causality of the material world. An outline of Berkeley's process for thus keeping the material world in its reasonable place, in the thoughts and beliefs of men, may be sufficiently condensed to be taken in almost by a single intellectual grasp. To be practically understood, however, it must be applied habitually, but one may unfold it, and also some of what it involves, in some such way as this : — Take experience as it is given to us in our senses. It is com- posed of sensations^ ideas^ or phenomena^ as Berkeley indillcrcntly calls them — 'facts of which there is a perception or consciousness,' in the language of our own time ^. We may even, with Berkeley, call these sense-given phenomena ' sensations.' 5 The little word idea (and it may be sation and phenomenon— {ox Berkeley may added the so far synonymous terms, sen- be called a Sensalioiialist, or a rhenoinciia- VOL. IV. B b 370 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH. Now reflect upon the so-called sensations. They are very various : they are of different colours, shapes, and sizes : they are hard or soft : their varieties of taste, smell, and sound are indefi- nitely numerous. But nothing sensible that is out of sensation can be perceived or imagined. An abstract sensation — that is, an abstract phenomenon, or (in Berkeley's language) an abstract idea — is a contradiction in terms. Withdraw all that is concrete, and you have— not a physical reality, but — Nothing; not the thought of Nothing even, which is something, but the absolute paralysis of all thought. And all experience of sensible things is a constant illustration of the essentially sensation material of which they are made up. Reason and experience alike forbid us to go deeper than large or small, hard or soft, green or red, or otherwise coloured and extended, sensations, in our experimental search into what physical reality means — when we affirm it of the material world. Abstract, unperceivable Matter is a mere hypothesis, and an un- thinkable hypothesis too. The inconceivable supposition of a sensible thing existing out of sensation, or in unperceived abstrac- tion, would be a petit to principii^ if it were conceivable. This is list, as well as an I'ealist) has been a for- midable obstruction to the intelligibility of this philosopher. With him it means both percept and image — not pure tiotion of the understanding. And it is with ideas as actual sensation-perceptions that we have to do exclusively, when we are told by him that the sensible world is composed of idea.^. S'mply to recollect what he means by idea is almost to realize his concep- tion of the universe. When ordinary people are told that idea is the stuff or matter of which, according to Berkeley, the real things of the ser.sible world are composed, they are apt to take this for an assertion that what we call seeing and touching is only fancying; ; and that what is seen and touched is to be regarded as a mere sub- jective or private dream of the person's own mind who has the ideas — that it can have no extension or solidity or permanence. Now, Berkeley's ideas include hard and ex- tended facts, and are not mere fanciea of which we are conscious. He calls them ideas because he sees it to be self-evident that facts cannot exist positively without a mind to be percipient of them. Nor are we, on the other hand, to think of Berkeley's ideas, or phenomena perceived in sense, as independent entitie= which circulate among finite spirits : their actual or intelligible existence consists in being the matter of the experience of a conscious mind — a sui gefieris sort of dependent existence. But no doubt his language is vacillating. * The peUtio principii is put the other way by the learned Ueberweg, in his notes (e.g. 8, lo, 28, and 90) to his excellent German translation of Berkeley's Principles, where he complains that Berkeley has as- sumed what he was bound to prove, when he assumes that a thing is only an aggregate of sensations ; and where he also complains that Berkeley reverses the common-sense meaning of words, which, literally taken, imply that he is a Subjective Idealist, or rather an Egoist. But if sense-symbolism, truly understood, affords the only basis of objectivi'.y which is consistent with the es- sential transitoriness of the sensible world, is not the affirmation of an abstract unity rather than its negation what requires proof? Berkeley professes to keep to ex- perience, and to analyse what is involved in that. Again, as the common-sense mean- ings of ordinary words are not the result of critical reflection, niust not their meaning inevitably be modified when the reflective philosopher breathes fresh life into them ? X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 371 Berkeley's argument in his early works, but it does not reappear in Sir'ts — which is remarkable. The stuff or material of which sensible things are composed is thus — sensation or sense-given phenomenon. Now, what does this Berkeleian sensation involve ? Berkeley is hardly articulate enough here, and the reader is apt to suppose that he intends to say that externality means only sensation, when his reason- ing abolishes, as it does, the dangerous distinction between the sensible existence of the material world, and its abstract existence. A mere sensation, I think he would grant, is, for several reasons, as impossible as abstract Matter. Sensations, in the first place, imply a percipient, distinguishable from the sensations. There must be a percipient, for there is no evidence that an unperceived sensation or sense-phenomenon ex- ists j and besides its existence is unintelligible. But, 1 who per- ceive am not my own sensations. I am conscious that I am a permanent, active being, different from, and independent of, the changing tastes, smells, colours, sounds, and coloured or resistant extents, which form my transitory sense-given phenomena. The unique term 'V is as defensible and significant as any of the words that express sensations. This consciousness of my own permanence, amid the changes in my senses, is the only archetype, in my experience, of proper substance or permanence j and, apart from this experience, permanence or substance is an unintelligible word. Now, there is no conscious or other evidence of any cor- responding permanence among sensations. Their so-called sub- stance must therefore mean what is essentially different from this proper substance. The cause of one's sensations, in the second place, must be a personal efficiency that is different from the personal efficiency of which one is conscious when he does anything for which he is convinced that he is responsible. All that is within the range of my responsible activity is mine. Sensations, or sense- given phenomena, as given, are not within that range. Therefore, for this reason too, they are not attributable to the percipient, but distinguishable from the percipient, and the percipient from them. On the one hand, they are not caused by the percipient : on the B b 2 372 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. other hand, they have no proper efficiency in themselves. We do not and cannot conceive a sensation to be responsible for any of its own changes, or for any of the changes in other sensations with which it is invariably connected. Their relation as separate sensations to changes among themselves must be of a different sort from the causality which, because it intelligently creates or originates its own effects, involves responsibility, or a causal reference to self. Both these conditions of the existence of sensations Berkeley enforces as, to all intents, what we now call necessary truths — held by him, however, more as concrete facts than as abstract principles '. But is this all? Shall I say that the material world means only a chaos of passive, but actual, sensations, perceived at once to be mine — because they need me to be sentient of them — and yet not mine — because not caused by my will or proper personality? Shall I say that material substances and causes resolve into this, and can mean no more than this ? Only confusion of thought could reconcile this inadequate con- ception of the sensible world with common sense and experience, or indeed with the necessities of thought. A tree, or a river, or a planet, means more than one actually perceived sensation, and more even than a casual collection of actually perceived sensations. The familiar phenomena of seemingly unperceived and insentient growth or change in the sensible world, in historic or prehistoric ages, contradict the supposition of this planet, for instance, or anything it contains, being dependent on the accidents of finite percipiency. Berkeley was not blind to this, though I am not sure that he dis- cerned all that it implies. Let us consider what we mean when we say that a sensible thing involves more than the actual exist- ence of what Berkeley calls sensations. A mere sensation or phenomenon is an absurdity, and cannot ■^ For the former, see the Principles pas- sation is contrasted with volition. Existence sim, regarding the correlativity of sensations, in a dependent relation to the intelligence of or sense-given phenomena, and percipient a personal consciousness, seems quite consis- mind ; also the third of the Dialogues (ed. tent with the voluntary or proper personality 1734). where he maintains that ' I know or of that conscious person— a personality am conscious of my own being, and that I which objectifies what is known to be ex- am not my ideas, but somewhat else.' For ternal to its own proper or voluntary the latter, see the many passages in which sen- action. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 373 explain anything. For, sensations imply perception, or a know- ledge of them as at once mine and not mine : they arc dependent on me, for they cannot exist, as I now have them, without me to be sentient of them ; they are independent of me, for I am per- manent while they are transitory, and their changes are inde- pendent of my will. The intuitive apprehension of all this is immediate and original perception — in which we have the germ or embryo of what is meant by sensible things being real. In this perception, the permanent ' I ' is in antithesis with the transient sensations j and the free responsible *I' is in antithesis with the external cause that is responsible for them. All this, however, does not exhaust the meaning of reality and causality, when these predicates are applied to sensible things. The material world is not a merely irregular coexistence or succes- sion of perceived sensations. Actual sensations^ •with their involved perceptions.^ are intermittent. They are not nearly coextensive with what is meant by a * sensible thing.' The tree that is seen at a distance exists in the actual sense-perceptions of the person who is looking at it only in a very small degree; for it is then un- touched, and the other phenomena or qualities which constitute our notion of it are not then consciously experienced in actual sensation. Even when it is touched, it is only touched in part. Now, its unperceived qualities are not non-existent, when there is no actual sense-perception of them. If they are, the greater part of what I mean by the tree must be not real, even at the moment when I am looking at the tree. All visible things must, on this absurd supposition, go out of existence when they are left in the dark; and all tangible ones when no percipient being is in actual contact with them^ The material world could not have existed millions of ages before men and other sentient beings, if this is all that its existence can mean. When we say that the material world is real, we conceivably may, and certainly do, rncan much more than that it is a chaos of actually perceived sensations, which are at once dependent on, and independent of, the mind that is percipient of them. This introduces us to a modification of the new conception of » Esse being percipi, even with Berkeley, includes more than this ' absurd supposition." 374 Zz/^ and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. sensible things, that one only partly recognises in Berkeley's own thought. Yet it is of the last importance. I shall try to explain it, and glance at what seems his defect, at his own point of view. Actual sensations may conceivably be, and are, signs of sensa- tions that are past, and thus not now actual • and also signs of future sensations that are expected, but not yet actual. Further, there is nothing inconceivable, because nothing of what Berkeley calls ' abstract,' in the supposition of present concrete sensations being signs of other conscious and active minds, as well as of past or future sensations of one's own, similar to those one is actually having and has had. My own consciousness of my per- manence and of my free activity enables me to conceive another and similar permanence and agency that is not my own : my past sensations enable me to imagine similar sensations experienced in the past or the future — by myself or others. These ingredients — unlike the unintelligible negation of unperceivable Matter — • may legitimately be introduced into the positive conception of real external existence. And they go to reconcile the tntermlttenle of actual sensations with the presumed permanence of the things of sense. The actual sensations in which the material world is given are inevitably believed to be significant of co-existences and suc- cessions that are not at the time given in the actual sense- consciousness of the believer. Relations which are believed to be invariable or universal are thus assumed to pervade the world of actual sense ^. One actual sensation, or group of sensations is the universal mark of other sensations or groups of sensation that are not at the time actual. This relation of sensible sign and its cor- relative, Berkeley would say, is the only imaginable meaning of substantiality or causality, when they are attributed to essentially dependent and passive phenomena like those of sense. Further still, these practically all important relations of co-exist- ence and succession among perceived sensations are, a priori^ at this point of view, arbitrary. That is to say, there is no uncreated or Divine necessity for their being what we find them to be. Any sensation, or group of sensations, may be the constant or universal sign of any other. A priori^ anything might be the physical co- ^ This belief in the orderliness, law, mon sense of the philosopher. Inductive or thought expressed in Nature is in- methods are attempts to harmonize our volved in the common sense of all, and is human thoughts with those objective reflectively recognised in the reasoned com- thoughts. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 375 constituent, and physical cause of anything ; for physical substance and causality are only the arbitrarily constituted signification of actual sensations. Thus, the only conceivable and practical, and for us the only possible, substantiality in the material world is — permanence of co-existence or aggregation among sensations j and the only con- ceivable and practical, and for us the only possible, causality among phenomena is — permanence or invariableness among their successions. These two are almost (but not quite) one. The actual or conscious co-existence of all the sensations which constitute a particular tree, or a particular mountain, cannot be simultaneously realized. A few co-existing visible signs, for instance, lead us to expect that the many other sensations of which the tree is the virtual co-constituent would gradually be perceived by us, if the conditions for our having actual sensations of all the other qua- lities were fulfilled. The substantiality and causality of matter thus resolve into a Universal Sense-symbolism, the interpretation of which is the ofifice of physical science. The material world is a system of interpretable signs, dependent for its actual existence in sense upon the sentient mind of the interpreter: but significant of guaranteed pains and pleasures, and the guaranteed means of avoiding and attaining pains and pleasures : significant too of other minds, and their thoughts, feelings, and volitions; and significant above all of Supreme Mind, through whose Activity the signs are sustained, and whose Archetypal Ideas are* the source of those universal or invariable relations of theirs which make them both practically and scientifically significant or objective. The per- manence and efficiency attributed to Matter is in God— in the constitutive Universals of Supreme Mind: sensations or sense- given phenomena themselves, and sensible things, so far as they consist of sensations, can be neither permanent nor efficient : they are in constant flux. This indeed is from the beginning the tone of Berkeley himself — much deepened in Sir'ts^'^. '0 See the antithesis of Sense and Reason ancients, and some of the most enlightened in Siris, Sect. 303—310. This recalls the among the moderns, as well as the Hiniioo idealism of the ancient Hindoos, of which philosophers, to believe that the whole Sir W. Jones has said that the difficulties creation was rather an energy than a work, attending the vulgar notion of material sub- which the Infinite Mind, who is present at stancesinducedmany of the wisest among the all times and in all places, exhibits to his 2,y6 Life aiid Letters of Bei^keley. [ch. Thus sensible things arc in perpetual flux or successions^ ; yet it is a flux or succession so ordered that our transitory, immediately perceived, sensations signify steady relations among sensations, which are apprehensible by the understanding in physical reason- ing. The material world — its substance or permanence, its powers, and its space — resolve themselves into a flux of beautifully signi- ficant sensations, sense-ideas, or sense-phenomena, which are perpetually sustained in existence by a Divine Reason and Will. It is so that the Berkeleian Conception reconciles Plato with Protagoras. Do critics object to this sublime thought of what the material world means — that it may be, and indeed has been, superseded by the march of modern physical discovery ? If they do, they show their own ignorance of the essence of the answer to the New Qtiestion, or else of what physical research aims at. Physical science professes only to add to our knowledge of what sensible phenomena are the signs of what other sensible pheno- mena. It can never convert the symbolism which forms its own exclusive province into efficient causality. The progress of phy- sical science is progress in the interpretation of sense-given signs. It can have no tendency — however far it may be carried — towards anything difl'^erent in kind from this. The implied principle of Berkeley — that there can be nothing below real and significant sensations, except conscious mind; and that this must be per- petually below them, as the condition of their existence, and of their significance or objectivity — leaves indefinite room for all possible discovery of scientific fact and law. Faith and science, under this conception, cannot come into collision : each works in a difl^^erent region. Human and other animal life^ for instance, may even be developed from inorganic conditions, consistently with Intel- ligence being the deepest thing in existence — if physical evidence can be found to prove this law of development. The proof can only show that such is the Archetypal Idea of the beginning of creatures as a set of perceptions, like a — a formula variously interpreted, but which wonderful picture, or a piece of music, aptly expresses the experienced intermit- always varied, yet always uniform. But this tence of the actual phenomena given in the ' sublime idealism ' omits elements which are senses, in contrast with the steady objectivity at least latent in Berkeley, and exaggerates of their relatiojis, under the formal and effi- others which are not latent. cient agency of Supreme Intelligence that ^' ndvTa pu, as the old philosophers said is recognised in Platonism. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 377 human conscious life, in its relation to the sensible system. Mr. Darwin and Mr. Huxley, and the German physiologists have room to move in, sufficient for reaching all that physical science can accomplish. May not this arbitrary sense symbolism even have been without a beginning— interpretable^ and more or less interpreted by finite minds — but with co-eternal Intelligence for its correlative and constant motive force ? Again. Is there anything in the necessary dependence of per- ceived sensations upon sentient mind which unfits them for being signs to the individual percipient of the existence of other perci- pient spirits, as well as of other perceived sensations ? Rather, does not this very dependence make them more fit than a supposed abstract or independent Matter could do to discharge the repre- sentative or symbolical function ? It is assumed then that sense-given phenomena — the sensations or real ideas of Berkeley — are capable of representing other (sen- tient or non-sentient) spirits, and their conscious acts and sensa- tions ; as well as of representing other (past or future) sensations of our own. One's present visual experience, for instance, may represent, by its arbitrary symbolism, one's own, or some other person's, tactual sensations. This is an intelligible sort of externality. And indeed can any other sort of externality be conceived than either — externality to our own present sense ex- perience, in our now unactual past or future sense experience j or, externality to our own personal experience altogether, in the contemporaneous, as well as in the past or future, sense experi- ence of other minds ? One or other of these two kinds of ex- ternality is what we every day have to do with in fact. Actual sensations are every moment signifying to us other sensations that are not actual, but that, under certain conditions, would become actual. Actual sensations are not themselves equivalent to actual sensible things. They are only the representative signs of actual sensible things ^ or (to put it otherwise) they are the signs of the relations which constitute actual things. The things would become perceived sensation, if all that the actual sensations really sig- nify could be simultaneously converted into this, in any conscious experience. Sensible things then— trees, houses, mountains, our own bodies, and those of other people ; in a word, the ' whole choir of heaven 3/8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. and furniture of earth' — relatively to the individual percipient — consist at once of actually presented and of merely represented sensations — the second element involving arbitrary or contingent relations, and, thus far, universality or objectivity. Yet this seems to give only a contingent and terminable universality or reality to the Supreme Intelligence in the uni- verse. For, according to Berkeley, the passive nature of sen- sation implies — if our common-sense trust in the permanence of sensible things may be yielded to — the constant activity of Supreme Intending Mind, presenting the actual sensations; and capable of making actual, where the established conditions are realized, the merely represented sensations. This Divine Power must be constant, and (though Berkeley is here doubtful in mean- ing) must constantly work according to the Archetypal Ideas of formal causation, if the order which constitutes sensible things is permanent. The existence of this Power is, accordingly, only as certain as the permanence of the sensible world is certain. This was Berkeley's way of showing that God exists — of demonstrating the necessity or universality of Mind — at least it was his way in the early part of his life. But the revelation of the existence of Supreme Mind or Power, which is given in the intermittent existence of sensible things in sentient creatures, seems, at best, evidence of the existence of Deity only so long as this universe of actual and guaranteed sensation lasts. It does not show the inherent absoluteness, universality, and necessity of Mind. The Supreme Mind only covers the gaps in the continuity of an intermittent, and on the whole finite, sensible Cosmos. It has in this respect the same defect that the common evidence for Deity in the natural universe has. It is co-existensive only with the permanence of the present sensible system. This still leaves room for Hume's conception of the universe (both the perceived and the perceiving) being, as a whole, only a unique or 'singular effect^ — which may excite the sense of mystery, but which can never be resolved in human intelligence. Berkeley, at least in his early philosophy, shows, I think, an inadequate apprehension of the difference between the ignorant imaginings of men and their guaranteed imaginings. He confuses the account of sensible things, into which I have thus far tried to X.] Philosophy of Ba^kcley. 379 develope his philosophy, by seeming to put the mere fancies of human imagination on a par with the Archetypal Ideas of Supreme Mind, as a support for sensible things in our absence, i. e. when they are unactual sensations. Take, for instance, the following passage, in the Common-place Book :— ' You ask me whether the books are in the study now, when no one is there to see them ? I answer, Yes. You ask me are we not in the wrong in imagining things to exist when they are not actually perceived in the senses? I answer, No. The existence of our ideas consists in being perceived, imagined, thought on. Whenever they are imagined, or thought on, they do exist. Whenever they are mentioned or discoursed of, they are imagined or thought on. Therefore, you can at no time ask me, whether they exist or no, but, by reason of that very question, they must necessarily exist. But, say you, then a chimera does exist. I answer, it doth in one sense, i. e. it is imagined. But it must be well noted that existence is vulgarly restrained to actual perception, and that I use the word perception in a larger sense than ordinary.' Now it is true that whatever we are conscious of (even in an arbitrary Imagination) exists, but it has not necessarily a guaranteed sensible or external existence. Now, it is the mean- ing of this existence that we want to analyse. Or take the following from the Frinc'tples of Human Knoivledge : — ' But, say you, surely there is nothing easier than to imagine trees, for instance, in a park, or books existing in a closet, and nobody by to perceive them. I answer. You may so ; there is no difficulty in it : but what is all this, I beseech you, more than framing in your mind certain ideas which you call books and trees, and at the same time omitting to frame the idea of any one that may perceive them ? But do not you your- self perceive or think of them all the while. This therefore is nothing to the purpose : it only shows you have the power of imagining, or forming ideas, in your mind; but it doth not show that you can conceive it possible the objects of your thought may exist without the mind : to make out this, it is necessary that you conceive them existing uncon- ceived or unthought of, which is a manifest repugnancy.' All this confuses our notion of the difference between existence in guaranteed, and existence in unguaranteed image or represen- tation. One does not prolong the real or sense-given existence 380 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. of books in a closet, or of the furniture in a room, by arbitrarily imagining these things to exist when one is away. My fancy that they exist gives them merely a fanciful existence, unless there is a guarantee, independently of my private fancy, that they would re-appear as sense phenomena when I shall have fulfilled the necessary conditions, e.g. by walking into the room and seeing them. I cannot, merely by an act of my finite imagination, flash back into real, that is to say, sensibly perceived, existence what has been withdrawn from my senses. I can give it only an unreal or imaginary existence. The Supreme Thoughts and Ends in the universe alone give it reality, and enable now perceived sensations to stand guarantee for the past or future actual existence of imagined sensations. Berkeley himself, no doubt, lays great stress on some of the diflPerences between our experience of the real ideas (i. e. sensa- tions) of perception proper, and the unreal ideas of the mere human imagination — which last, he says, ' are more properly termed ideas or images ^^.' If the significant phenomena of which sensible things are com- posed are thus perceived-sensation^ or sense-idea, it becomes important to ponder on many sides the consistency with this of the continued existence of sensible things — during the innumer- able intervals when they are, in whole or in part, non-existent in actual sensation. I am tempted to introduce the following illustrative passages in the writings of two philosophers, one Berkeley's immediate predecessor, the other one of his contempo- raries — a German and an American. Take the following hints in Leibnitz's curious tract De Modo Distinguendi Fkenomena Realia ab Imaginarihj where he describes marks peculiar to the well- ordered 'dream' of real life, as distinguishable in kind from dreams commonly so called : — * Potissimum realitatis phaenomenorum indicium quod vel solum sufficit, est successus prsedicendi phgenomena futura ex praeteritis et presentibus . . . imo etsi tota hsec vita non nisi somnium, et mundus adspectabilis non nisi phantasma esse diceretur, hoc, sive somnium sive ^^ See, for instance, Principles of Human wards; and by their independence of our Knowledge, sect. 29 — 33. But even when volition — ahhough the current of our ima- he does this, he distinguishes ' real things ' gination, in dreams, for instance, seems in- from ' chimeras' chiefly in degree — ' in being dependent of the will. A defect in his more clear and vivid,' as Hume does after- account of space appears here. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 381 phantasma, ego satis reale dicerem, si ratione bene utentes numquam ab eo deciperemur . . . Itaque nullo argumento absolute demonstrari potest, dari corpora, nee quicquam prohibet somnia quaedam bene ordi- nata menti nostrae objecta esse, quae a nobis vera judicentur, et ob con- sensum inter se, quoad usum veris equivalent . . . Quid vero si tota hsec brevis vita non nisi longum quoddam somnium esset nosque moriendo evigileremus ? quale quid Platonici concipere videntur.' The following is still more acutely to the point, and is all the more to be referred to, because it proceeds from one whom we have already unexpectedly found connected with Berkeley ^^ : — ' Since all material existence is only idea, this question may be asked — In what sense may those things be said to exist, which are supposed, and yet are in no actual idea of any created minds ? I answer, they existed only in Uncreated Idea. But how do they exist otherwise than they did from all eternity ; for they always were in Uncreated Idea and Divine appointment ? I answer, They did exist from all eternity in Uncreated Idea, as did everything else, and as they do at present, but not in created idea. But it may be asked. How do those things exist, which have an actual existence, but of which no created mind is con- scious? — For instance, the furniture of this room, when we are absent, and the room is shut up, and no created mind perceives it ; how do these things exist .^ I answer, there has been in times past such a course and succession of existences, that these things must be supposed, to make the series complete, according to Divine appointment, of the order of things. And there will be innumerable things consequential, which will be out of joint, out of their constituted series, without the supposition of these. For, upon the supposition of these things, are infinite numbers of things otherwise than they would be, if these were not by God thus sup- posed. Yea, the whole Universe would be otherwise ; such an influence have these things, by their attraction and otherwise. Yea, there must be a universal attraction, in the whole system of things, from the beginning of the world to the end— and, to speak more strictly and metaphysically, we must say, in the whole system and series of ideas in all created minds ; — so that these things must necessarily be put in, to make complete the system of the ideal world. That is, they must be supposed, if the train of ideas be in the order and course settled by the Supreme Mind. So that we may answer in short, that the existence of these things is in God's supposing of them, in order to the rendering complete the scries of things (to speak more strictly, the series of ideas) according to his own " Remarks on Mind, by Jonathan Edwards, in the Appendix to liis Life. I 382 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [CH. settled order, and that harmony of things, which he has appointed. — The supposition of God, which we speak of, is nothing else but God's acting, in the course and series of his exciting ideas, as if they (the things supposed) were in actual idea.' There is an oversight of the full force of the objection, and also of the answer to it, in the illustration in this last passage — an over- sight of which Berkeley himself, and all others, so far as I am aware, who have referred to this curious question, are guilty — although what is overlooked is implied in the very Principle of Berkeley himself. When it is asked how the furniture of a room continues to exist in the absence of a percipient, it seems to be forgotten that the same question might be put regarding its continued existence when he is present. When I see an orange on a table, without touch- ing it, or applying any of my senses except seeing to it, most of the sense phenomena of which it consists are not actual, as far as my sense-consciousness of them is concerned. There is as gieat (or as little) difficulty in reconciling this conception of the meaning of sensible things with our experience of a sen- sible thing when it is said to be actually presented to us, as there is in reconciling it with the continued existence of the furniture of a room when no one is in the room, or with the continued existence of the solar system before men or other sentient beings existed (as modern geology reveals it), or after all of them may have been withdrawn from it ^^. Thus, a ' sensible thing ' means to us a group of conceivable sensa- tions, universally or objectively guaranteed by the perceived sensa- tions with which they are associated. The existence of a sensible thing, accordingly, implies all that can be found by critical analysis to be implied in the existence of an actual sensation, and also in the existence of this guarantee. If the reader has tested by reflection what I have thus far written, he may perhaps be willing to accompany me in pondering some hitherto unremarked phases of the Berkeleian conception, and some of its less remarked relations to antecedent and later philosophical thought. " The Archetypal Conceptions of Deity ceivable Matter he argues against. And are not prominent in Berkeley, though they then the question rises, Are they more intel- are involved in his sensible world, inas- ligible than the abstract Matter for which much as his philosophy really puts them at they are substituted ? Of this elsewhere, last in place of the unconceived or incon- X.] Philosophy of Bej-keley. 383 (B.) The Berkeleian Immediate Perception of Extended Sensible Reality. It has been overlooked by historians of philosophy that the Berkeleian account of what is meant by sensible reality might be made eclectically to combine truth that is divided between two opposite accounts of sense-perception, which in last century and in the present have played a considerable part in the history of at least British philosophy. I refer to the controversy as to whether our perception of the real things of the sensible world is immediate, and so of the nature of a being conscious of them ; or whether, on the contrary, it is throughout mediate and representative. Reid, the Scotch philosopher, takes credit to himself for having exploded the favourite hypothesis, that in the senses we are percipient only of ideas or representations of real things. '■ I think there is hardly anything that can be called mine in the philosophy of mind,' he says, ' which does not follow with ease from the detection of this prejudice.' Hamilton has worked out immediate perception to profound issues uncontem- plated by Reid. And Dean Mansel has still more clearly enforced the non-representative character of the phenomena presented in sense, and the consequent impossibility of error in direct sense- perception. Now, the immediate perception of Berkeley is, in spirit and intention, an anticipation of Reid, Hamilton, and Dean Mansel j while the sense symbolism of Berkeley preserves what is good in the spirit of the counter supposition of representative activity being involved in what seems on the surface to be a direct knowledge of sensible things. This subj:;ct is worth looking into for a little. Berkeley saw not less acutely than Reid did, that the favourite assumption of a double object in sense-perception mistook the very meaning of sensible reality and externality. He acknow- ledged only a single object, and that the very sense-given pheno- menon itself — in short, the very £ensation (as he often called it) of which one is conscious, — no abstract sensation, mark, of which there can be no knowledge at all. And sensations, he said, imply a percipient; they are also both substantially and causally diftercnt from the Ego i or rather '7' am both substantially and causally \ 384 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. diflFerent from them : I exclude or expel them from myself — in the antithesis of sensibility and will. Des Cartes, Malebranche, Locke, and contemporary philosophers, on the other hand, took for granted that what we perceive in the senses is not the very reality itself. They supposed that in sense we could be conscious only of a representation {Idea as soms of them called it) of the real thing — the reality itself existing beyond sight and sense, behind the subjective representations. Of the very reality it seemed to them that we could not be directly percipient at all. A world of representations — from which perhaps we may infer a real existence behind — was all that we could perceive. By reasoning, they tried to defend the reasonableness of our belief in the unperceived reality ; but all the reasoning they offered seemed not enough for the purpose. So faith in other minds and in God was ready to dissolve in mere sensationalism; or in a subjective idealism, on the extreme homo mensura principle. All this, Berkeley thought, was the very root of Scepticism ; — ' for so long as men be- lieve that real things subsist without the mind, and that their knowledge is only so far forth real as it is conformable to real things, they cannot be certain that they have any knowledge at all.' 'How,' he asks, 'can it be known that the things which are perceived (i. e. only the representative ideas) are conformable to those things that are not perceived, or that exist without the mind 15?' We can test the representations of our imagination by the presentations of sense. But, if what is given in sense too is essentially representative, how can we verify its representations ? To lay a foundation for real knowledge, we must have a direct perception of the sort of stuff sensible things are made up of to begin with. Now, entia non sunt multipUcanda prater necessitatem. There is no need, he began to see, for the supposition of an unperceived, in- conceivable substance and cause as this external reality. On the favourite philosophical assumption of a double object in all sense- perception — a representative idea, and an unperceivable reality which the idea stands for — w^ cannot, under any conditions, be face to face with a single specimen of sensible existence. '5 ' Without the mind,' i.e., in the case of ing real truth, viz. that our ideas can only be sentient beings, irrelatively to sensations. compared with one another, never with the All this is intended to meet the old sceptical very reality itself, argument against the possibility of our reach- X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 385 But let something sensibly real— something from which physical science may start on its course of interpreting natural signs — be only given, and then, by interpretation [natura interpret at 10)^ we can work our way, in physical discoveries, to a reasonable belief in the existence — past, present, and future — of many other sensible phenomena and things, which never actually come within our individual experience in the senses. But how can physical science extend, or even commence, its victories, if it must begin by taking for granted that no specimen of the sensibly real can ever be present to consciousness? The spirit of this ques- tion is involved in the thought alike of the Irish and of the Scotch philosophers. Why not boldly deny then, once for all, that there is a double object in our original experience as percipient beings ? Why not try whether life on this planet may not become more simple and intelligible, and our belief in surrounding moral agents, and in Supreme Mind, more deep and enlightened, on the common-sense supposition of a single object only, and that the real object — on a return, in short, to concrete facts, from verbal reasonings and abstract suppositions ? This was in spirit the question entertained in common by two eighteenth-century philosophers usually placed in antagonism — Berkeley, who regarded himself as the common-sense metaphy- sician of Ireland; and Reid and his successors, who proclaimed themselves the common-sense metaphysicians of Scotland. I am not sure that expressions in Berkeley did not actually suggest the thought to Reid i^. Berkeley and the Scotch psycholo- gists are at any rate, without concert, agreed in insisting on the abolition of the representative or hypothetical Realism which insists that the real, sensible thing must necessarily be wholly out of sight and sense, hid behind the ideal or repre- senting object that is assumed to be all that is given to us as its substitute. They both say in effect— 'Why not let go one of these two counterpart worlds, and recognise as real the world which remains, and which is directly given to us?' Both seek by this means to restore a languishing philosophical faith in what i« Reid says that in one part of his life ideas, so firmly as to embrace the whole^^f he believed the doctrine of perception of Berkeley's system in consequence ot it. things through the medium of representative Intellectual Powers, Essay II. ch. lo. VOL. IV. C C 386 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. is beyond sense. And Berkeley has in consequence helped to inau- gurate a new conception of the nature of the sense-given medium of intercourse, through which the conscious persons who are im- mersed in this phenomenal world of 'sensations' converse with one another and with God. But, while Berkeley and the Scotch psychologists are agreed in discarding the dogma that the real material world is hid behmd the representative world of which only (it had been assumed) we can be conscious in- the senses, they differ (or seem to differ) as to which of the two is to be discarded ^"^ . Look first at the Immediate Sense-Realism of Berkeley. He dis- cards — as an unintelligible abstraction — the supposed unperceiving and unperceived archetypal material world behind, and recognises in our very sensations or sense-given phenomena themselves the only real sensible things. By interpreting sense-given phenomena, whose order and significance enable us to infer past, and to foresee future phenomena j or, like the handwriting on the wall, reveal the present existence and activity of other conscious minds like our own — we form our notions of sensible things, and become en rapport with other persons. We are able, as it were, to look into what might have been our own past sense-experience, and reasonably to expect what our own future sense-experience is to become ; and we are also able to look into other conscious expe- rience than our own — like our own, yet not ours. But we cannot look at, we cannot imagine, sense phenomena, and sensible things, continuing to exist out of all relation to any conscious mind. Our ^sensations' (as Berkeley chooses to call them), of which we cannot be conscious without perceiving them to be at once ours and not ours — at once in subjective and in objective relations, are '' We may rudely symbolize the contrast outer circle, and tried to show that the of presentative and representative Percep- inner retains all that can belong to presen- tion ; also that between Berkeley's presenta- tations or phenomena given in the senses ; tionism, and that of Reid and Hamilton, by which, as presentative, are the human pro- help of the circumferences of two concentric totype of all that is imaginable regarding circles — a greater and a smaller — the con- the things of sense. Reid abolished the scious mind being supposed in the centre. inner circle, or professed to do so, and to Perception through representative ideas may bring the outer circle within our immediate be figured by the two circles — the inner knowledge. Qu. In what do the two circles standing for the ideas we are conscious of, differ, when the outer is recognised in its and the outer by the reality in space which true relation to our sensation and to uni- they stand for. Berkeley abolished the versal intelligence? X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 387 the kind of matter or stuff of which sensible things are composed, and out of which they are perpetually kept in being by the construc- tive activity of Divine, and the receptivity and activity of human mind. The universal relations, or rules, according to which sen- sations are excited in the system of sentient beings, are, under this conception, what we commonly call the Laws of Nature. The existence of this material world, Berkeley proclaims '", can- not be denied. It does not need to be proved. Its very esse is percipi, which is the same as to say that its essence consists in its being composed of sensation j — sensation that is at once dependent on the sentient, and, in its cause and other relations, independent of the sentient — at once subjective and objective — as every sense- given phenomenon must be. This, he would further say, is the only material world which a reflective common sense requires. The supplementary Matter, behind these percepts of sense, is a baseless hypothesis — a crotchet of the professional manufacturers of abstractions, which unsophisticated human beings would laugh at, if they could only be got to understand its meaning, or rather its absolute want of all possible intelligibility. Such is the Im- mediate Sense-Realism of Berkeley. Turn now from Berkeley to those Scotch psychologists who have been placed, by themselves and others, at the opposite intel- lectual pole. Berkeley and Hamilton, for instance, are at one in acknowledging that the sensible reality consists of— that which we perceive or are conscious of in the senses. They seem to differ in their accounts of ijjhat that is of which we are thus conscious. Berkeley would arrest metaphysical scepticism by surrendering — as absolute Negation — the supposed unperceiving and unperceived existence (behind what we perceive), to which exclusively reality had been attributed j and by energetically vindicating the applica- bility of the terms 'real,' 'objective,' 'external,' 'thing,' 'matter,' &c., to our extended sensations themselves, in their various signi- ficant, and therefore (at least contingently) universal, or objective relations. The Scotch psychologists, with a similar motive, take the other alternative. Instead of surrendering the unperceiving and unperceived world, supposed by some philosophers to exist 18 See many passages in the Commonplace Book, and in the Principles and Dialogues. C C 2 388 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. behind what we perceive, and to be the material noumenon or thtng-in-itself^ they surrender the supposed representative ideas, and seem sturdily to assert that in sense-perception we are face to face with a world that exists independently of all sensation and of all intelligence — an extended world that in its essence might survive the absolute extinction of all the conscious life in the universe. Both root the faith which we have in the real exist- ence of other minds, in the assumption of common reason — that in the senses we are conscious of being in direct intercourse with the very reality of external things. If external things are per- ceived immediately, we have, according to Reid, the same reason to believe in their existence that philosophers have to believe in their supposed representative ideas — we are conscious of them, in short. But the supposed representative ideas themselves, Berkeley virtually says, are not representative at all ; they are neither more nor less than this — our really experienced sensations, with what- ever is metaphysically involved in sensation. These, with their significant, because invariable, relations, are a sufficient medium for revealing to the individual percipient the universe of sensible things, and the contemporaneous existence of other spirits : no other sort of external reality than this, he would say, is required, or can even be conceived possible i'*. Thus, in the eighteenth century, the state of this ancient philo- sophical controversy was changed. Instead of an offer of evidence for the transcendent reality of a material world, we are first asked by Berkeley to consider what we ought to mean by its reality; and then we are asked by Reid to assume the reality, but without any deeper inquiry about the meaning of what we thus assume. Berkeley and (so far) the Scotch psychologists are agreed in abandoning mere conjectures and abstractions, and in entreating people to read the facts of sense -experience with a fresh eye. We do not need, they say, to hunt up evidence that a real world '* In an essay in the North British the relations between Hamilton's conception Review (No. 85) on Mr. Mill's speculation and Berkeley's. The remarks were the oc- about the nature of Matter and Mind, in his casion of an interesting essay in the Fort- Examination 0/ Sir W. Hamilton s Phi- w/^ib^/y /Jmew (Sept. 1866), on the question, /oso/'jby, I ventured some remarks on Hamil- 'Was Sir W. Hamilton a Berkleian?' by ton's Unconditioned, on the import of this Dr. J. Hutchison Stirling, to whose fervid negative conception, in its relation to Ber- genius English readers are so much indebted keley's negation of Abstract Matter, and on for exercise of thought about Hegel. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 389 of Matter exists, behind phantasms of which alone we were presupposed to be directly conscious. On the contrary, they ask us, on the faith of experience, to accept as the sensible reality those of the (supposed) phantasms which make their appearance in the senses. The phenomena thus offered to us — call them ' ideas,' or ' sensations,' or ' phenomena,' or ' percepts,' or ' external things,' as we please — are, Berkeley proclaims, real enough for all practical purposes j because they are real enough to connect us, through their relations (which physical science tolerably interprets), with the Cosmos, with the other spirits involved in it, and with Supreme Mind. If this is so, the office of human understanding, when it is applied to the world of the senses, is to interpret the meaning of the phenomena offered in sense — not to defend the existence of sensible things, which do not need defence. A comparison of these two modes of thought regarding the sensible universe suggests a question which underlies both, but of which neither Berkeley nor the Scotch psychologists were fully in sight, though it rises in some of the aphorisms of Sir'ts. Existence (sensible or any other) cannot, in its nature, Berkeley, I suppose, means to say, survive the extinction of all intelligent activity in the universe j and the actual phenomena presented in sense cannot survive the extinction of sense-intelligence. Try to conceive the extinction : we cannot. It is blank negation, with- out even the thought of its being negation. This is proof, by mental experiment, we may suppose him to say, of the absolute impossibility of an existence that is unperceiving and unperccived — that is not perceiving or conscious, as a concrete mind always is 20 • nor perceived, as every concrete sensation must be. Now, is conscious life necessarily the deepest thing in exist- ence ? May there not be uncreated conditions of conscious expe- rience which are deeper still, inasmuch as by them all conscious ^" The unbroken continuity of conscious to the conscious mind- with all the condi- existence in finite niinds is a difficulty with tions or relations implied in this. Imme- Berkeley, as well as what is meant by the diate perception of sense-given phenomena unity which constitutes a finite person. He — in which, by the way, the concrete or tries to meet the former by arguing from secondary are necessarily blended with the the essentially relative nature of Time. By abstract or primary qualities — is an obtru- being conscious I mean, knowing pheno- sive example of what is meant by being mena, whether extended or unextended, conscious. So too one's apprehension of a which are immediately and actually present feeling while one is feeling it. 390 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. life that ever makes its appearance must ci priori be regulated ? May not the distinction between Matter and Form, for instance, be one of these conditions? Berkeley himself seems to imply that a formal, efficient, and final Cause is an uncreated con- dition of those perceiving and perceived beings, in the midst of which we find ourselves, and which alone we can positively imagine. May there not be other a priori conditions of existence, besides these, all forming as it were the uncreated essence of Deity, and manifested now, more or less fully, in our sensible world ? It seems as if Berkeley were coming in sight of this question in 5/m, and that in some passages we have a recognition of its relevancy and propriety. It was perhaps suggested to him by his more comprehensive study, in later life, of Ancient Philosophy. The conception of uncreated necessities, at once of thought and of existence, dimly unfolds itself in his account of the Platonic and the Aristotelian notion of Matter ; and also in the speculation about Personality, as distinguishable from Reason and Life in Deity, in the Philosophical Trinity with which Siris concludes 21. With Berkeley, then, as professedly with Reid and Hamilton, the actual extended phenomena which compose sensible things are presented in perception — that is to say, we are conscious of them. So far, he is what Hamilton calls a natural realist — a believer in presentative, as contrasted with a representative perception. But, at another point of view, is he not also (unconsciously to himself, I might say) a representationist, or a believer in a mediate perception of sensible things ? Berkeley surely goes too far in the passages in which he speaks of all doubt regarding the existence of sensible things (things I say, not mere unaggregated phenomena ^2) being impossible on his phi- losophy — as impossible, I suppose, as it is to doubt the existence of a feeling of pain or of pleasure when one is actually conscious of either. Berkeley here assumes too much for his natural realism. He is virtually a representationist as well as a presentationist. ^' See ^/ns, sect. 3 1 1 — 318,351 — 3^2. different sorts, aggregated in accordance ^ Sensible things, it is to be re- with the universals which are their formal membered, are sense-given phenomena, of cause. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 391 It is certainly impossible to doubt the existence of a sensation, while we are sentient of it, or of a group of sensations, while we are sentient of them. So far as sensations involve immediate perceptions, it may be said that their existence cannot conceivably be doubted. But external things — trees, houses, mountains, the starry heavens — are, as I have reiterated, more than actually per- ceived sensations These are chiefly not actual sensations at all ; they are rather that which the sensations signify. When I see a tree, the greater number by far of its so-called qualities do not exist as actual sensations of mine. My sensations signify the future existence of those so-called qualities, as actual sensations of mine, on certain conditions being fulfilled which are intelligible to the understanding. The sensations which I have are signifi- cant of other sensations which 1 have not, although the represen- tative conceptions of those other sensations are included in what I reasonably believe about the partially presented ' tree.' And if we apply, as common language almost obliges us to do, the term ' perception ' to our discernment of the individual tree as a whole, as well as to the present sensational experience of the small portion of it contained in our visual consciousness at the time, we may then say that perception is representative or mediate, as well as presentative or immediate. There is thus room (in im.agination at least) for doubt about the existence of sensible things ; — that is to say, doubt is not for- bidden, in the same way as doubt about the existence of those of their sensational constituents of which we are actually having sensations is forbidden, at the time when we are having the sen- sations. We can suppose our actual sensations to be false signs of other sensations (not at the moment actually experienced), and also false signs of the existence of other persons like ourselves. The supposition of their falsity as signs would be simply a doubt about the rational presumption, that natural order is constant or uniform — that we are living in a steadily sustained Cosmos ^3. According to this conception, thus further carried out, there is an element of truth in the assumption of a presentative perception j but there is also an element of truth in the assumption of a repre- sentative perception. We have interrupted perceptions : there is an uninterrupted sense significance. Respect for any hypothesis, '^ Cf. Siris, sect. 252. 392 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. like that of representative perception, which has permanently governed well-exercised minds favours this sort of eclecticism. Scintillations of truth may be found in all long-standing opinions. We may, accordingly, examine the representative, or mediate perception, which, as well as the intuitive or presentative sort, is thus latent in the New Conception of Berkeley. C. Berkeletan Mediate Perception^ or Presumptive Inference of the existence of Sensible Things and their Relations — illustrated in the Theory of Vision. Many plausible reasons have induced philosophers to assume that all perception of the extended world must be in its very nature representative. The principal one has been the difficulty of reconciling the intermittent character of sense phenomena with the supposed permanence or continued identity of sensible things — the flux of sense-given phenomena, contrasted with the supposed influxable nature of external things. The presumed ontological antithesis between what is conscious and what is space-occupying was another : but this was more an artificial difficulty of abstract metaphysics. The conclusive objection to a perception that is throughout only representative is, that this is either a wanton reduplication of what might be given in simplicity, if the representative medium is an image of what it represents; or that, on the other hand, it in- volves scepticism, if the real world has no analogy at all to the current and (so-called) representing medium. ' Human imagina- tion cannot represent what has never been presented to it — what it has never been conscious of. For instance, a man born blind cannot imagine scarlet, or any other colour. Till we have had some direct or conscious experience of the sort of phenomena of which the sensible world consists, we cannot begin to represent material things to ourselves, either in the senses or in imagination. After we have had this direct experience, representation or imagi- nation is easy — and language or symbolical representation too; for the represented is then similar in kind to what has been already presented — and the two, moreover, may be brought together by X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 393 means of non-resembling signs. Till we have had sensible expe- rience of sights, and been also conscious of locomotive exertion and the feelings of contact, coloured extension, and resistance, we cannot make of the former signs, on which to rest an expectation of future instances of the latter. After we have had sensible experience of both, we can, and do, employ the one as means of practical information about the other. Now, this sort of repre- sentative and acquired perception is no mere hypothesis. This brings us to Berkeley's Theory of Vision, or Visual Lan- guage, in which what may be called representative, or at least substitutive and symbolical, perception is latent. The theory supplies by far the most curious and elaborate example of that sort of perception, and of the universal relations which are worked into external things. Accordingly, it is deeply worthy of critical examination, and in some detail. There is at once an antithesis and a synthesis involved in all sensible things. The purport of the new account of Vision is to shed light upon both, where both are most apt to be hid — in the antithesis and synthesis of visual dsiA ^^c^w^;/ sensations or qualities. ' How comes it to pass,' Berkeley asks, ' that we apprehend by the ideas of sight certain other ideas, which neither resemble them, nor cause them, nor are caused by them, nor have any necessary connection with them ? . . . The solution of this problem, in its full extent, doth comprehend the whole theory of vision. This stating of the matter placeth it on a new foot, and in a different light from all preceding theories ^V His solution explains the fact of the connection of what is im- mediately seen with its real but unseen meaning. The expla- nation reposes (and this has been often overlooked) upon the moral presumption of a divinely established association between visible phenomena and tangible phenomena — a rationally maintained harmony between the visual and the tactual phenomena in nature. The proposition that much which is commonly called percep- tion, but which is properly induction, is founded on this objective or universal sort of association requires reflective analysis. Till we ^* Theory of Vision Vindicated and Explained, sect. 42. 394 ^tf^ ^^^^ Letters of Berkeley. [ch. have reflected deeply, we are apt to take for granted (for obvious reasons) that we can see and touch the same immediate object of sense. There is an orange on the table before us. We sponta- neously say that we at once see it and touch it. But this * it ' conceals what might carry us to the heart of things — seeming to imply that when we see the orange, and touch the orange, we can see what we are touching, and touch what we are seeing. Now, the visibly extended sensations which we perceive when we are seeing an orange have really nothing in common with the hard, resisting sensations which we perceive when we are touching an orange. We cannot possibly identify the perception of expanded colour^ which is all that originally constitutes seeing, with the perception of felt resistance^ which is all that originally constitutes touching. Coloured extension is antithetical to felt extension. In fact, we do not see, we never saw, and we never can see the orange of mere touch ; we do not touch, we never touched, and we never can touch the orange of mere sight. We connect them under the same name indeed. But is not this after we have had experience of each, and also after an unvarying ex- perience has informed us that they were companions ? After we have had this experience, as soon as we see the visible orange within our reach, we confidently predict that, on certain organic conditions being fulfilled, we shall have experience of a tangible orange. The simultaneous modifications of coloured expanse which form our visual consciousness are accepted as reliable signs which foretell the successive modifications of tactual and locomotive sensa- tion which will ensue if we take the orange into our hands and play with it. We may say, if we choose, that we both see and touch the extension of that or any other sensible thing • but in saying this we are playing with words. When we test our words by our ex- perience, we find that the sensibly extended world of which we are conscious in pure seeing has nothing but the name in common with the sensibly extended world of which we are conscious in pure tactual, muscular, and locomotive sense. They are no more to be identified (and called by the same name) than the nine letters which compose the word * extension ' are to be identi- fied, either with the colours contemporaneously present in vision, or with the (partly continuous and partly broken) sensations of resistance of which we are conscious when our bodies or any of X.] • Philosophy of Berkeley. 395 their organs are in motion. In vision, ' extension ' consists of a greater or less number of minima vislbiUa ; in touch, it consists of a greater or less number of minima tanglblUa — the magnitude of the sensible thing, in each case, being proportioned to the number of its respective units; — and the term 'extension' being exclusively applicable to either, according as we prefer the greater practical importance of the tangible signification, on the one hand, or the greater clearness and distinctness in imagination of its visible sign, on the other. Thus, in this curious life of ours in the sensible world, tangible things are signified by visual sensations ; and it may be added that visible things are signified, though less distinctly, by tactual and locomotive sensations. Faith in an established or external associ- ation between these two kinds of sense-phenomena is the basis of the constructive activity of intellect in all inductive interpreta- tion of sensible things. All our sense-phenomena, as well as the visual and tactual ones, are indeed cosmically associated. But the associations between smells and tastes, for instance, or between tastes and sounds, are far less elaborate, and far less fitted to give a distinct, and easily imaginable objectivity to the realities of which the sense-phenomena we are actually conscious of are the signs, than associations between what is seen and what is felt. Even isolated sensations are, as I have tried to show, necessarily significant of more than themselves; for they cannot but signify a sentient being, and an efficient cause external to that sentient being: every sensation thus necessarily involves more than sensa- tion. It is a very obscure notion of externality, however^ that could be involved in isolated sensations — a series of sensations of physical pleasure and physical pain, for instance. It is only when we are concerned with the relations between what is seen and what is felt that the objective element, latent in all intelligent or con- scious sensation, becomes distinct, in that elaborate standing order of nature of which these two sorts of sensation are emphati- cally the signs, and in being so are the signs of the Rational Con- ceptions of which that order is the expression. Isolated sensations, accordingly, are not to be confounded with the permanent realities which are perceived [percepta — taken hold of, through their means). Perception attains to a higher development in the correlative ex- perience of the seen and the felt than it does in any other sort 396 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. of sense-experience. It is here obtrusively concerned with the thought, meaning, or universaUty that is in nature, for it is con- cerned with distinctly ascertainable natural law. Moreover, the sensational signs themselves are often blended with their mean- ing, in the same way as spoken or written words are, when used, as they are habitually, without a distinct consciousness, at the moment we are using them, of what they signify ^-^ / Berkeley has been credited with the discovery of the in- visibility of Distance. The proposition, ' distance is invisible,' has been supposed by many to exhaust his peculiar Theory of Vision. This involves a confusion of thought as to what his discovery really is, and a misconception of his chief purpose. As I have shown elsewhere, the fact is that he takes the invis- ibility of distance in the line of sight for granted, as a common scientific truth of his time. He takes for granted that in seeing we can have no original or presentative perception of this kind of distance j and that we must learn to see it representatively through a medium — which, of course, is not seeing it at all. The question that he really investigates is, the question of the medium — what it is. Is it mathematical relations, involved in what is seen, which yield a knowledge of distance as a necessary inference? or is discernment of distance simply an interpretation of physical meaning — a discovery of arbitrarily established, not of absolutely necessitated, relations of sensations among them- selves? His main aim is, to prove that the relations which contribute to form distance, and trinal extension, are entirely arbitrary — founded on Divine Will and Plan, — not necessary re- lations, derived from uncreated conditions of Being. ' Seeing distance,' in short, is, with him, — interpreting the arbitrary tactual meaning of sensations given in sight, — not evolving mathematically necessary relations. This visual interpretation is the most striking and beautiful of all examples of the genuine kind of representative — or, as we should perhaps call it, substitu- tive, or interpretative — Perception. In it is wrapped up the '^^ The Hamiltonian teaching about the elements in perception — and even the Aris- inverse ratio of sensation and perception, totelian Common Sensibles, are curiously and older teaching about the distinction approached in this paragraph, by a new between primary and secondary qualities of route — distinctions which mere Materialism, Matter,— i.e. the necessary and the empirical and Subjective Idealism alike annihilate. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 397 whole problem of cause and effect among sensible events, regarded per se — physical causation, in short. Now, is physical causation a purely arbitrary relation of sign and signification, or does it imply an uncreated necessity in things ? This is one question discussed by implication in the theory of vision, directed as its analysis is to those relations of co-existence and succession among the phenomena of the sensible world, which, a fortiori J are necessary, if any are. The question at the root of the Berkeleian account of vision might be expressed thus : — Is the sensible world kept together and sustained by a Mathematical and Materialistic Necessity, or by a Free and Rational Will -^ ? If even the very connection between the visible and tangible qua- lities of things is not due to an uncreated necessity, but to the voluntary, providential activity of God, we may conclude that the essential texture or construction of the sensible world throughout is thus voluntary and arbitrary. When we look at Berkeley's speculation about vision as a whole, in its earlier and in its later form, we find that it tends to not less than this. It is a stroke directed against Materialistic Necessity and Blind Fatalism in the universe, by the abolition of all (previously supposed) necessary connection among the sense-given phenomena which go to constitute, and which suggest to us, sensible things : it enforces the essential arbitrariness of all such connection. That even 'vision of distance' is interpretation and not demonstration is as it were a crucial instance. The theory of vision, then, is a reasoned defence of the proposition — that what is called 'seeing' the externality, dis- tance, figure, and size of a real thing is truly interpreting the visual signs with which real externality, distance, figure, and size are arbitrarily but universally associated in the perpetual provi- dence of a Supreme Mind. It is based upon those universals that are arbitrary, not on uncreated necessities of knowing and being. It is a question, and to some extent one of detail, whether Berkeley, in this part of his system, has drawn the line with accuracy between the sensible signs — which are visual, and the intelligible significations — which are (not tangible but) invisible. ^^ Mathematical necessity itself is, with existence of concrete physical cases corres- Berkeley, founded on the assumption of the ponding to the relations. 398 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. He may be right, for instance, in treating the relation as in its nature one of physical and arbitrary connection, and yet wrong in part or all of his account of what the actual language is ; in the same manner as one might argue, in a general way, the arbitrariness of the relations between the names in any lan- guage (Greek or German, for instance) and their meanings, while he is unacquainted with the languages themselves. He may also be right in conceiving the relation to be analogous to what we find in artificial language, and yet wrong in supposing that man requires to learn the language by experience and association of ideas : its meaning might be given to us instinctively, as it were. It may be worth while, then, to look at some of the objections which have been made to Berkeley's account of what the visual signs are j what is given in them ; and how they come to signify for us what he says they signify. After that, the implied account of what physical causation is, and the nature of inductive inquiry, might be considered j also the dogmatic assumption of the ' arbitrariness ' of Supreme Rational Will. As objections to Berkeley's account of the manner in which we yaiscover trinal extension, it has been argued: — thpi he has given no proof that distance is, absolutely and in all its degrees, in- visible ; that he has given no proof that distance is in any of its degrees perceived in touch ; that he has not proved the supposed association between the visible and the tangible on which the theory reposes j and that the signs of distance are not merely arbi- trary, for that the perspective lines, for instance, which he allows are signs of distance, could not be other than they are, and imply a sense of necessity — so that persons born blind can anticipate the visible constructions of geometry, in a way which seems to show that visible and tangible extension are no more heterogeneous than visible and tangible number-''. In the first place, then, according to Berkeley, distance cannot be seen. It is said that he has not proved the paradox. Let us ^ Some of these objections may be found in disprove the received {or Berkleian) Theory the work of the latest, and one of the ablest, of Fis/ora, (1864). On this work I made adverse critics of the Theory of Vision — some hastily written observations, a few the present eminent Professor of Moral Philo- weeks after its appearance, in an article in sophy, in Berkeley's own College. See Mr. the North British Review, No. 81. Abbott's Sight and Touch : an attempt to X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 399 distinctly understand what is intended, when it is asserted that distance cannot be seen, and what the reasons for the assertion are. In the wide meaning of the word 'seeing,' it is allowed by all who know what they are speaking about, that distance can be seen. We can certainly see signs of distances j for example, degrees of confusion in what we see — when the real thing whose distance we are said to see is near at hand; aerial and linear perspective, combined with a previous knowledge of the intermediate things in the visible panorama, — when the sensible reality is more remote. The vague expression ' seeing things around us to be at different distances,' accordingly, means (original or acquired) power to interpret perspective. What Berkeley denied was, that the visible panorama could, before trial, inform us what our tactual and locomotive sensations would be, if we were to try to have the sensible experience which we call moving our body or any of its members. He, further, denied that we could have this knowledge without some experience of the established con- nection between the visual sensations and the tactual or loco- motive ones; — and one may add, even with that, unless we also recognise and trust in those inwrought Archetypal Conceptions to which nature conforms, and which thus constitute the Cosmos. If we choose, with this important explanation of our meaning, to call the habit of interpreting visual signs of distance, ' seeing distances,' psychology does not forbid, and conventional language rather invites us. What, th^, is the soi-t of distance which cannot be seen, the invisibility of which was proclaimed by the received science of Berkeley's own time? I do not believe that he meant to say that distance was in all respects invisible, and that unextended colour could alone be seen. The sensations which we perceive in seeing involve more than colour. They may involve intervals between coloured points. Now, visible distance is necessarily an interval between two visible points. Wherever distance is seen, two points (with a greater or less interval between them) must be seen. A single point does not, and cannot, give any distance at all. The conclusion, then, which Berkeley set out by accepting from science was, that distance, or an interval between two points, cannot be seen, in those cases in which the object seen is strictly 400 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. in the line of vision, and not extended laterally before the eye. In other words, he assumed that outness from the eye — externality, in this secondary meaning of ' externality' — the thickness of space, in short, cannot be seen : it is not given in any of the purely visual phenomena of w^hich we are percipient. Distance becomes visible only when it becomes angular, that is to say, extended either right and left, or vertically. Here are his own words ^^ ; — * It is, I think, agreed by all, that distance [i. e. distance in a direct line outwards], of itself and immediately, cannot be seen. For distance being a line directed endwise to the eye, it projects only one point in the fund of the eye ; which point remains invariably the same, whether the distance be longer or shorter.' In fact, what we see is, and must be, a single, unvarying point, as far as our consciousness of it goes, unless it is extended by being brought out of the line of sight, and placed more or less laterally. But when it is thus presented, it is no longer distance outwards, but coloured expanse, the visibility of which was not disputed. If only one end can be seen of a line extended straight out from the organ of vision, it follows that distance in that line is invisible ; because distance requires two points, and in the supposed case only one point is seen. The invisibility of that sort of distance can thus be proved even to the Idomenian; and the physiological phenomena of the retina so far correspond with this evidence of consciousness — for, it appears on examination that only one unvarying point is projected there. In the second place, can distance, that is outness or externality, be touched! Berkeley's answer to this question is more ambiguous. Here and there he speaks of distance as if it consisted in what is tactually perceived, or rather in that experience of locomotive exertion which contributes to the less exact meaning of the term ' touch.' He also attributes reality exclusively to tactual length, breadth, and thickness; refusing (for reasons given) to recognise as real the visible signs of tactual length, breadth, and thickness. Tangibility or solidity is with him, as with so many, the phenomenal essence of matter. "8 'Sew Theory of Vision, sect. 2. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 401 A prcsentative perception of trinal extension in pure tactual sensation, or in the phenomenon of resistance to locomotive effort, is, however, contrary to the analogy of his philosophy. Accord- ing to that analogy, a phenomenon or immediate perception, whether of sight or of touch, can give no more than the knowledge that it is itself at once mine and not mine. It gives the vague knowledge of a voluntary activity external to my own ; not the knowledge of a permanent, external, sensible thing, projected out from our bodies in space. This last is reached not in mere seeing, nor in mere touching either, but after habitual comparison of what is seen with what is touched ; and a recognition of the former as being, in the (divinely) established system, invariably related to, which is the same as to say significant of, the latter. When Berkeley's language on this subject is liberally inter- preted, in analogy with his philosophy as a whole, it appears to affirm that actual outness is neither an object of sight, nor an object of touch. It is known through a notion and belief, that is formed by a comparison of certain sensations in visual experience with certain sensations and exertions in tactual ex- perience, and a recognition of the former as (according to the Universal Plan) the invariable sign of the latter. The notion of distance outwards, invisible and intangible, is, accordingly, not an impression in sense at all, but a result of Presumptive or Induc- tive Intelligence. When we seem to imagine trinal space, we no doubt imagine what is visible, and not what is tangible j but we imagine the vision in some of its invariable relations to some- thing else. We imagine it as the type or sign in nature of tactual and locomotive sensation and exertion. This does not derive space from mere sensuous impressions, but from sensuous impres- sions universalized^ and therefore significant, by the Will and in the Thought of God, their efficient, formal, and final cause. Thus the vision in sense of the ' choir of heaven and firmament of earth' suggests an image of the indefinite room there is in nature for tactual, locomotive, and other sense experience. Direct perception, whether in sight or in touch, does not yield this really sublime conception. It is only perception in alliance with the interpretative reason that does so. Distance outwards is not an actual sense phenomenon, but the natural and invisible meaning of visually given phenomena. It is a prevision of what, VOL. IV. D d 402 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. on the conditions being fulfilled, sense experience is certain to become. It can be perceived only indirectly, representatively, and under an implied notion or universal. It supposes a succession of acts and sensations, and cannot be found in any single sensation or direct perception. When I seem to see a real thing — a tree or a mountain — out in space, I xt^W^ foresee a longer or shorter series of sensations and exertions. Distance or outness itself cannot exist, either in actual seeing or actual feeling. It exists, and can exist, only in the same way as furniture exists in a room, when no finite mind is conscious or percipient of it. A coloured expanse is seen. A hard object is touched. A distance outward is neither seen nor touched : it is foreseen. The distance from this to the sun is not seen: it is not seeable in its very nature: visual phenomena, which signify a really sublime series of tactual perceptions and exertions, are in that case seen. The notion of vast outness is that of signified (but not actual) succession, not of simultaneous sensible existence. Distance outwards, when I seem to see it, has, relatively to me, the same sort of existence that the tangible qualities of a thing have, relatively to me, when I am only looking at the thing and not touching it; or as this planet had in the geological period which preceded all conscious existence on the earth '^9. The function of association in the discovery of distance de- serves particular consideration, as it carries us into the deepest part of the Berkeleian and of all philosophy. At this I venture next to look. D. Berkeleian Intellectual Knoixiledge of Providential or Divine Reality and of ultimate Universal Conceptions. How, according to Berkeley, do we discover the external sig- nification of what we see ? Why do we trust in, and how, in the last analysis, do we ascertain, the Permanence which gives ^ A yard measure (simultaneously seen) d priori to all sense experience as such, is a statical sign of distance ; but it The universality and objectivity involved in is only after trial that one finds this out. Berkeley's extension or space is an arbi- Kant's preperception of space differs from trary or created universality and objec- Berkeley's, in recognising it as necessary tivity. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 403 meaning to Visual Language ? The answer brings us very near the highest link in his own Philosophical Chain. Some critics have, I think, misconceived him here. They have made him say that we owe our knowledge of the language of vision to unintelligible Custom and mere subjective association. They have made the outgoing of Berkeley's philosophy of sensible things the same as the outgoing of Hume's philosophy as a whole. They have confounded the subjective association of ideas — in the popular meaning of idea — in the individual, with the objective or universalised association of the phenomena which Berkeley calls sensations or ideas. An ' association of ideas' is indeed at the root of this account of seeing the distant or outward ; but when this is said we must recollect what is meant by the ' ideas ' that are said to be asso- ciated, and also to what our trust in the regularity of the association is attributed. The ideas which are said to be asso- ciated are the visibly extended and other phenomena of sense, which, causally, are not ours, being regulated by another cause than our will. Their 'associations' are attributed, not to the accidents of custom in our own previous experience, but to the custom of the Divine activity, if one may say so ; and therefore to a custom which is Reason itself. The 'association of ideas,' when ' idea ' means this, presupposes the conception of the universe being a rational system j it also presupposes faith in the present and constant rationality which as it were pervades things. This presupposition is the life and soul of what seems to me to be the philosophy of sensible things and of Space. The pre- supposition of this rationality is logically anterior to our treating sensations or ideas of sight, in the natural system, as invariable signs of sense phenomena given in touch and muscular exertion. This presupposition is in fact our constructive principle for the sensible universe; not any blindly reached consequences among subjective associations derived from an accidental and unintel- ligible custom. By Berkeley, however, it must be added, the presupposition is held more as a religious instinct, and dogmati- cally, than as a critically reached necessary truth. Berkeley's ' association of ideas' is his religious faith in the constancy of the Divine constitution of the Cosmos. D d 2 404 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. But the laws of the subjective association of representative ideas, which are not sensations, and habit (the blindly generated result of this association), have also an important place in the theory of visual language. These do not originate the notion of sensations as significant, nor our belief in that invariableness of relation which forms their significance. Yet they help us to recollect the meaning of each particular sensation, and connect the signs with their significations in our imagination. An ob- jective — that is, a universal and invariable — relation of sen- sations is the basis and the one cohesive principle of the theory : subjective association among the exwvia of past sensations, in the individual imagination, is also an important part of the structure. This last works according to the analogy of association in artifi- cial language. The divinely established associations, in sensation, between what we see and what we touch, practically suggest the tactual meaning when one observes the mere visual signj in the same manner as in artificial language, we dispense with the meaning, and substitute the sign, imagining only the sign, while hardly conscious of the meaning signified '^'^. The analogy of artificial language further illustrates the cause of this tendency to think of distances, and in general of ambient space and its contents, by means of their visible signs alone. Like many meanings which are ratified and expressed by words, distances cannot be imagined except in their visible signs. In the same way as one cannot carry on trains of reasoning without the help of words, it is hardly possible to conceive distances, except in and through their language. Those born blind are thus very inadequately able to conceive space, or trinal extension. They hardly rise above a dark notion of another cause — another efficient mind. They have no natural language to symbolise externality ^^. ^ In what has been called symbolical, in blind, time serves instead of space.' I add contrast with intuitive, knowledge. the following by a subtle thinker already ^' So Platner's observations on the born more than once referred to : — blind, quoted by Hamilton. The atten- ' The idea we have of space, and what we tive observation of a person born blind call by that name, is only colottred space, convinced Plainer that a man destitute of and is entirely taken out of the mind, if sight ' has absolutely no perception of an colour be taken away. And so all that we outer world, beyond the mere existence of call extension, motion, and figure is gone, if something effective, different from his own colour is gone. As to any idea of space, feeling of passivity. In fact, to those born extension, distance, or motion, that a man X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 405 Objections to the theory of vision have been directed against this particular part of it. It is said that the laws of mental asso- ciations are not fit to form the habit, or to teach us the language formed by the invariable relations between the visible and the tangible. Berkeley says that we learn this language — which he re- ligiously presumes to be latent in the sensation world — by custom and association, which generate habit; in the same way that we learn the meanings signified by the words of a new artificial lan- guage. Some of his critics seem to argue that the language cannot be learnt by custom and gradual experience at all, but that we must have a sort of instinctive or inspired knowledge of {he invariable relations between those sights which are significant of outness, and the outness which they signify. They thus take away what, if a real, is a curious and beautiful illustration of the in- fluence of custom, and of the laws of mental association ; and they do so on the ground, one supposes, that association can be proved to be not sufficient to account for the result. For, the question is, Do we have enough of association between visible percepts and their tactual meaning, to explain the tendency of the former to suggest the latter, or to stand as substitutes for the latter — on the ordinary principles of mental association which are illustrated in learning and using an artificial language ? I see no sufficient reason for answering this question in the negative ^2. The chief difficulty in the way of accounting, by custom and association, for our seemingly instinctive power of interpreting the particular signs of distances, is the wonderful speed and born blind might form, it would be nothing exact and precise, and perfectly stable Idea like what we call by those names. All that in God's mind, together with his stable he could have would be only certain sensa- Will, that the same shall gradually be com- tions or feelings, that in themselves would municated to us, and to other minds, accord- be no more like what we intend by space, ing to fixed and exact established methods motion, &c., than the pain we have by the and laws.'— i2««ar*s in Mental Philosophy, scratch of a pin, or than the ideas of taste by Jonathan Edwards. and smell. And as to the idea of motion ^^ Berkeley, by the way, even in his ear- that such a one could have, it would be liest philosophical work, recognises necessity only a diversification of those successions in in the relations of perspective. When he is a certain way, by succession as to time .... proving that we do not, by the laws m And, as it is very plain colour is only in the optics, or by mathematical reasoning, dis- mind, and nothing like it can be out of all cover outness, he grants that, when expe- mind, hence it is manifest there can be rience has given us the knowledge of dis- nothing like those things we call by the tances, we can resolve the perspective lines name of bo'dies out of the mind, unless it be mathematically, and with a notion of their in some other mind or minds. And, indeed, necessity. Cf. Essay towards a New Theory the secret lies here :— That which truly is of Vision, sect. 6. the substance of all bodies is the infinitely 4o6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. perfection with which the lesson is learnt. All men learn to interpret the language of vision so early and so well, that it seems necessary to refer the lesson to an original instinct, which, in the case of this natural language, so connects the signs with their meanings, that the born blind, when first made to see, can, it is presumed, at once render back the sights into their own previous tactual and locomotive sensations 33. In short, it is plausibly argued, and from Berkeley's own point of view, that God not only uses the visual language, but, by the inspiration of an instinct, teaches each man spontaneously to understand it — thus enabling him at once, without any inductive comparison, or even repeated association, of the two correlatives, to read tactual or locomotive meaning in the visual symbol. After all, however, the grander conception in the New Theory is, that sensations are a language ; not that we discover their meaning, or externalize certain of them, in a particular manner — by custom and mental association, for instance, rather than by an original instinct. The associative, as distinguished from the instinctive, manner of beginning to understand the language of the phenomena of sense is no doubt maintained by Berkeley. But his here implied (deeper) doctrine is — that no experience or association could teach us the language without the presupposition on our part, that the sensible world Is interpretable. Is the expres- sion of Divine meanings externalized in its laws -5*. On what this presupposition, which infuses meaning or univer- sality into what we see, originally rests, is a profound inquiry, which carries the inquirer into the heart of the theory of the inductive interpretation of nature. Is all inference about facts originally due to custom and subjective association ; or, on the contrary, do we originally so participate in the archetypal Reason as to be led to connect in invariable relations phenomena that are unlike — tactual and visual ones, for instance— and is it thus that we are enabled to form real (not merely verbal) propositions about them? Do we gradually learn nature's language, through blind processes of internal association; or, are the initial steps ^ Contrary to Molyneux's solution of his to contradict this. But, on the nature of own problem. See Locke, Essay, Bk. II. ' instinct,' cf. a pregnant passage in Siris, ch. 9. sect. 257. ^* The case of the lower animals is said X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 407 the result, not of merely associative laws, but of a sort of inborn instinct, through which we in a sort share in the Divine Reason? Perhaps the most important subject in all philosophical inquiry is the real action of the human mind in induction -^"^^ and the reason of the certainty we attach to the process of discovering truth. Now, it is ' in the writings of Berkeley,' as Archer Butler remarks, 'that we are to look for the first exposition of those acute and important reasonings which may be said in these latter days to have reduced the broad practical monitions of Lord Bacon to their metaphysical principles. * * The clue which must be followed, if we will penetrate the mazes of hidden truth, is interwoven in the very texture of his philosophy j on every other system we may go astray in our pursuit of natural knowledge — it is almost im- possible to go astray on his. Without affirming anything with regard to the absolute truth of his ultimate deductions, we do maintain that this relative merit — and what merit is more ad- mirable ? — must at least be conceded to the philosophy of Berkeley. The true logic of Fhysics is the first conclusion from his system^^' The invariableness of the successions and co-existences of sensations is what, according to Berkeley, developes space, and makes sensations a language; and an arbitrarily established in- variableness is, he means to say, the only sort of causal relation that can exist among the phenomena in sense. Causality in the material world is, accordingly, neither more nor lest than re- gularity of succession. There is no efficiency within the vast organization of sensible things. One sort of sensible pheno- menon is, as an established fact, the constant companion of another sort of sensible phenomenon j and this is only other- wise expressed when it is said that the one is the sign of the other. Thus, all the so-called causality of the material world resolves into an established significance of physical facts. This 3'' All metaphysical philosophy even may rise so high as this. It is a struggle to iden- be regarded as of the nature of induction, tify our generalized and tentative concep- when induction is comprehensively con- tions with the constitutive thoughts of God ceived. What are the successive philoso- that are involved in physical law. Inductive phical systems but attempts to find what logic consists of methods for harmonising that ultimate Conception is which admits of human thoughts with the thoughts that are verification by the facts of experience, and expressed in nature — commonly called laws which renders these facts ultimately or of nature. metaphysically intelligible and reasoned ? ^ Duhliii University Magazine, vol. VII. Ordinary experimental induction does not pp. 538, 539. 4o8 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. Berkeley refuses to regard as proper causality. The philosophical craving for a cause is a necessary principle which, he would say, carries us beyond sensations altogether, for the explanation of that sense symbolism in which materialists suppose they have the only true causality or power. An inert, unintelligent cause is for him no cause, but a contradiction in terms. Mind is the only possible power, and the established coherences of sensible pheno- mena, as well as each separate sensation, are all manifestations and effects of Supreme Universalizing Mind. This resolution of physical causality into bare invariableness of co-existence and succession is now a familiar analysis, in the modern account of the objects and limits of all purely physical in- quiry. It is in the centre of the physical philosophy of Hume, and has flowed from thence into the Baconian stream, purifying the waters. ' If,' says Hume, ' we reason a priori^ anything may appear able to produce anything. The falling of a pebble may, for aught we know, extinguish the sun; or the wish of a man control the planets in their orbits-^".' This is Berkeley's meaning, in other language — so far as sensations and natural causes are concerned ; for these are merely passive, and are connected with their so-called effects without any intention or effort of their own ; and without any uncreated necessity in the nature of things, since their rela- tions with one another may be imagined by us to be quite different from what they actually are. Hume and Berkeley are at one in regard to the connexions among physical things, and also among the phenomena of which they are composed, being unnecessitated, and discoverable only by observation and experiment. But they differ in this: — The established relations of the unnecessitated universe of sen- sations, or physical phenomena, are, Hume would say, the one and only causality that exists : it is absurd to inquire ixshy these in- variable relations are thus invariable : we must take them as an absolutely unintelligible Custom has given them ; and we must, above all, include what we call ourselves and our own volitions " J?ssa>s, vol. II. p. i66, 'On the Aca- recognition of abstract and necessary rea- demical and Sceptical Philosophy.' Hume, soiling concerning quantity and number. See by the way, often approaches Kant in what sects. 4 and I 3 of his Inquiry, and the Trea- he says about relations of ideas, as distin- tise 0/ Human Nature. This is well put in guished from matters 0/ fact; and in his Stirling's Secret of Hegel, vol. II. p. 15. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 409 as a portion of that physical system which is co-extensive with and constitutes all that exists. The established relations of the unnecessitated universe of phy- sical phenomena, Berkeley would say, on the contrary, are not causal relations at all : there is no causality within this sense symbolism, taken per se. Yet there not only is, but there must be, he would add, something more than this, to account for even this : the established coherence of the universe, as well as the units coherently connected, are necessarily^^ dependent upon acting and intending Intelligence. Causality, he implies, is a necessary relation : it is exemplified, however, not in the blind customary interrelations of sensible phenomena, but in the dependence of the phenomena, and their relations or customs too, upon Mind, by whose design and constant acting they are all maintained '^5. The causal judgment is, with Berkeley, a necessary judgment ; but it does not mean (as with Kant, for instance) necessary succession among phenomena. It means the necessary dependence of the constant customs of succession and co-existence among pheno- mena upon Supreme Rational Will. The necessity for a cause is, in other words, the necessity for Deity — for the Divine Reason in which human reason participates, and in which philosophical curiosity is satisfied. Their respective notions of causality might be made the testing point in a critical comparison of the three great philosophies and philosophical thinkers of the eighteenth century — Berkeley, Hume, and Kant. Hume, as we know, first awoke Kant out of his 'dog- matic slumber,' and was the indirect occasion of that analysis of the constitutive notions of the understanding, and regulative ideas of reason, and of that announcement of the moral presumption in favour of human freedom, human immortality, and the ex- istence of God, which flow from the speculative and practical criticism of Kant. ^' I say 'necessarily,' for Berkeley, though only (which we have no right to do) he always looks at power in the concrete an event caused by the immediate orderly facts, virtually treats his causal assumption activity of God. The 'nee Deus intersit' as a necessary principle of intelligence. In is pressed as an objection to the Ber- fact Causality is the category (so to speak) keleian sense symbolism by Hamilton, in a by means of which he explains externality, letter to Mr. CoUyns Simon, the eminent and the permanence or reality of the rela- author of Universal Imma/erialism. See tions which constitute sensible things. the correspondence in Professor Veitch's ex- 33 The sensible universe is, with Berkeley, cellent Memoir of Sir W. Hamilton, pp. a constant miracle, if we mean by a miracle 344—49. 4IO Life and Letters of Berkeley. [cii. Attention to the respective positions of the three, in the con- catenation of modern thought, makes Berkeley's function more distinct. The Universe {to nav), and not merely the sense-given part of it, according to Hume, is entirely composed of phenomena, or what he calls ' impressions,' — conscious human beings in- cluded. The experience of all men has given these phenomena in hitherto invariable relations, which can be analysed into those of co-existence and succession. This fact has blindly produced an expectation that they will continue to succeed one another in a similar invariable order. Their customs of succession and co-existence have produced a habit of expectation — a sort of spurious necessity, which makes us look for some preceding phenomenon as the virtually necessary condition of each new phenomenon ^". Custom thus forms in us the craving for some phenomenon preceding, on occasion of any new event hap- pening. Custom hinders us from being satisfied with the bare fact of — something happening. And, in so hindering us, it serves, according to Humism and Positivism, a useful prac- tical purpose. We seem to be part of a universe of phenomena which are, at least in the meantime, if not absolutely or uni- versally, connected in orderly relations to one another ; present happiness is, accordingly, dependent on knowing what these or- derly relations have been. It seems well for our happiness, that the past custom of the universe has tended to form this habit of expectation — this spurious necessity for expecting what we call ' effects,' and for assuming what we call ' causes.' It is impos- sible, on this philosophy of ultimately unintelligible pan-phenome- nalism, to find any explanation of luhy we find ourselves units in a universe of this sort j nor indeed have we any right to apply our custom-generated craving for causes so far as this. The human nature of Hume is too slight and shallow for this deep inquiry. The fact that the phenomenal universe has been coherent is a 'singular' sort of effect, if it is to be called an effect at all, this ^'' Of course, under Hume's philosophy nature, or the existence of Supreme Mind — there can be no absolute necessity for or at the most there is only the blindly gene- against anything — for or against the con- rated, spurious necessity of unintelligible tinuance or an interruption of the laws of custom. X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 4 1 1 philosophy says : it transcends those customary connexions in the past which have produced our habit of putting scientific questions : this apparent custom of orderly and invariable connectedness practically justifies our present reliance on it — for all secular affairs, and in physical science. But we must not try to become metaphysical, by asking why the relations of phenomena have been what they have been, and what in consequence we expect them still to be. We must take them as they have been, and yield to the habit which this past has formed. A priori^ no one phenomenon is more rationally related to another than any third one might be. Anything appears able to produce anything. And to ask why Nature possesses the coherence and consistency which we act upon is an absurd question — especially for one of the phenomena themselves to put. Let us, for practical purposes, make the supposition which the habit due to a mysterious Custom has induced. Let us exhaust, if we can, the resources for happi- ness which seem to open to us when we proceed to deal with things upon this ultimately unintelligible assumption. To do this is the sum of human duty. Supernatural questions about the origin, ultimate meaning, and eternal issues of this present Phenomenal Custom, lead, as far as philosophy is concerned, only to sophistry and illusion. Such is the issue of the Humist and Positivist analysis of Existence — not merely of sensible existence, to which Berkeley confined himself. This is Scepticism taking revenge upon the Berkeleian paralysis of Materialism and Fatalism. Being or Existence is professedly emptied, under it, of all proper sub- stance and power. The negative philosophical conception which constitutes the Humist and Positivist conception of the universe is said to satisfy some. Probably Berkeley's simple, ardent, and believing spirit had not enough of the (valuable) preparatory mental discipline of Scepticism to enable him to enter into it. He lived before Hume. Otherwise his philosophical life and its results might have run deeper, and his philosophy might not so readily have seemed (as it has to some of his critics) to resolve itself into this: — that the entire Universe consists of me and my Internal sensations. His philosophy might then have contained a more thorough and distinct unfolding of the principles of rationality which connect the Infinite Whole of concrete existence with 'me' 412 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. and 'my' sensations, principles in which originate the permanence or objectivity of which sensations in themselves are destitute. Kant tried to go deeper than Hume, in order to restore know- ledge and belief on the basis, not of transient feeling, but of thought and necessary universality. Sensations and their cus- toms — productive of a useful human habit of expectation — the expectation, in the circumstances, as reasonable as man is fit for — this, I think, is, on the whole, Hume's account of our knowledge and of existence. But this does not correspond, in Kant's insight, to the very experience which it pretends to give the last account of. There is an element of genuine ne- cessity and universality wrapped up within experience, which Humism makes away with. In this omitted element Kant finds the explanation of externality and science. Without this omitted universality and necessity he can see no objectivity to be possible: science dissolves into isolated sensations: it becomes shifting feeling. Objectivity requires an intellectual or necessary element, even in our very sense experience ; and this Hume had overlooked. Accordingly, the chief work of Kant's life was to explain the coherency of the sensible universe — and man's moral freedom from nature — by this neglected element. A scholasti- cally elaborated substitution of intellectual instead of customary coherence in experience is Kant's contribution in the reactionary succession to Hume. Kant's experience, like Hume's and Ber- keley's, takes phenomena or sensations for its matter ; yet its form or coherence is derived not from mere Custom — which is another name for the darkness of ignorance — but from universal notions of Understanding. Experience is thus professedly analysed into meaning^ instead of being thrown back upon the unintelligible. It is intellectually impossible, according to this critical philosophy, for any experience at all to exist in which there are no universal- izing principles of connexion. We find proof that this is so when wc make the trial. We find, for instance, that changing sensations cannot conceivably become the experience we are conscious of unless they are referred to a principle of permanence called Sub- stance j and we also find that changes of any sort cannot, in like manner, become part of our experience, except as they are conceived to be dependent on preceding conditions, discoverable by subse- X.] Philosophy of Berkeley. 413 quent experience, which conditions we call their Cause. This sort of substantiality and causality, which is too abstract for Berkeley, is thus held to be necessary to the possibility of any mental experience, and not to be blindly formed by the customs of each man's particular experience in an inexplicable mortal life. Later German philosophy goes on to show why these (and other) intellectual conditions must be involved in all possible experience, forming the Divine, Absolute, Uncreated Essence of the universe in which, as intellectual beings, we participate. With Plato too, in a long past age, the Universal was the only reality, and the particular phenomenon was real only by participation in the Uni- versal — by its relation to Intelligence. Berkeley came very much to this in the end, in Siris ■, but in his early philosophy his war against abstract ideas (i. e. abstract physical phenomena) — in which sometimes his words seem almost to make the phenomenon the only reality, and not merely the only physical reality — and his ten- dency to test everything by sensations or matters of fact, keeps in the background those Universals, or Notions of the Mind, that — ' immutably survive, For our support, the measures and the forms Which an abstract intelligence supplies; Whose kingdom is, where time and space are not.' It was the dependence of external existence upon Sensation, rather than the dependence of all particular existence upon the Uni- versalising Intelligence, that he at first chiefly insisted on. It is more difficult, indeed almost impossible, to compare the concrete spiritual philosophy of Berkeley with the very different point of view which later German philosophy occupies. His Theological or Universal ised Sensationalism is even opposite to the Subjective Idealism of Fichte. German speculation, in Kant and in Hegel, in reasoning out what Berkeley left vague, has forsaken his concrete and practical idealism. Grant that it has discovered an intellectually coherent experience, instead of Hume's habit of expectation blindly generated by custom. In doing so, it has given the Uncreated Conditions to which all actual or con- scious experience (if there happens to be any) must conform, and under which it must all be intelligibly concatenated. But why does the concrete phenomenal world, which is connected or made coherent by these pervading relations, start into phenomenal I 414 Life and Letters of Berkeley. [ch. existence at all; and why do we begin to exist as persons who are percipient of it ? What set the movement a-going, which is constituted by these uncreated necessary relations ; and what now keeps it going ? The Hegelian might perhaps answer, This is asking what set God a-going, and what keeps Him in active thought. The intel- lectual necessities of Being constitute His essence, and that of Nature and of the Spirits which participate in Being. But it may still be asked, What of the contingencies in existence ? Why are sensible things composed of five kinds of sensation rather than of five hundred; and why am I myself.^ and not some other person, or absorbed in the Supreme Unity ? The philosophy which critically unfolds the web of necessary thought — the complexus of Reason — even if it successfully unravels that web, and enables us to see the universe necessarily coherent in Its coherency, still leaves unsettled the most interesting questions which the universe presses upon us, when the universe is looked at from the human and practical (which was Berkeley's) point of view — the moral existence of God, combined with the immortality of men. What more does it determine about the answers to the last than Ber- keley's reductio ad absurdum of Abstract Matter does, or even than Hume's mysterious Custom ? Kant's criticism of pure under- standing thrown in among the impressions' of Hume, merely gives them intellectual coherence. Berkeley's philosophy is more immediately human than this, if far less intellectually thorough. It combines throughout what Kant severed from the beginning. The moral presumption of our individual free and proper agency is obscurely involved in Berkeley's philosophy of Sense from the first : without it his whole philosophy would dissolve in subjective sensationalism. In the dualism to which he leads, we are aware even in sensation that sensation is not subject to us, and that we are not subject to it. The sensations or phenomena which we perceive are discerned to be ours, because they need our sense-percipiency ; and not ours, for we are not their cause, nor responsible for their existence, as we are for our own actions, which we create. Sensations are outside the circle of our personal responsibility. The antithesis of sensibility and moral agency, which we find in Kant at last, runs, in an indistinct and fluctuating way, through Berkeley from X.] PJiilosophy of Berkeley. 4 1 5 the beginning. He in his own way combines the sensibility and the free-will of Kant — the ' matter ' given to his specula- tive reason, and the moral presumption of his practical reason. Perception in Berkeley thus uncritically envelopes the two ex- treme parts of Kantianism — the Sensibility, and the Practical Reason. Kant's intermediate theory of constitutive notions of the understanding, and regulative ideas of reason is also roughly represented ^^ in Berkeley's early theological sensationalism, and still more in his contrast, in Sirh^ between mere Sense and Reason. The Kantian, or later German, theory of place being a perception, necessarily implied in, and explanatory of, the externality of sensible things is, however, foreign to Berkeley, with whom ' ambient space ' is as much created and dependent, and involved in the flux of sensations, as the sensible world itself j — for which world, indeed, space is merely a general expression. The reader may work out the comparison in detail — recollecting that Berkeley's philosophy is not ' critical ' in its execution, or in its original conception. But it will yet clear itself from misconceptions, and its author will take his place as the most subtle thinker of the eighteenth century. Siris was the philosophical production of Berkeley's old age. But he was really all his life constructing a philosophical chain which connects the phenomena of which we are conscious with the Reality of Supreme Mind. In his argumentative youth, as well as in his contemplative old age, he was showing how the familiar perceptions of our daily life in the five senses are found by reflection to involve the deepest human problems — awakening the dormant intuition, that we are living, and moving, and having our being in Mind. With all this, it may be allowed that, though he unfolds his thought, and defends it against ob- jections, with singular acuteness and ingenuity, the philosophy wants in his hands the sublimity and strength which we have in the productions of Plato, and in some moderns. To the Teutonic intellect, his life-long exposition of his thought probably " In concrete fashion — for in Berkeley, formal attempt either, by means of abstract I repeat, there is no critically ascertained notions, to make the living concrete ex- abstract necessity for causal connectedness, perience we have more certain than it is. or substantial permanence, for instance — no 41 6 Life and Letters of Berkeley. seems wanting in penetration and thoroughness. He answers, with much adroitness, indeed, the common objections to his own account of what the material world and its causation mean; but it may be granted that one occasionally feels in inter- course with him a want of the intellectual momentum needed for carrying a great philosophical conception into the heart of the world's thinking. We are sometimes apt to be more amused by the dextrous defence, than to have our convictions profoundly influenced. But we must not forget the modesty of his intention. 'I had no inclination,' he says in one of his letters to Johnson, 'to trouble the world with large volumes. What I have done was rather with the view of giving hints to thinking men, who have leisure and curiosity to go to the bottom of things, and pursue them in their own minds.' Perhaps what some may feel to be least satisfying in Berkeley's Theism is, its too exclusive reference to our sense experience, instead of to our moral experience — an inclination to gratify the vulgar demand for a visible God, with the background of mystery withdrawn, instead of the moral reserve of the Deus abscond'ttus of Pascal, or the awful categorical imperative of Kant. An in- tellectual solution of the whole problem of Existence has hitherto, I suppose, evaded the intelligence of the race of man. We still need to be told that we ought to live the absolutely good, even although we may not reach the perfect philosophical conception of the Universe, and of our own destiny in it. But of the various imperfect thoughts about our mysterious life, that of Berkeley — wrapped up in his conception of the material world — seems to me, when truly understood, to be among the simplest and most beautiful in the history of philosophy. WRITINGS OF BISHOP BERKELEY HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED: METAPHYSICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE, WITH SERMONS, SKELETONS OF SERMONS, AND AN EPISCOPAL CHARGE. VOL. IV. E e [COMMONPLACE BOOK OF OCCASIONAL METAPHYSICAL THOUGHTS'.] I. = Introduction. M. = Matter. P. = Primary and Secondary qualities. E. = Existence. T. = Time. S. = Soul — Spirit. G. = God. Mo.= Moral Philosophy, N. = Natural Philosophy. Qu. if there be not two kinds of visible extension — one per- ceived by a confus'd view, the other by a distinct successive direction of the optique axis to each point ? * This Metaphysical Commonplace Book, as I have called it, is a small quarto volume, in Berkeley's handwriting, in which he seems to have set down, often as if for further private consideration, stray thoughts which occurred to him in the course of his mathe- matical and metaphysical studies at Trinity College, Dublin. These common-places seem to have been formed gradually, apparently in 1705 and some following years. On the first page is written ' G. B. Coll. Trin. Dub. alum.' There is little method in the ar- rangement, though a progress in something like chronological order may, perhaps, be traced in some parts. Considerable por- tions imply that he was at the time maturing his thoughts with a view to the publi- cation of the Essay on Vision, and the Principles of Human Knowledge ; but the form which the projected work (or works) was to take does not appear to have been finally settled in his mind. Several passages refer to the Introduction to the Principles. The Commonplace Book contains many references to Locke's Essay, as well as to the metaphysical and other works of Des Cartes, the first Book of the Recherche of Malebranche, and various parts of the writ- ings of Hobbes ; also Newton and contem- porary authorities in mathematics and natural philosophy. The original manuscript is followed throughout, except the omission of some of the repetitions of identical thought in the same, or almost the same, words. Here and there the writing is nearly obliterated, appa- rently by the action of water. The letters I, M, P, &c. prefixed to some of the queries and other thoughts, are ex- plained above. I have added a few annotations as they hap- pened to occur. These might have been multi- plied indefinitely, had space allowed. — A.C.F. E e 2 420 Commonplace Book. I. No general ideas — the contrary a cause of mistake or confusion in mathematiques, &:c. This to be intimated in y^ Introduc- tion 2. The Principle may be applyM to the difficulties of conservation, co-operation, &c. N. Trifling for the philosophers to enquire the cause of magnetical attractions, &c. They onely search after co-existing ideas. M. Qusecunque in Scriptura militant adversus Copernicum, militant "• pro me. M. AH things in the Scripture w'^^ side with the vulgar against "• the learned, side with me also. I side in all things with the mob. I know there is a mighty sect of men will oppose me, but yet I may expect to be supported by those whose minds are not so far overgrown wth madness. These are far the greatest part of mankind — especially Moralists, Divines, Politicians; in a word, all but Mathematicians and Natural Philosophers (I mean only the hypothetical gentlemen). Experimental philosophers-^ have nothing whereat to be offended in me. Newton begs his principles; I demonstrate mine. M. I must be very particular in explaining w* is meant by things E- existing — in houses, chambers, fields, caves, &c. — w" not per- ceiv'd as well as w"* perceived, and shew how the vulgar notion agrees with mine, when we narrowly inspect into the meaning and definition of the word Existence, w^ is no simple idea dis- tinct from perceiving and being perceived'*. The Schoolmen have noble subjects, but handle them ill. The mathematicians have trifling subjects, but reason admirably about them. Certainly their method and arguing are excellent. God knows how far our knowledge of intellectual beings may be enlarg'd from the Principles. The reverse of the Principle I take to have been the chief source of ail that scepticism and folly, all those contradictions and in- extricable puz2,ling absurdities, that have in all ages been a reproach to human reason, as well as of that idolatry, whether of images or ^ Cf. Introduction to the Principles of explained. See also Siris, sect. 231—264. Human Knowledge, sect. 6— 17 ; also vol. I. * He attempts this in many parts of the of the Wor^s— Appendix A. Principles znd the Dialogues. The difficulty Cf. Principles, sect. 60—66, 1 01 — 117, of reconciling the Berkeleian Principle with where the important office of experimental the assumed subslance or permanence of research, under the Berkeleian conception of sensible things is one of the chief difficulties the material world, and physical causation, is for those beginning to realise it. M. Commonplace Book. 421 of gold, &c., that blinds the greatest part of the world, as well as that shamefull immorality that turns us into beasts. n^n Vixit & fuit. oyo-ta, the name for substance used by Aristotle, the Fathers, &c. If at the same time we shall make the mathematiques much more easie and much more accurate, w*- can be objected to us^ ? We need not force our imagination to conceive such very small lines for .infinitesimals. They may every whit as well be imagin'd big as little, since that the integer must be infinite. Evident that wch has an infinite number of parts must be infinite. We cannot imagine a line or space infinitely great — therefore absurd to talk or make propositions about it. We cannot imagine a line, space, &c., quovis lato majus. Since y* what we imagine must be datum aliquod, a thing can't be greater than itself. If you call infinite that W^ is greater than any assignable by another, then I say, in that sense there may be an infinite square, sphere, or any other figure, wc^ is absurd. Qu. if extension be resoluble into points it does not con- sist of? No reasoning about things whereof we have no ideas ^, therefore no reasoning about infinitesimals. No word to be used without an idea''. S. If uneasiness be necessary to set the Will at work, Qu. how shall we will in heaven ? Bayle's, Malbranch's, &c. arguments do not seem to prove against Space, but onely against Bodies. M. I agree in nothing wth the Cartesians as to ye existence of P. Bodies & Qualities. Aristotle as good a man as Euclid, but he was allowed to have been mistaken. Lines not proper for demonstration. ^ He naturally contemplated thus early the '^ Idea, with Berkeley, means what we are application of his New Principle to Mathe- conscious of, either in sense-perception or in matics — concerned as they are with Quantity, imagination. Space, Number, &c.; but he seems to overlook ' But cf. Alciphron, Dial. VII. 8 — 17; some of the conditions of its applicability. also Introduction to Principles. 42 2 Co77i77io7iplace Book. M. We see the house itself, the church itself; it being an idea, and nothing more. The house itself, the church itself, is an idea, i. e. object, immediate object, of thought*. Instead of injuring, our doctrine much benefits geometry. E. Existence is percipi, or percipere, [or velle, i.e. agere^]. The horse is in the stable, the books are in the study as before. N. In physiques I have a vast view of things soluble hereby, but have not leisure. N. Hyps and such like unaccountable things confirm my doctrine. Angle not well defined. See Pardies' Geometry, by Harris, &c. This one ground of trifling. One idea not the cause of another — one power not the cause of another. The cause of all natural things is onely God. Hence trifling to enquire after second causes^". This doctrine gives a most suitable idea of the Divinity. N. Absurd to study astronomy and other the like doctrines as speculative sciences. N. The absurd account of memory by the brain, &c. makes for me. How was light created before man ? Even so were Bodies created before man^^ E. Impossible anything besides that W^ thinks and is thought on should exist i^. That w^^i" is visible cannot be made up of invisible things. M. S. is that wherein there are not contain'd distinguishable sensible parts. Now how can that w-^^^ hath not sensible parts be divided into sensible parts ? If you say it may be divided into insensible paits, I say these are nothings. Extension abstract from sensible qualities is no sensation, I grant j but then there is no such idea, as any one may tryi^. There ^ But a ' house' or a ' church' includes while I am looking at it. more than visible ideas, so that we cannot '- Separate inexistence in perception is be said to see it. Cf Life and Letters, ch. X. one phase of the Dualism of Berkeley : the " This is added in the margin— an im- other and deeper form of it emerges from portant addition, which at last resolves the our personal or voluntary acting, in anti- philosophy of Berkeley into a philosophy of thesis to what is externarto its sphere. Cf. ^^"/^Vr°°,: T, , , Collier's doctrine of inexistence, given in With Berkeley are no phenomenal Berkeley's Works, vol. I —Appendix B 'second causes'— only natural signs, which » Be'rkeley hardly distinguishes the'dis- physical science interprets. cemment of uncreated mathematical forms This refers to a vulgar objection to or relations (to which the sensible ideas or Berkeley, now supposed to be reinforced by phenomena in which the relation-; are con- recent discoveries m geology. If these con- cretely manifested must conform) from the tradict It, so does the existence of a table sensations, ideas, or phenomena themselves. Commonplace Book. 423 is onely a considering the number of points without the sort of them, & this makes more for me, since it must be in a con- sidering thing. Mem. Before I have shewn the distinction between visible & tangible extension, I must not mention them as distinct. I must not mention M. T. & M. V., but in general M. S., ^cM Qu. whether a M. V. be of any colour ? a M. T. of any tangible quality ? If visible extension be the object of geometry, 'tis that which is surveyed by the optique axis. I may say the pain is in my finger, &c., according to my doctrine ^'5. Mem. Nicely to discuss wt is meant when we say a line con- sists of a certain number of inches or points, &c. — a circle of a certain number of square inches, points, dec. Certainly we may think of a circle, or have its idea in our mind, without thinking of points or square inches, &c., whereas it should seem the idea of a circle is not made up of the ideas of points, square inches, &c. Qu. Is any more than this meant by the foregoing expressions, viz. that squares or points may be perceived in or made out of a circle, &c., or that squares, points, &c. are actually in it, i. e. are perceivable in it ? A line in abstract, or distance, is the number of points between two points. There is also distance between a slave & an emperor, between a peasant & philosopher, between a drachm & a pound, a farthing & a crown, &c. j in all which distance signifies the number of intermediate ideas. Halley's doctrine about the proportion between infinitely great quantities vanishes. When men speak of infinite quantities, either they mean finite quantities, or else talk of [that whereof they have ^^J no idea ; both which are absurd. If the disputations of the Schoolmen are blam'd for intricacy, triflingness, & confusion, yet it must be acknowledg'd that in the main they treated of great & important subjects. If we '* M. T. = matter tangible; M.V. = '« [That need not have been blotted out- matter visible; M.S. = matter sensible. 'tis good sense if we do but determine w' 1' Which the common doctrine of Primary we mean by thing and idea.] — Author. Qualities as usually explained, hardly allows. 424 Commonplace Book. admire the method & acuteness of the math [ematicians] — the length, the subtilty, the exactness of their demonstrations — we must nevertheless be forced to grant that they are for the most part about trifling subjects, and perhaps nothing at all. Motion on 2d thoughts seems to be a simple idea. P. Motion distinct from y^ thing moved is not conceivable. N. Mem. To take notice of Newton for defining it [motion] j also of Locke's wisdom in leaving it undefin'd^'^. Ut ordo partium temporis est immutabilis, sin etiam ordo par- tium spatii. Moveantur hae de locis suis, et movebuntur (ut ita dicam) de seipsis. Truly number is immensurable — that we will allow with Newton. P' Ask a Cartesian whether he is wont to imagine his globules without colour. Pellucidness is a colour. The colour of ordinary light of the sun is white. Newton in the right in assigning colours to the rays of light. A man born blind would not imagine space as we do. We give it always some dilute, or duskish, or dark colour — in short, we imagine it as visible or intromitted by the eye, w*^*' he would not do. N. Proinde vim infeiunt sacris iiteris qui voces hasce (v. tempus, spatium, motus) de quantitatibus mensuratis ibi interpretantur. Newton, p. 10. N. I differ from Newton, in that I think the recession ab axe motus is not the effect, or index, or measure of motion, but of the vis impressa. It sheweth not w^ is truly moved, but w* has the force impressed on it, or rather that w'^i^ hath an impressed force. Z> and P are not proportional in all circles. d d\s\.o\dp as d P P to -; but d and - are not in the same proportion in all circles. Hence 'tis nonsense to seek the terms of one general proportion whereby to rectify all peripheries, or of another whereby to square all circles. N.B. If the circle be squai'd arithmetically, 'tis squar'd geo- metrically, arithmetic or numbers being nothing but lines & pro- portions of lines when apply'd to geometry. " See Locke's Essay, Bk. III. ch. 4, § 8, pies of attempts to define motion — involving where he offers ancient and modern exam- fetiiio principii. Commonplace Book. 425 Mem. To remark Cheyne^^ & his doctrine of infinites. Extension, motion, time, do each of them include the idea of succession, & so far forth they seem to be of mathematical con- sideration. Number consisting in succession & distinct percep- tion, w"^ also consists in succession j for things at once perceiv'd are jumbled and mixt together in the mind. Time and motion can- not be conceiv'd without succession, & extension, qua mathemat., cannot be conceiv'd but as consisting of parts W^^ may be dis- tinctly & successively perceiv'd. Extension perceived at once & in confuso does not belong to math. The simple idea call'd Power seems obscure, or rather none at all, but onely the relation 'twixt Cause and Effect. When I ask whether A can move B, if A be an intelligent thing, I mean no more than whether the volition of A that B move be attended with the motion of B ? If A be senseless, whether the impulse of A against B be followed by ye motion of B^^? Barrow's arguing against indivisibles, lect. i. p. \6j is a petitio principii^ for the Demonstration of Archimedes supposeth the circumference to consist of more than 24 points. Moreover it may perhaps be necessary to suppose the divisibility ad infinitum^ in order to demonstrate that the radius is equal to the side of the hexagon. Shew me an argument against indivisibles that does not go on some false supposition. - A great number of insensibles — or thus, two invisibles, say, you put together become visible, therefore that M. V. contains or is made up of invisibles. I answer, the M.V. does not comprise, is not composed of invisibles. All the matter amounts to this, viz. whereas I had no idea awhile agoe, I have an idea now. It remains for you to prove that I came by the present idea because there were two invisibles added together. I say the invisibles are nothings, cannot exist, include a contradiction 2°. '* George Cheyne, the physician (known '^ This anticipates Hume, afterwards as author of the £ra^Z/s/& Ma/atfy), ^^ This is Berkeley's reasoning against published in 1705 a work on Fluxions, abstract or insensible quantities, and infi- which procured him admission to the Royal nitesimals — important in the sequel. Society. He was born in 1 670. 426 Commojtplace Book. I am young, I am an upstart, I am a pretender, I am vain. Very well. I shall endeavour patiently to bear up under the most lessening, vilifying appellations the pride & rage of man can devise. But one thing I know I am not guilty of. I do not pin my faith on the sleeve of any great man. I act not out of pre- judice or prepossession. I do not adhere to any opinion because it is an old one, a revivM one, a fashionable one, or one that I have spent much time in the s^udy and cultivation of. Sense rather than reason or demonstration ought to be em- ployed about lines and figures, these being things sensible j for as for those you call insensible, we have proved them to be nonsense, nothing. I. If in some things I differ from a philosopher I profess to admire, 'tis for that very thing on account whereof I admire him, namely, the love of truth. This &c. I. Whenever my reader finds me talk very positively, I desire he'd not take it ill. I see no reason why certainty should be confined to the mathematicians. I say there are no incommensurables, no surds. I say the side of any square may be assign'd in numbers. Say you assign unto me the side of the square 10. I ask w* 10 — 10 feet, inches, &c., or 10 points ? If the later, I deny there is any such square, 'tis impossible 10 points should compose a square. If the former, resolve y'' 10 square inches, feet. Sec. into points, & the number of points must necessarily be a square number whose side is easily assignable, A mean proportional cannot be found betwixt any two given lines. It can onely be found betwixt those the numbers of whose points multiply'd together produce a square number. Thus betwixt a line of 2 inches & a line of 5 inches a mean geometrical cannot be found, except the number of points contained in 2 inches multiply'd by ye number of points contained in 5 inches make a square number ^^ If the wit and industry of the Nihilarians were employ'd about the useful 1 & practical mathematiques, what advantage had it brought to mankind ! M. You ask me whether the books are in the study now, when no E. ^^ To statements here and elsewhere mathematicians might not unreasonably take ex- ception. Commonplace Book. 427 one is there to see them ? I answer, Yes. You ask me, Are we not in the wrong for imagining things to exist when they are not actually perceiv'd by the senses ? I answer. No. The exist- ence of our ideas consists in being perceiv'd, imagin'd, thought on. Whenever they are imagin'd or thought on they do exist. Whenever they are mentioned or discours'd of they are imagin'd & thought on. Therefore you can at no time ask me whether they exist or no, but by reason of y' very question they must necessarily exist. But, say you, then a chimsera does exist ? I answer, it doth in one sense, i.e. it is imagin'd. But it must be well noted that exist- ence is vulgarly restrain'd to actuall perception, and that I use the word existence in a larger sense than ordinary 22. N.B. — According to my doctrine all things are entia rationis^ i. e. Solum habent esse in intellectum. [23 According to my doctrine all are not ent'ta rationis. The distinction between ens rationis and ens reale is kept up by it as well as any other doctrine.] You ask me whether there can be an infinite idea ? I answer, in one sense there may. Thus the visual sphere, tho' ever so small, is infinite, i. e. has no end. But if by infinite you mean an extension consisting of innumerable points, then I ask y*" pardon. Points, tho' never so many, may be numbered. The multitude of points, or feet, inches, &:c., hinders not their numbrableness (i. e. hinders not their being numerable) in the least. Many or most are numerable, as well as few or least. Also, if by infinite idea you mean an idea too great to be comprehended or perceiv'd all at once, you must excuse me. I think such an infinite is no less than a contradiction. The sillyness of the current doctrine makes much for me. They commonly suppose a material world — figures, motions, bulks of various sizes, &c. — according to their own confession to no purpose. All our sensations may be, and sometimes actually are, without them ; nor can men so much as conceive it possible they should concur in any wise to the production of them. Ask a man, I mean a philosopher, why he supposes this vast structure, this compages of bodies? he shall be at a stand; he'll not have one word to say. W^h sufficiently shews the folly of the hypothesis. ^ All this must be balanced by other state- ^^ Added on blank page of the MS. ments. Cf. Life and Letters, ch. X. 428 Commonplace Book. M. Or rather why he supposes all y^ Matter? for bodies and their qualities I do allow to exist independently of our mind 2*. S. Qu. How is the soul distinguish'd from its ideas ? Certainly if there were no sensible ideas there could be no soul, no perception, remembrance, love, fear, &c. ; no faculty could be exerted 2^. S. The soul is the Will, properly speaking, and as it is distinct from ideas 2^. S. The grand puzzling question, whether I sleep or wake? easily solv'd. Qu. Whether minima or meer minima may not be compar'd by their sooner or later evanescence, as well as by more or less points, so that one sensible may be greater than another, though it exceeds it not by one point ? Circles on several radius's are not similar figures, they having neither all nor any an infinite number of sides. Hence in vain to enquire after 2 terms of one and y® same proportion that should constantly express the reason of the d to the/> in all circles. Mem. To remark Wallis's harangue, that the aforesaid pro- portion can neither be expressed by rational numbers nor surds. We can no more have an idea of length without breadth or visibility, than of a general figure. One idea may be like another idea, tho' they contain no com- mon simple idea 2'^. Thus the simple idea red is in some sense like the simple idea blue; 'tis liker it than sweet or shrill. But then those ideas wcii are so said to be alike, agree both in their connexion with another simple idea, viz. extension, & in their being receiv'd by one & the same sense. But, after all, nothing can be like an idea but an idea. No sharing betwixt God & nature or second causes in my doctrine. M. Materialists must allow the earth to be actually mov'd by the attractive power of every stone that falls from the air, with many other the like absurditys. ''♦ i. e. of my individual mind. For Berke- than sensations, or sense-given phenomena, ley's analysis of the externality of sensible vvhile they cannot be conceived to be indepen- things, see Life and Letters, ch. X. dent of it. This he allows elsewhere, I think. ^^ This implies that the human soul de- ^^ i.e. from phenomena, pends on sensible ideas as well as they on it. 27 j-jj^j^ j ^^ ^^^ altogether approve of.] But mind may be percipient of other objects — Author. Commonplace Book. 429 Enquire concerning the pendulum clock, &c. ; whether those inventions of Huygens, Sec. be attained to by my doctrine. The "" & ""' & """ &c. of time are to be cast away and neglected, as so many noughts or nothings. Mem. To make experiments concerning minimums and their colours, whether they have any or no, & whether they can be of that green w^h seems to be compounded of yellow and blue. Qu. whether it were not better not to call the operations of the mind ideas ^^ — confining this term to things sensible ? Mem. Diligently to set forth how that many of the ancient philosophers run into so great absurditys as even to deny the existence of motion and those other things they perceiv'd actually by their senses. This sprung from their not knowing w* Exist- ence was, and wherein it consisted. This the source of all their folly. 'Tis on the discovering of the nature and meaning and import of Existence that I chiefly insist. This puts a wide difference betwixt the sceptics 6cc. & me. This I think wholly new. I am sure this new to me. We have learn'd from Mr. Locke that there may be, and that there are, several glib, coherent, methodical discourses, which nevertheless amount to just nothing. This by him intended with relation to the Scholemen. We may apply it to the mathematicians. Qu. How can all words be said to stand for ideas ^^P The word blue stands for a colour without any extension or abstract from extension. But we have not an idea of colour without extension. We cannot imagine colour without oitension. Locke seems wrongly to assign a double use of words, one for communicating &: the other for recording our thoughts. 'Tis absurd to use words for recording our thoughts to ourselves, or in our private meditations 2*^. No one abstract simple idea like another. Two simple ideas may be connected with one & the same 3*^ simple idea, or be in- tromitted by one & the same sense. But consider'd in themselves they can have nothing common, and consequently no likeness. Qu. How can there be any abstract ideas of colours ? It seems ^' He usually calls them notions — in con- ^^ See a preceding note, trast to the sensuous ideas of perception and ^'^ Is discursive thought, then, independent imagination. of language ? 430 Commonplace Book. not so easily as of tastes or sounds. But then all abstract ideas whatsoever are particular. I can by no means conceive a general idea. 'Tis one thing to abstract one idea from another of a different kind, & another thing to abstract an idea from all particulars of the same kind^^. N, Mem. Much to recommend and approve of experimental philosophy. S. What means Cause as distinguish'd from Occasion ? Nothing but a being w I consider, the more objects we see at once the more distant they are, and that eye which beholds a great many things can see none of them near. By idea I mean any sensible or imaginable thing 21. To be sure or certain of w^ we do not actually perceive-- (1 say perceive, not imagine), we must not be altogether passive, there must be a disposition to act, there must be assent, w"''' is active. Nay, what do I talk ! there must be actual volition. What do we demonstrate in Geometry but that lines are equal or unequal ? i. e. may or may not be called by the same name ^s. I approve of this axiom of the Schoolmen, ' Nihil est in intel- ^' lectu quod non prius fuit in sensu.' I wish they had stuck to it. It had never taught them the doctrine of abstract ideas 2^. *' Minima sensibilia. ^^ e. g. of what we believe in mediate or *" All pleasures, qua pleasures, are neces- acquired perceptions, sarily productive of correlative desires, as " Here as elsewhere he resolves geometry, pains or uneasinesses are of correlative aver- so far as demonstrative, into a system of sions. This is implied in the very nature of analytical and hypothetical judgments ; so pleasure and pain. far as concerned with what is real, into con- '^^ Here is Berkeley's definition of idea, tingent judgments. The want of separate terms for things sen- '* Compare this remarkable statement sible, and things imagined led to confusion. with Siris, sect. 308, and with the contrast A. 458 Commonplace Book. S. ' Nihil dat quod non habet/ or, the effect is contained in the G. cause, is an axiom I do not understand or believe to be true. E. Whoever shall cast his eyes on the writings of old or new philosophers, and see the noise is made about formal and objective Being, Will, ^c. G. Absurd to argue the existence of God from his idea. We have no idea of God. 'Tis impossible ^5. M. Cause of much errour & confusion that men knew not what £. was meant by Reality '-^^ I. Des Cartes, in Med. 2, says the notion of this particular wax is less clear than that of wax in general j and in the same Med., a little before, he forbears to consider bodies in general, because (says he) these general conceptions are usually confused. ]\4^ Des Cartes, in Med. 3, calls himself a thinking substance, and S. a stone an extended substance j and adds that they both agree in this, that they are substances. And in the next paragraph he calls extension a mode of substance. S. 'Tis commonly said by the philosophers, that if the soul of man were self-existent it would have given itself all possible perfection. This I do not understand. Mo. Mem. To excite men to the pleasures of the eye & the ear, which surfeit not, nor bring those evils after them, as others. S. We see no variety or difference betwixt the volitions, only between their effects. 'Tis one Will, one Act, distinguished by the effects. This Will, this Act, is the spirit, operative principle, soul, &c. No mention of fears and jealousies, nothing like a party. M. Locke in his 4th Book^"', and Des Cartes in Med. 6, use the same argument for the existence of objects, viz. that sometimes we see, feel, ficc. against our will. S. While I exist or have any idea, I am eternally, constantly willing; my acquiescing in the present state is willing. E, The existence of any thing imaginable is nothing different from imagination or perception ^s. Volition or Will, w"^"^ is not im- between Sense and Reason, in the preceding uses idea — would imply that God is a phe- and following sections of that treatise. But nomenon. how is the statement consistent even with the '* Cf. Principles, sect. 8q. constructive assumptions of the Principles! "" Ch. II. § 5. ''^ To have an idea of God — as Berkeley ^^ Why add — 'or perception'? Commonplace Book. 459 aginable, regard must not be had to its existence * * * first Book. There are four sorts of propositions. *GoId is a metal j^ 'Gold is yellow;' 'Gold is fixt;' 'Gold is not a stone' — of which the first, second, and third are only nominal, and have no mental propositions answering them. Mem. In vindication of the senses effectually to confute what Des Cartes saith in the last par. of the last Med., viz. that the senses oftener inform him falsely than truely — that sense of pain tells me not my foot is bruised or broken, but I, having frequently observed these two ideas, viz. of that peculiar pain and bruised foot go together, do erroneously take them to be inseparable by a necessity of nature, — as if nature were anything but the ordin- ance of the free will of God 2^. Des Cartes owns we know not a substance immediately by itself, but by this alone, that it is the subject of several acts. Ans. to 1^ objection of Hobbs. Hobbs in some degree falls in with Locke, saying thought is to the mind or himself as dancing to the dancer. Object. Hobbs in his Object. 3 ridicules those expressions of the scholastiques — 'the will wills,' &c. So does Locke. I am of another mind ^^. Des Cartes, in answer to Object. 3 of Hobbs, owns he is distinct from thought as a thing from its modus or manner. Opinion that existence was distinct from perception of horrible consequence. It is the foundation of Hobbs's doctrine, &c. Malbranch in his illustration'^^ differs widely from me. He doubts of the existence of bodies. I doubt not in the least of this. I differ from Cartesians in that I make extension, colour, &c. to exist really in bodies independent of our mind^^. All y' carefully and lucidly to be set forth. ""^ Here we have Berkeley's arbitrariness must be a preceding volition, and so on ad in the coexistences and sequences of sen- infinitum ; while what is asserted is, that this sible phenomena, the favourite thought acting is the one proper, because inde- which runs through the Theory of Vision, pendent, sort of action, which needs no and his whole philosophy of the sensible previous activity, world. 31 Recherche, I. 19. •" This against the quibble, that if ''^ i. e. mind is different from its sense- (voluntary) acting is self-originated, its cause given phenomena. 460 Commonplace Book. M, Not to mention the combinations of powers, but to say the ?• things, the effects themselves, do really exist, even w" not actually perceived, but still with relation to perception "^. The great use of the Indian figures above the Roman shews arithmetic to be about signs, not ideas — or not ideas different from the characters themselves ^*. M. Reasoning there may be about things, or ideas, or actions — but N. demonstration can be only verbal. I question, no matter &c. G. Quoth Des Cartes, the idea of God is not made by me, for I can neither add to nor subtract from it. No more can he add to or take from any other idea, even of his own making. S. The not distinguishing 'twixt Will and ideas is a grand mistake with Hobbs. He takes those things for nothing which are not ideas ^^\ y[^ Say you. At this rate all's nothing but idea — mere phantasm. I answer. Everything as real as ever. I hope to call a thing idea makes it not the less real. Truly I should perhaps have stuck to the word thing, and not mentioned the word idea, were it not for a reason, and I think a good one too, which I shall give in the Second Book^^. I. Idea is the object or subject of thought. Y* I think on, what- S. ever it be, I call idea. Thought itself, or thinking, is no idea. 'Tis an act, i. e. volition, i. e. as contradistinguished to effects — the Will. I. Locke, in B. 4. c. 5, assigns not the right cause why mental ^o- propositions are so difficult. It is not because of complex but because of abstract ideas. Ye idea of a horse is as complex as that of fortitude. Yet in saying the * horse is white' I form a mental proposition with ease. But when I say « fortitude is a virtue,' I shall find a mental proposition hard, or not at all to be come at. S. Pure intellect I understand not ^7. ^ i. e. to a conscious mind, but not ne- tivists as they are now called, cessarily to mine ; for they are independent ^^ Is this Part II. of the Principles f of my will, and I only participate in the ^7 The thought of uncreated or necessary perception of them. relations, to which all actual existence must ^* Cf. the Arithmetica. conform, but which are realizable only in '5 i. e. which are not phenomena. This their actual applications, was not then at recognition of Will even then distinguished least in Berkeley's mind. Berkeley from the phenomenalists, or posi- Commonplace Book. 461 Locke is in y® right in those things wherein he diflFers from y® Cartesians, and they cannot but allow of his opinions if they stick to their own principles or causes of Existence & other ab- stract ideas. The properties of all things are in God, i. e. there is in the Deity Understanding as well as Will. He is no blind agent, and in truth a blind agent is a contradiction 2^. I am certain there is a God, tho' I do not perceive Him — have no intuition of Him. This not difficult if we rightly understand w* is meant by certainty. It seems that the soul, taken for the Will, is immortal, in- corruptible. Qu. whether perception must of necessity precede volition ? Error is not in the Understanding, but in the Will. What I 'lo- understand or perceive, that I understand. There can be no errour in this. /Jo. Mem. To take notice of Locke's woman afraid of a wetting, in ^. the Introd., to shew there may be reasoning about ideas or things. A. Say Des Cartes & Malbranch, God hath given us strong inclinations to think our ideas proceed from bodies, or that bodies do exist. Pray w' mean they by this ? Would they have it that the ideas of imagination are images of, and proceed from, the ideas of sense? This is true, but cannot be their meaning, for they speak of ideas of sense themselves as proceeding from, being like unto — I know not w* ^9. Vl. Cartesius per ideam vult omne id quod habet esse objectivum >. in intellectu. V. Tract, de Methodo. ). Qu. May there not be an Understanding without a Will ? ). Understanding is in some sort an action. ). Silly of Hobbs, 6cc. to speak of the Will as if it were motion, with which it has no likeness. VI. Ideas of sense are the real things or archetypes. Ideas of imagination, dreams, &c. are copies, images of these. M, My doctrines rightly understood, all that philosophy of Epicurus, •"" This assumption is the essence of Ber- ing for a direct perception of some of the keley's philosophy — 'a bUnd agent is a phenomena of which a ' perceived ' sensible contradiction.' thing is composed. ^^ This is the basis of Berkeley's reason- 462 Commonplace Book. Hobbs, Spinosa, &c., which has been a declared enemy of religion, comes to the ground. G. Hobbs & Spinosa make God extended. Locke also seems to do the same ^^\ I. Ens, res, aliquid dicuntur termini transcendentales. Spinosa, E. p. 76, prop. 40, Eth. part 2, gives an odd account of their original. Also of the original of all universals — Homo, Canis, &c. G. Spinosa (vid. Praef. Opera Posthum.) will have God to be ' omnium rerum causa immanens,' and to countenance this pro- duces that of St. Paul, * in Him we live,' &c. Now this of St. Paul may be explained by my doctrine as well as Spinosa's, or Locke's, or Hobbs's, or Raphson's ^1, &c. S. The Will is purus actuSj or rather pure spirit not imaginable, not sensible, not intelligible, in no wise the object of the understand- ing, no wise perceivable. S. Substance of a spirit is that it acts, causes^ wills, operates, or if you please (to avoid the quibble y* may be made of the word ' it ') to act, cause, will, operate. Its substance is not knowable, not being an idea. G. Why may we not conceive it possible for God to create things out of nothing ? Certainly we ourselves create in some wise when- ever we imagine. E. * Ex nihilo nihil fit.' This (saith Spinoza, Opera Posth. p. 464) N. and the like are called verltates atern^j because ' nullam fidem habent extra mentem.' To make this axiom have a positive signification, one should express it thus : Every idea has a cause, i. e. is produced by a Will *2. P. The philosophers talk much of a distinction 'twixt absolute & relative things, or 'twixt things considered in their own nature &: the same things considered with respect to us. I know not ^ Berkeley's horror of absolute space and Cf. p. I77- See also Green's Principles of atoms is partly explained by now antiquated Natural Philosophy (17 12). dogmas of his age, in natural philosophy. *^ It is then and thus only that this ^' Ralph [?] Raphson, author of Demon- truism can become applicable. Note here se Ide'ts Innatts^ p. 64. De Vries will have it that we know the mind agrees with things not by idea but sense or conscientia. So will Malbranch. This a vain distinction. August 28th, 1708. The Adventure of the [Shirt?]. It were to be wished that persons of the greatest birth, honour, & fortune, would take that care of themselves by education, industry, literature, & a love of virtue, to surpass all other men *' This double duality, with some vacilla- *^ This is fundamental in Berkeley, tion of expression, runs through Berkeley. '"'^ The dependence of extension upon per- " Berkeley always insists that we should ception does not imply that extension is an keep our thinking as much as possible in- attribute of mind — which throws some light tuitive of the individual objects which our on what Berkeley means by the existence of words denote — ' ipsis consuescere rebus,' as sense-ideas 'in a mind' — that suj generis Bacon says, — to escape the dangers of relation. But his language here tends to artificial signs. This is the drift of his confuse perception with imagination, attacks on abstract ideas. ^^ Gerard De Vries, the Cartesian. H h 2 468 Commonplace Book. in knowledge & all other qualifications necessary for great actions as far as they do in qua ity & titles j that princes out of them might always chose men fit for all employments and high trusts. Clov. B. 7. One eternity greater than another of the same kind. In what sense eternity may be limited. G. T. Whether succession of ideas in the Divine intellect ? T. Time, train of ideas succeeding each other. Duration not distinguish'd from existence. Succession explainM by before, between, after, & numbering. Why time in pain longer than time in pleasure ? Duration infinitely divisible, time not so. T. The same to vvv not common to all intelligences. Time thought infinitely divisible on account of its measure. Extension not infinitely divisible in one sense. Revolutions immediately measure train of ideas, mediately duration. T. Time a sensation, therefore onely in y^ mind. Eternity is onely a train of innumerable ideas. Hence the immortality of ye soul easily conceiv'd, or rather the immortality of the person, that of ye soul not being necessary for ought we can see. Swiftness of ideas compar'd with y* of motions shews the wisdom of God. W* if succession of ideas were swifter, w* if slower? M. ffall of Adam, use of idolatry, use of Epicurism & Hobbism, dispute about divisibility of matter, &c. expounded by material substances. Extension a sensation, therefore not without the mind. M. In the immaterial hypothesis, the wall is white, fire hot, &c. Primary ideas prov'd not to exist in matter, after the same manner y* secondary ones are prov'd not to exist therein. Dem.onstrations of the infinite divisibility of extension suppose length without breadth, or invisible length, wch is absurd. M. World w"'out thought is nee qu'td^ nee quantum^ nee quale^ &c. M. 'Tis wondrous to contemplate ye World empty'd of intelligences ^2. '■"^ Of all mind — Divine and finite? Commonplace Book. 469 Nothing properly but Persons, i. e. conscious things, do exist. All other things are not so much existences as manners of y^ existence of persons ^^. * Qu. about the soul, or rather person, whether it be not com- pleatly known? Infinite divisibility of extension does suppose the external ex- istence of extension j but the later is false, ergo y" former also. Qu. Blind man made to see, would he know motion at i^*^ sight ? Motion, figure, and extension perceivable by sight are different from those ideas perceived by touch w'^'^ goe by the same name. Diagonal incommensurable w*^ y*' side. Qusere how this can be in my doctrine ? Qu. how to reconcile Newton's 2 sorts of motion with my doctrine ? Terminations of surfaces & lines not imaginable per se. Molyneux's blind man would not know the sphere or cube to be bodies or extended at first sight ^^. Extension so far from being incompatible w'^, yt 'tis impossible it should exist without thought. Extension itself or anything extended cannot think — these being meer ideas or sensations, whose essence we thoroughly know. No extension but surface perceivable by sight. W° we imagine 2 bowls v. g. moving in vacuo, 'tis only con- ceiving a person affected with these sensations. Extension to exist in a thoughtless thing [or rather in a thing void of perception — thought seeming to imply action], is a con- tradiction. Qu. if visible motion be proportional to tangible motion ? In some dreams succession of ideas swifter than at other times. If a piece of matter have extension, that must be determined to a particular bigness & figure, but &c. Nothing corresponds to our primary ideas wt^'out ^■'' but powers. Hence a direct & brief demonstration of an active powcrfull Being distinct from us, on whom we depend. * *' Is an extended thing, then, a mode in ^ Does 'without' mean here independent which a person exists? of our will, or distinct from our perception, ** See Locke's Eisay, Bk. II. ch. 9. § 8. or both ? 470 Commonplace Book. The name of colours actually given to tangible qualities by the relation of ye story of the German Count. Qu. How came visible & tangible qualities by the same name in all languages ? Qu. Whether Being might not be the substance of the soul, or (otherwise thus) whether Being, added to ye faculties, compleat the real essence and adequate definition of the soul ? N. Qu. Whether, on the supposition of external bodies, it be pos- sible for us to know that any body is absolutely at rest, since that supposing ideas much slower than at present, bodies now apparently moving w/«. Commonplace Book. 499 11. Whatever has in it an idea, tho' it be never so passive, tho' it exert no manner of act about it, yet it must perceive. 1 o. 12. All ideas either are simple ideas, or made up of simple ideas. 13. That thing w^h is like unto another thing must agree w^h it in one or more simple ideas. 14. Whatever is like a simple idea must either be another simple idea of the same sort, or contain a simple idea of the same sort. 13. 15. Nothing like an idea can be in an unperceiving thing. II, 14. Another demonstration of the same thing. 16. Two things cannot be said to be alike or unlike till they have been compar'd. 17. Comparing is the viewing two ideas together, & marking wt they agree in and wt they disagree in. 18. The mind can compare nothing but its own ideas. 17. 19. Nothing like an idea can be in an unperceiving thing. 11, 16, 18. N.B. Other arguments innumerable, both a priori & a posteriori^ drawn from all the sciences, from the clearest, plainest, most obvious truths, whereby to demonstrate the Principle, i. e. that neither our ideas, nor anything like our ideas, can possibly be in an unperceiving thing 6. N.B. Not one argument of any kind w^soever, certain or pro- bable, a priori or a posteriorly from any art or science, from either sense or reason, against it. Mathematicians have no right idea of angles. Hence angles of contact wrongly apply'd to prove extension divisible ad Infi- nitum. We have got the Algebra of pure intelligences. ^ This is the Berkeleian Principle in an that perceived things cannot be, or resemble, early and crude stage of its development — unperceived things. K k 2 500 Commonplace Book. We can prove Newton's propositions more^ accurately, more easily, 8c upon truer principles than himself. Barrow owns the downfall of geometry. However I'll endea- vour to rescue it — so far as it is useful, or real, or imaginable, or intelligible. But for the nothings, I'll leave them to their admirers. I'll teach any one the whole course of mathematiques in ^^ part the time that another will. Much banter got from the prefaces of the mathematicians. P. Newton says colour is in the subtil matter. Hence Malbranch proves nothing, or is mistaken, is asserting there is onely figure & motion. I can square the circle, &c., they cannot, wch goes on the best principles. The Billys^ use a finite visible line for an — . m T. Marsilius Ficinus — his appearing the moment he died solv'd by my idea of time ^. M. The philosophers lose their Matter. The mathematicians lose their insensible sensations. The profane [lose] their extended Deity. Pray wt do the rest of mankind lose ? As for bodies, &c., we have them still ^°. N.B. The future philosoph. & mathem. get vastly by the bargain. P- There are men who say there are insensible extensions. There are others who say the wall is not white, the fire is not hot, 8cc. We Irishmen cannot attain to these truths. The mathematiciams think there are insensible lines. About these they harangue— these cut in a point at all angles— these are divisible ad infinitum. We Irishmen can conceive no such lines. J [to the utmost accuracy, wanting no- assure him of the truth of the immortality thing of perfection. Their solutions of of the human soul. problems themselves must own to fall i" i. e. we have the phenomena presented mfinitely short of perfection.]- Author. in perception, and these Berkeley every- Jean de Billy and Ren^ de Billy, French where assumes to be true : what he leaves mathematicians— the former author oi Nova more obscure is the test of inferences from Geometric Clavis and other mathematical these phenomena — the nature of the as- ^94 J- sumptions by which physical and other sci- According to Baronius, in the l^fth ence is discovered— which refutes the Scep- volume of his 'Annals,' Ficinus appeared tics who reject any criterion by which general to his friend Michael Mercatus, agreeably to knowledge can be constituted. a promise he made when he was alive, to Commonplace Book. 501 The mathematicians talk of wt they call a point. This, they say, is not altogether nothing, nor is it downright something. Now we Irishmen are apt to think something & nothing are next neighbours. Engagements to P.^^ on account of ye Treatise that grew up under his eye, on account also of his approving my harangue. Glorious for P. ^^ to be the protector of usefull tho' newly dis- cover'd truths. How could I venture thoughts into the world before I knew they would be of use to the world ? and how could 1 know that till I had try'd how they suited other men's ideas ? I publish not this so much for anything else as to know whether other men have the same ideas as we Irishmen. This is my end, & not to be inform'd as to my own particular. The Materialists & Nihilarians need not be of a party. \The preceding Thoughts (pp. 419 — 501) are in what I have called the ' Commonplace Book.' The same volume contains also the ^Description of the Cave of Dunmore^'' and some fragments of the *■ Miscellanea Mathematica.' The six sentences ivhich follow are on a page of the other small quarto volume^ mentioned in my Preface.] My speculations have the same effect as visiting foreign countries : in the end I return where I was before, but my heart at ease, and enjoying life with new satisfaction 1^. Passing through all the sciences, though false for the most part, yet it gives us the better insight and greater knowledge of the truth. " Lord Pembroke (?), to whom the Prin- reflective philosophy, which, in the words of ciples were dedicated; as also Locke's Coleridge, 'produces the strongest impres- Essay. sions of novelty, while it rescues admitted 12 Cf. Preface to the Dialogues between truths from the neglect caused by the very Hylas and Pbilonoiis, where he speaks in circumstance of their universal admission.' like manner of the educational effects of 502 Commoitplace Book. He that would bring another over to his opinion, must seem to harmonize with him at first, and humour him in his own way of talking. From my childhood I had an unaccountable turn of thought that way 1^. It doth not argue a dwarf to have greater strength than a giant, because he can throw off the molehill which is upon him, while the other struggles beneath a mountain. The whole directed to practise and morality — as appears first, from making manifest the nearness and omnipresence of God j 2dly, from cutting oflF the useless labour of sciences, and so forth. ^^ Does this refer merely to what is said according to the analogy of his matured in the foregoing sentence, or to an early philosophy? tendency to think about the sensible world DESCRIPTION OF THE CAVE OF DUNMORE'. There is one of the rarities of this kingdom which, though I judge considerable enough to take place amongst the rest, yet so it is I neither find it described nor so much as mentioned by those who are curious in things of this nature — I mean the cave of Dunmore. In default therefore of a better, I offer to the world my own account of this remarkable place, so far as I shall be able * The Cave of Dunmore is still one of the wonders of the County of Kilkenny to natu- ralists, archaeologists, and travellers. It is a natural curiosity, and it also contains some mysterious human remains. It has been described by successive travellers. Berke- ley's description, now published for the first time, was written earlier than any other known to me. The next, after Ber- keley's, of which I am aware, is contained in a Tour through Ireland, ' by two English gentlemen,' published in Dublin in 1 74S, where a detailed account of their visit to the Cave, 124 years ago, is given. In the Philosophical Tratisactio'is for 1773, there is a letter to Dr. Morton, Sec. R. S., from Mr. Adam Walker, dated Dublin, April 26, 1 771, ' containing an account of the Cavern at Dunmore Park, near Kilkenny, in Ire- land,' where it is compared with the Derby- shire caverns. Campbell's Philosophical Survey of Ireland, a few years later, has a perftinctory reference, for he did not ven- ture to enter the cave. Mr. Tighe's Statisti- cal Survey of the County of Kilkenny de- scribes Dunmore. Many other descriptions and papers on the subject might be men- tioned — the latest Dr. Foot's ' Account of a Visit to the Cave of Dunmore, in Co. Kilkenny, with some Remarks on Human Remains found therein,' \n ihe. Journal of the Historical and ArchcEological Association of Ireland for January, 1870. Dr. Foot's visit was on September 10, 1869, in company with the Rev. James Graves (to whose kind- ness in this and other investigations con- cerning Berkeley I am indebted) and Mr. Burtchael. The party carried away a num- ber of human bones, now deposited in the Museum of the Association. Dr. Foot refers these remains to the tenth century, and con- siders that they confirm the statement in the Annals of the Kingdom of Ireland by the Four Masters, that, in ' the age of Christ, 928, Godfrey, grandson of Inihar, with the foreigners of Athcliath [Dublin] demolished and plundered Dearc-Fearna [Dunmore Cave], where one thousand persons were killed in this year.' ' In the inmost recesses of Dearc-Fearna,' Dr. Foot adds, ' unmistake- able evidence of the truth of the statement, that a wholesale massacre was perpetrated there, exists— in the osseous remains of men, women, and children, which, though not now strewing the Cave in the same profusion as they formerly did, may be procured in quantities, by disturbing the surface of the floor in a particular place.' An engraving of the entrance to the Cave was given in the Dublin Penny Journal in 1832. The ap- pearance of the steep descent to the mouth changes (as is manifest from successive de- scriptions) by the growth or destiuction of bushes, &c., and the action of the elements. Berkeley's description of the Cave is written at the end of his Commonplace Book, but no date is given. His visit may have been made in some of the vacations of his college life. A. C. F. 504 Description of the to copy it from what I remember either to have seen myself or heard from others. This cave is distant four miles from Kilkenny and two from Dunmore, his grace the Duke of Ormond's country house, from whence it has its name. Its mouth or entrance is situated in a rising ground, and affords a very dismal prospect, being both wide and deep, and on all sides rocky and precipitous save one, which is a slope, part whereof is fashioned into a path and in some places into steps. This as well as the rest of the sides is overrun with elder 2 and other shrubs^ which add to the horror of the place, and make it a suitable habitation for ravens, screech-owls, and such like feral birds which abide in the cavities of the rock. At the foot of this descent, by an opening which resembles a wide arched gate, we entered into a spacious vault, the bottom whereof is always shabby by reason of the continual distillation of rock-water. Here we bad farewell to daylight, which was succeeded by a formidable darkness that fills the hollows of this capacious cavern. And having, by the help of our candles, spy'd out our way towards the left •' hand, and not without some difficulty clambered over a ruinous heap of huge unwieldy stones, we descry'd a farther entrance into the rock, but at some distance from the ground. Here nature seemed to have made certain round stones jut out of the wall on purpose to facilitate our ascent. Having gone through this narrow passage we were surprised to find ourselves in a vast and spacious hall, the floor of which as well as the sides and roof is rock, though in some places it be cleft into very frightful chasms, yet for the most part is pretty level and coherent; the roof is adorned with a multitude of small round pipes as thick as a goose-quill, and, if I misremember not, a foot long or thereabouts ; from each of 'em there distils a drop of clear water, which, congealing at the bottom, forms a round, hard, and white stone. The noise of these falling drops being somewhat augmented by the echo of the cave, seems to make an agreeable harmony amidst so profound a silence. The stones, which I take to be three or four inches high (they all seeming much of a bigness), being set thick in the pavement make a very odd figure. Here is likewise an obelisque of a greyish colour, and ^ The early name of the Cave was Bearc « rj^^ j^^^j_ Berkeley is wrong as to Fear«a, I.e. the alder cave. The alder tree the direction. IS called in Irish /ear«. Cave of Dunmore. 505 (I think) about three or four feet high. The drop which formed it has ceased, so that it receives no farther increment. This cave in the great variety of its congelations as well as in some other respects seems not a little to resemble one I find described by the name of Les Grottes d^Arcy, in a French treatise Be rOrig'me des 'Fontaines^ dedicated to the famous Huygenius, and printed at Paris in 1678 j but I must own that the French cave has much the advantage of ours on account of the art and regularity which nature has observed in forming its congelations, or else that anonymous French author has infinitely surpassed me in strength of fancy; for, after having given a long detail of several things which he says are there represented by them, he concludes with these words, ' Enfin I'on y voit les ressemblances de tout ce qu'on peut I'imaginer, soit d'hommes, d'animaux, de poissons, de fruits, 6cc.' : i.e. in short, here you may see whatever you can possibly imagine, whether men, beasts, fishes, fruits, or anything else. Now, though as much be confidently reported and believed of our cave, yet, to speak ingenuously, 'tis more than 1 could find to be true : but, on the contrary, am mightily tempted to think all that curious imagery is chiefly owing to the strength of imagination ; for like as we see the clouds so far comply with the fancy of a child, as to represent to him trees, horses, men, or whatever else he's pleased to think on, so 'tis no difficult matter for men of a strong imagination to fancy the petrified water stamped with the impressions of their own brain, when in reality it may as well be supposed to resemble one thing as another. By what has been observed it appears the congelations are not all of the same colour • the pipes look very like alum, the stones formed by their drops are white inclining to yellow, and the obelisque I mentioned differs from both. There is also a quantity of this congealed water that by reason of its very white colour and irregular figure at some distance resembles a heap of snow ; and such at first sight I took it to be, much wondering how it came there. When we approached it with a light it sparkled and cast a lively lustre, and we discerned in its superficies a number of small cavities. But the noblest ornament of this spacious hall is a huge channelled pillar which, standing in the middle, reaches from top to bottom. There is in one side of it a cavity that goes by the name of the alabaster chair. The congelations which form 5o6 Description of the lliis cokiiiiii arc of" a yellowish colour, and as to their shape some- thing like the pipes oF an organ; but organs 1 Hnd arc no rarity in places ol- this nature, they being to be met not only in the cave of Arcy and that of Antiparos described in the same treatise, pp. 279 and 287, but also in one near the Firth of Forth in Scotland, tnentioned by Sir Rt)bert Sibbald in the Philosophical Transactiotts^ No. iiiK This I look upon to be in all respects by far the greatest pillar I ever saw, and believe its pedestal, which is of a dark colour and with a glorious sparkling reflects the light of a candle, may be as much as three men can well fathom. r am conceiiK'd thai 1 liiti not take the dimensions both of this k)fty pillar and of the other things 1 endeavour to describe. 1 am sorry 1 cannot furnish the curious with an exact account of the length, l>reailth, and height o^ these subterraneous chambers, and have reason to think my reader has by this time often blamed me \'ox using such undetermined expressions as wide, narrow, deep, ^'c, where something more accurate may be looked for. All 1 can say is that I endeavour to give a faithful account of this place, so far as 1 can recollect at the distance of almost seven years, and am of opinion this imperfect sketch might not be altogether unacceptable to the curious till such time as sonu one shall have an (Opportunity of giving \-m a more full and accurate description o'i this place. 1 iere it was I desired one i>f our company to tire otf his gun ; the sound we heard for a considerable time loU through the hollows of the earth, and at length it cmild not so properly be said to cease as go out t^f our hearing. I have been told that a in>ise thus made in the cave may be heard by one walking in the great aisle o'( St. Canic's church in Kilkenny % but know no one who ever maile the experiment. Having viewed the wonders of this place and not discovering any further passage, we returned through the narrow entrance we came in by. And here I cannot but call to mind how two or three dogs we brought along with us, not venturing to go any further, stayed behind in the outer cavern ; these creatures seemed * This is in a Idler from Sir Roliert nun, who was boi\i there.' Cf. p. 66. Sibbald to Dr. Martin Lister, published in * The cathedral ot" St. Canice. The guides the I'bilos. IVtvis. tor October, 1696. Tlie tell that a y\\K^r, who strayed into the re- lettcr refers. l\v the way, for some particulars cesses of the Cave, was heard playing undcr- of the natural history of the Isle of Skye, to ground, near St. Mary's church, "in Kil- ' Mr. Martin, uiy friend a curious gentle- k-inn-. Cave of Dunmore. 507 to be very much amazed at the horrid solitude wherewith they were environed, and, as it were to lament their deplorable state, set themselves to howl with all their might, which hideous yelling, continued through the sonorous windings of the cave and re- verberated from the ambient rocks, would undoubtedly have put us in no small consternation had we not known who were the authors of it. By this time some of our company thought they had seen enough, and were very impatient to get out of this dreadful dungeon. The rest of us went on through a passage opposite to the former, and much of the same widcness, which led us into another cave that appeared every way formidably vastj and though the interval of time may have rendered my ideas of several things I there saw dim and imperfect, yet the dismal solitude, the fearful darkness, and vast silence of that stupendous cavern have left lasting impressions in my memory. The bottom is in great part strewed with huge massive stones, which seem by the violence of an earthquake to have been torn from the rock, and the menacing brows of the shattered remains which threaten every moment to tumble from the njof are apt to raise terrible apprehensions in the mind of one who beholds them over his head. One who visited this place in company of some others told me that when they were just come out of it they heard a dreadful noise from within, which they imputed to the fall of some of those rocky fragments. Advancing forward we met with a great white congelation set against the side of the cave, which some- what resembles a pulpit with a canopy over it, and hard by we saw the earth turned up at the entrance of a rabbit-hole, and I have heard otb>crs affirm that very far in this dark and dismal place they have met with fresh rabbits'-dung; now to me it seems strange to conceive what these little animals can live on, for it passes imagination to think they can find the way in and out of the cave, unless they can see in the dark. Having gone a little further, we were surprised with the agreeable murmur of a rivulet f" falling through the clefts of the rock^ it skims along the side of the cave, and may be, as I guess, about six feet over ; its water is wonderfully cool and pleasant, and so very clear that, where I thought it was scarce an inch deep, I found myself up to my knees. This excellent water runs but a little way ere the rock gapes to swallow it. " This rivulet has ceased to run. It is now a small pool. 5o8 Description of the But what is most surprising is that the bottom of this spring is ail overspread with dead men's bones, and for how deep I cannot tell. On the brink there lies part of a skull, designed as a drink- ing bowl for those whom either thirst or curiosity may prompt to taste of this subterraneous fountain j neither need any one's niceness be offended on account of the bones, for the continual current of the water has sufficiently cleansed them from all filth and putrefaction. 'Tis likewise reported that there are great heaps of dead men's bones to be seen piled up in the remote recesses of this cavern, but what brought them thither there's not the least glimpse of tradition that ever I could hear of to inform us. 'Tis true I remember to have heard one tell how an old Irishman, who served for a guide into the cave, solved him this problem, by saying that in days of yore a certain carnivorous beast dwelling there was wont furiously to lay about him, and whoever were unhappy enough to come in his way hurry them for food into that his dreadful den. But this, methinks, has not the least show of probability, for, in the first place, Ireland seems the freest country in the world from such manslaughtering animals, and, allowing there was some such pernicious beast, some anomalous production of this country, then, those bones being supposed the relicks of devoured men, one might reasonably expect to find 'em scattered up and down in all parts of the cave, rather than piled up in heaps or gathered together in the water. There are who 'M- guess that, during the Irish rebellion in '41, some Protestants, having sought refuge in this place, were there massacred by the Irish. But if it were so, methinks we should have something more than bare conjecture to trust to ; both history and tradition could never have been silent in it, and the Irishman I just now spoke of must certainly have known it, though of him indeed it might be said 1^^:. he would be apt to conceal the barbarous cruelty of his country- ''^\' men. Moreover, 'tis observed the deeper bodies are laid in the li^ earth, so as to be sheltered from the injuries and change of the WV weather ; they remain the longer uncorrupted. But I never heard !)• i that they who have seen these bones about thirty or forty years ago ) "■ observed any difference in them as to their freshness from what ( ' they are at present. Who knows but in former times this cave : ' served the Irish for the same purpose for which those artificial caves of Rome and Naples called catacombs were intended by Cave of DiLumore. 509 the ancients, i.e. was a repository for their deadj but still what should move them to lay the bones we saw in the water I cannot possibly divine. 'Tis likewise very hard to imagine why they were at the pains to drag the corses through long and narrow passages, that so they might inter them farther in the obscure depths of the cave; perhaps they thought their deceased friends would enjoy a more undisturbed security in the innermost chambers of this melancholy vault '. Proceeding forward we came to a place so low that our heads almost touched the top; a little beyond this we were forced to stoop, and soon after creep on our knees. Here the roof was thick set with crystal pipes, but they had all given over dropping; they were very brittle, and as we crept along we broke 'em off with our hats, which rubbed against the roof. On our left hand we saw a terrible hiatus, that by its black and scaring looks seemed to penetrate a great way into the bowels of the earth. And here we met with a good quantity of petrified water, in which, though folks may fancy they see the representations of a great many things, yet I profess 1 know not what more fitly to compare it to than to the blearings of a candle. These congelations which stood in our way had almost stopped up the passage, so that we were obliged to return. I will not deny that there are other passages which by a diligent search we might have discovered, or a guide acquainted with the place have directed us to. For 'tis generally thought no one ever went to the end of this cave, but that being sometimes forced to creep through narrow passages, one comes again into great and spacious vaults. 1 have heard talk of several persons who are said to have taken these subterraneous journeys, parti- cularly one St. Leger, who, having provided a box of torches and victuals for himself and his man, is reported to have travelled for the space of two or three days in the untrodden paths of this horrible cave, and that when his victuals were well-nigh spent and half his torches burnt out, he left his sword standing in the ground and made haste to return. I have also been told that others, having gone a great way, wrote their names on a dead man's skull, which they set up for a monument at their journey's ^ Dr. Foot's paper in the Archceological tains a minute description and a probable yournal, referred to in a former note, con- explanation of these human remains. 5 TO Description of the end. But I will not vouch for the truth of these and many other stories I have heard, many whereof are apparently fabulous. But one thing I am very credibly informed, viz. that out of the first cavern whence we entered into the two caves I already spoke of, there was formerly a passage into a third, which has been stopped up by the fall of such pendulous rocks as are above men- tioned ; and that, about thirty years ago, a grave and inquisitive gentleman of these parts, having gone a great way in the said cave, spy'd a hole in one side of it, into which, when his man had thrust his head in order to discover what sort of a place it was, the gentleman was amazed to find him speechless, where- upon he straightway drew him forth, and firing oft his pistol to put the air in motion, the man, whom the stagnating damp had caused to faint, came to himself, and told his master he had seen within the hole a huge and spacious cavern. This accident dis- couraged the gentleman from prosecuting his journey for the present, though he saw a plain and direct way before his face j nevertheless he designed to return soon after, and make a diligent inquiry into the nature and extent of that mysterious place, but was prevented by death. After all, I have known some so unreasonable as to question whether this cave was not the workmanship of men or giants in old time, though it has all the rudeness and simplicity of nature, and is much too big for art. Nor is there anything so strange or unaccountable in it, considering its entrance is in a hill, and the country all around it hilly and uneven ; for, from the origin of hills and mountains as it is delivered by Descartes ^, and since him by our later theorists, 'tis plain they are hollow and include vast caverns, which is further confirmed by experience and observation. Soon after I finished the foregoing description of the cave, I had it revised by Mr. William Jackson, a curious and philosophical young gentleman, who was very lately there. He said the account I gave was very agreeable to what he himself had seen, and was pleased to allow it a greater share of exactness than I durst have claimed to it. He had with him an ingenious friend, who designed to have taken the plan and dimensions of the several caverns and whatever was remarkable in them, but the uneasiness they felt from a stifling heat hindered them from * Principla, Pars Quarta, cap. 44. Cave of Dunmo7'e. 511 staying in the cave so long as was requisite for that purpose. This may seem somewhat surprising, especially if it be observed that we on the contrary found it extremely cool and refreshing. Now, in order to account for this alteration, 'tis to be observed those gentlemen felt the heat about the beginning of spring, before the influence of the sun was powerful enough to open the pores of the earth, which as yet were close shut by the cold of the pre- ceding winter, so that those hot streams which are continually sent up by the central heat (for that there is a central heat all agree, though men differ as to its cause, some deriving from an incrusted star, others from the nucleus of a comet sunburnt in its perihelium), remained pent up in the cavern, not finding room to perspire through the uppermost strata of rock and earth j whereas I was there about a month after the summer solstice, when the solar heat had for a long time and in its full strength dwelt upon the face of the earth, unlocking its pores and thereby yielding a free passage to the ascending streams '^. Mr. Jackson informed me of another observable [fact] that I had not taken notice of, viz. that some of the bones which lay in the water were covered over with a stony crust, and Mr. Bindon (so was the other gentle- man called) told me he met with one that to him seemed petrified throughout. Before I have done I must crave leave to advertise my reader that where, out of compliance with custom, I use the terms con- gelation, petrification, &c., I would not be understood to think the stones formed of the droppings were made of mere water metamorphosed by any lapidific virtue whatever j being, as to their origin and consistence, entirely of the learned Dr. Woodward's opinion, as set forth in his Natural History of the Eartb'^^y pp. 191 and 192, where he takes that kind of stone, by naturalists termed stalactites, to be only a concretion of such stony particles as are borne along with the water in its passage through the rock from whence it distils. ® This agrees remarkably with modern versal Deluge, and of the Effects thai it bad science, and is also characteristic of Berkeley, upon the Earth, by Jolin Woodward, M.D., who gives so many signs of fondness for such Professor of Physick in Grcsham College, speculations. The first edition appeared in London in '" An Essay towards the Natural History 1695, and the second in 1723. The rcr of the Earth. With an Account 0/ the Uni- ference here is to the first edition. JOURNAL OF A TOUR IN ITALY IN 1717. 1718.' Jan. 7, 1717. N.S. This morning I paced a gallery in the Vatican four hundred and eighty-eight paces long. We saw the famous library in that palace. It contains seventy-two thousand volumes, MSS. and printed. The building surely is not to be equalled in that kind, being nobly proportioned and painted by the best hands. It is in this form | the greatest length about eight hundred foot. The books are all contained in desks or presses, whose backs stand to the wall. These desks are all low, of an equal height, so that the highest books are within reach without the least straining. We saw a Virgil in MS. above fourteen hundred 1 [The journey of Berkeley during his second sojourn in Italy is partially recorded in four small volumes (now among the Berkeley Papers) which were evidently his travelling companions. Indeed one is almost tempted to believe that they were partly written in the carriage. A part of the record is in pencil, and for the most part is still legible. These journals are printed here almost in extenso, as they serve to illustrate his habit of observing everything that passed before him with great minute- ness and accuracy. They form also a very curious Itinerary of a part of the Classical Land of Italy not often visited. Some few quotations from printed books have been omitted with a simple reference to the pas- sages quoted. The Journal is kept entirely on the right-hand pages of the volumes, and these quotations, as well as some other notes, are inserted on the left-hand page. Where it has been judged desirable, they are introduced within brackets, with the letter M (for Marginal note) attached to them. It will appear that Berkeley, being at Rome, did, in one respect, as they do at Rome, for he dates his Journal according to the reformed Gregorian Calendar, adding N.S. to the date. It was not till thirty-five years afterwards (A.D.i 752) that England adopted this correction. The volumes have no connection, except as far as the dates and the course of the journey, indicate their dependence. I have traced the route followed, for the most part, by Orgiazzi's Map of Italy, and Cramer's Ancient Italy; and I have occasionally in- serted names in notes or brackets where there is a variation. As far as the testimony of the present record is concerned, it would appear that the travellers, after a sojourn of some dura- tion in Rome, set out for the south of Italy. The Journals now published contain no record of the interval between Jan. 25, 17 '7» and May 5, 171 7. At the former date they were in Rome, and on the latter left Naples for a tour in the more southern portion of Italy. Probably a volume of the series, containing the Journal of that inter- val, has been lost, like the Sicilian Journal. We find that the travellers were returning in September, as one of the dates in the Journal of Naples and Ischia is September, 1 717. Indeed the time of their return seems indicated under the date of June the youriial of a Tour in Italy. 513 •years old. It wanted the four disputed verses in the beginning of the yEneid. They shewed us another that seemed of an earlier date, but it was imperfect. Both these books were written in great letters without any space between the words. The first had inter-punctuations, the other none : both were illuminated with pictures, but those of the former were much more barbarous than the other, which is look[ed] on as an argument that it is less ancient. We saw a Terence of much the same age, as we could judge by the character. A Septuagint of great antiquity with accents. Uteris uncialibus. Henry the VlII's love letters to Anna Boleyn ; and his book against Luther, which procured him the title of Defender of the Faith. In his letter to the pope prefixed to this treatise he plainly assumes the composition of it to himself (which 9th. The latest date in these Journals ap- pears to be April 13, 1718, where Berkeley describes his arrival at Rome. They visited Naples and Ischia on their return, and (as recorded in a pencil note prefixed to the account of the Postal Stages between Naples ■and Rome) they left Naples April 11, 17 18. One circumstance cannot fail to strike the reader, I mean the great interest Berkeley appears to have taken in regard to the Tarantula and the Tarantati. He seems to have taken great pains to ascertain the truth on this matter, and upon the whole he appears favourable to the belief that the bite of this spider causes a desire for dancing at certain times, and that eventually the dancing effects the cure of the disease, when it does admit of cure. I believe that this is not in accordance with the result of more recent investigations *, and we may perhaps feel some surprise at the amount of evidence collected by Berkeley in confirmation of his view. But without being given to scep- ticism, reason and experience lead us to conclude, that when any abnormal affection of the nerves exists, we may expect a constant repetition of the same effect in different cases, where the same cause exists. The imagination is excited, and renders the patient prone to imitate any extravagances, which are thought to characterize the dis- eased persons. I do not think that such considerations are sufficient to determine the question, which is one of evidence only, but they must be always taken into the account. The evidence collected by Berkeley from personal observation will, however, always prove interesting, whatever our conclusion may be as to the reality of the influence of the bite of the Tarantula. There is another point also about these Journals which requires notice. They in- dicate a great familiarity with classical writers. The left-hand pages very often illustrate the journey by references to the ancient geographers and historians, as well as quotations from most of the Latin poets. Many of these it would be needless to insert, as they are for the most part to be found in Cramer's Italy. But they show a readiness and exactness which were not so easily at- tained in Berkeley's day as in our own. There are also many quotations and refer- ences to modern Italian books. In a letter, or a kind of discourse, addressed by the widow of the bishop to her son, she speaks of his very wide acquaintance with every class of books, and he certainly exhibits in these volumes very extensive reading +. H. J. R.] * In Cuvier's ^«i'»m/A'«i^rft>;«, under the family ^?-(jfA»!Vf«, gen. /.>'r«a, we read as follows :— ..... ' A species of this genus, the tarentula, so called from Tarentum, in the environs of which it is comnion, is high y celebrated. The poisonous nature of its i>ite is tliought to produce the most serious consequences, being frequently followed by death or Tnreiitism, results which can only be avoided by the aid of music and dancing. Well-informed persons, however, think it more necessary in these cases to combat the terrors of the imagination, than to apply an antidote to the poison ; medicine at all events presents other means of cure.' xt /-i k • ■ Several curious observations on the Lycosa Tarentula of the south of France have been published by M. Chabrier, Acad, de Lille, fascic. IV, Cuvier, Hng. Trans, vol. III. p. 307. I had not seen these observations when I wrote the remarks I have made in the text. — H. J. R. , t In Berkeley's account of the MSS. in the Vatican Library (Jan. 7, 1717), he mentions a ' Septuagint. 1 nis must be the celebrated Codex B, although Berkeley does not even notice that it contains the .Mew Testament also. Nothing can shew more clearly how little general progress Scripture criticism had then made ; though only three years aftenvards Bentley procured a collation of that MS. See Scrivener, Tischendorf, and Burgon s LeIUrs Jroxt Rome. vor„ IV. Li 5 14 yournal of a I observe, because it is doubted by some). The book is fairly writ on vellum: it is subscribed by the king's own hand. The epistle dedicatory is full of respect to the pope. I read the first chapter. His arguments are altogether ad hominem and ad vere- cundiam. The style is better than the reasoning, which shews the prince and the soldier rather than the scholar. In the after- noon we saw the statues in Belvedere part of the Vatican. The principal are Cleopatra, Apollo (found in the Baths of Caracalla), the famous Laocoon, and Antinous. These are all masterpieces of antiquity. The Apollo and Laocoon can never be enough admired. 8. A little after the seventeenth hour Mr. Ashe and I waited on Cardinal Gualtieri. He, as the greatest part of the Roman car- dinals and nobles, hath his apartments up two pair of stairs, which they esteem for the goodness of the air. In the ante- chamber we met with a good number of gentlemen, lay as well as ecclesiastic. I signified to a gentleman (a knight of some order, for every cardinal hath knights and counts for his domestics) that we wished to kiss his eminence's hands ; upon which he conducted us into an inner spacious chamber with a fire (which is no com- mon thing in Italy) : another gentleman was charged with the message to the cardinal, who immediately came to us. He is about sixty, a jolly well-looking man, grey hair, rather low than tall, and rather fat than lean. He entertained us with a great deal of frankness and civility. We sate all in armed chairs round the fire. We were no sooner seated, but his eminence obliged us to put on our hats, which we did without ceremony, and he put on his cardinal's square cap. We discoursed on several subjects, as the affairs of England, those of the Turks and Venetians, and several other topics, in all which his eminence shewed himself a man of sense, good breeding, and good humour. He occasion- ally told us a curious point of natural history. The pope every morning regales the cardinals with a present of his own bread. This bread used to be excellent when his holiness lived at the Vatican, but upon his removal to Monte Cavallo, though the same bakers, the same water, and the same corn were employed, yet it was found impossible to make the bread so good there as it was at the Vatican, which the cardinal did imagine to proceed Tour 171 Italy. 515 from some unaccountable quality in the air. He talked to us of the carnival, and invited us very civilly to see the triumphs out of a balcony in his palace, which he told us stood very conve- niently. When by our silence we shewed an inclination to be going, his eminence took off his cap and said he would no longer abuse our patience. It is not reckoned manners to break off a visit to a cardinal before you are dismissed by him. The form being in that as in other points to treat them as crowned heads, to whom they are esteemed equal. In the afternoon we went to the Villa Borghese. I liked the gardens, they are large, have fine cut walks, white deer, statues, fountains, groves ; nothing of the little French gout, no parterres. If they are not so spruce and trim as those in France and England, they are nobler and, I think, much more agreeable. The house is noble, and hath the richest outside that I have anywhere seen, being enchased with beautiful relievos of antiquity. The portico was furnished with old chairs, very entire, being of hard stone, coloured red in some places and gilt in others, carved too with several devices. It was too dark to see the pictures, so we put off viewing the inside to another time. 9- Our first visit this day was to the sepulchre of Cestius. This 'building is pyramidal, of great smoothed pieces of marble. A con- siderable part of it is now underground, but what appears is about a hundred foot in length, each side of the square basis, and about a hundred and fifty the side of the pyramid. There is a chamber within in which there have been not many years ago several antique figures painted in fresco. They are now defaced and the entrance made up. This monument lies between the Mons Aventinus and the Mons Testaceus. Having viewed the sepulchre of Cestius, we ascended the Mons Testaceus, from whence we had a fair pro- spect of Rome. This mount was formed in the time of old Rome by the potters, who had this place appointed them for heaping together their rubbish, to prevent their choking the Tiber. You see the mount to be made up of bits of broken potsherds. After this we went along the Via Ostiensis (of which we could still see some remains) to St. Paul's church. By the wayside we saw a chapel with a bas-relief representing the parting embrace between St. Peter and St. Paul. The inscription tells you this is the spot L 1 2 5 1 6 Journal of a where those holy martyrs were parted as they went to their martyrdom, the one (St. Peter) turning to the right to Montorio, the other going to the Tre Fontane. St. Paul's church, which stands above a mile out of the town, was built by Constantine: there are nevertheless two ranges of noble Corinthian pillars on both sides of the great isle, that seem too elegant for that age, in which the arts were much on the decline. Probably they be- longed to some more ancient building. On the floor of this church we saw a column of white marble in shape of a candle- sticky for which purpose it had been made in Constantine's time. •It was all over adorned with very rude sculpture. Under the great altar there lie one half of the bodies of St. Peter and St. Paul (the other half being under the great altar of St. Peter's). The rude painting and mosaic deserves no regard. 1 must not forget that this church is very rich in indulgences. We read in an inscription on the wall, that an indulgence of above six thousand years was got by a visit to that church on any ordinary day, but a plenary remission on Christmas and three or four other days. I asked a priest that stood by whether by virtue of that remission a man was sure of going straight to heaven without touching at purga- tory, in case he should then die. His answer was that he cer- tainly would. From this church we went to that of the Three Fountains, four miles from Rome southward. This is a small church built in the place where St. Paul was beheaded. They shewed us in a corner of the church the very pillar of white marble on which his head was cut off. The head, say they, made three leaps, and a fountain sprung up at each leap. These foun- tains are now shewn in the church, and strangers never fail to drink of them, there being an indulgence (I think) of a hundred years attending that function. The altar-piece of this church is finely painted by Guido Reni. At a small distance from this church there is another called Scala Coeli, from a vision of St. Bernard's, who, say they, as he was celebrating mass in this place saw angels drawing the souls in purgatory up to heaven. This vision we saw painted in the church. Underneath, they tell you, are interred 10303 Christian soldiers with the Tribune Zeno, who were picked out of the Roman army and martyred in this place. All these odd things are not only told by the monks or friars, but inscribed in marble in the churches. Tour in Italy. 517 10. Mr. Hardy, the Abbate Barbieri, Mr. Ashe, and I went this morning to see the famous Farnesian Palace. The gallery so much spoken of proved smaller than I expected, but the painting is excellent; it is all over done in fresco by Annibal Carache. Here and in other parts of the palace we saw several fine antique busts and statues. The principal are the Hercules, commonly called the Farnesian Hercules, the Flora, the bust of Caracalla, the flesh whereof is wonderfully soft and natural, and an admirable group of Zethus, Amphion, Antiope, Dirce, and a bull, all cut of one stone, done by two Rodians. The two young men, sons of the Theban king, tie Dirce to the bull's horns in order to preci- pitate her into a well (as the inscription on a tablet hung by the statue tells you). The bull and the men are incomparably well done, but there is little expression in the face of Dirce, which makes me suspect the head to be modern. The easiness, the strength, the beauty, and the muscles of the Hercules cannot be too much admired. The drapery of the Flora is admirable, and the bust of Antoninus Caracalla is flesh and blood — nothing can be softer. In the afternoon we drove out of town through the Porta Collatina, leaving Lucullus's gardens on the left hand and Sallustius's on the right. We got by three a clock of our reckon- ing to the Villa Borghese. The outside and gardens we had seen before ; we spent this afternoon in viewing the apartments. The greatest part of the pictures are copies. I remember some good ones of Corregio, and the famous Battle of Constantine by Julio Romano. In the apartments of this villa we saw several excellent statues : those most remarkable of the antique are the Hermaphro- dite, the Gladiator, and, on the outside of the wall, that of Curtius on horseback leaping into the cavern. I must not forget three statues of Bernini in these apartments, that raise my idea of that modern statuary almost to an equality with the famous ancients — Apollo and Daphne, iF,neas with Anchises on his shoulders, David going to fling the stone at Goliah. The grace, the softness, and expression of these statues is admirable. In our return we •took a walk round part of the walls of the city. Both walls and turrets were pretty entire on that side. They have stood since Justinian's time, having been built by Bellisarius. We entered 5 1 8 • Journal of a the city at the Porta Viminalis, stepped into the Victoria, a beautiful church encrusted with ornaments of the richest stones, as jallo antico, verde antico, jaspers, &c. In this are hung-up trophies taken from the Turks. After this, we paid a second visit to Dioclesian's Baths, admiring the lofty remains of that stupendous fabric, which is now possessed by the Carthusians. In the pavement of the church, made out of the standing part of the baths, we saw a meridian line (like that of Bologna) drawn by the learned Bianchini. 1 1. This morning Mr. Domvile and I spent in looking for Greek books. The shops are but ill furnished, and give one a mean idea of the Roman literature. In the afternoon we took the air on the Mons Quirinalis — drove by Montalto's gardens towards S. Maria Maggiore and S. John de Lateran. 12. In the forenoon I took a walk on the mount behind our lodging, on which stands the church and convent of La Trinita, overlook- ing the Piazza d'Espagne, anciently the Naumachia Domitiana. From thence I had a good prospect of Monte Cavallo, St. Peter's, and the intermediate parts of the town. When I had amused myself some time here, I walked towards the Porta del Popolo, where we first entered the town. By the way I stepped into the church dedicated to St. Ambrose and St. Charles. I viewed some good pictures in it. It hath a dome and a handsome fa9ade. Tlie Piazza del Popolo is contrived to give a traveller a magnificent impression of Rome upon his first entrance. The Guglio ^ in the middle, the two beautiful churches of the same architecture that front the entrance, standing on either side of the end of the Corso, or great street directly opposite to the gate, carrying the eye in a straight line through the middle of the city almost to the Capitol • while on the sides there strike off two other straight streets, inclined in equal angles to the Corso, the one leading to the Piazza d'Espagne, the otlier towards the Piazza Navona. From the Guglio your prospect shoots through these three streets. All this I say is contrived to produce a good effect on the eye of a ^ [Berkeley distinctly writes Guglio. The usual form is Guglia, which also means a needle.] Tour in Italy. 519 new-comer. The disposition, it must be owned, is pleasing, and if the ordinary houses that make up the greatest part of the streets were more agreeable and regular, would make a very noble pro- spect. The Guglio or Obelisk in the middle of the Piazza is a noble monument brought from Egypt and set up in the Circus Maximus by Augustus Cesar, where it was dug up in the time of Sixtus Quintus, and by order of that pope set upon pedestal in this place and dedicated to the cross. It was the same pope that caused the greatest part, if not all, the guglios to be erected in the several piazzas of Rome, e. g. in the Piazza Navona, Piazza di S. Pietro, Piazza di S. Maria Maggiore, before the Minerva, Sec. The greatest, as everybody knows, is that in the Piazza of St. Peter. Most of these obelisks are scribbled over with hierogly- phics. They are each of a single piece of granite. Nothing can give one a higher notion of the stupendous magnificence of the old Egyptian monarchs who made these obelisks than that the Roman emperors in their greatest glory valued themselves upon bringing them from Egypt; and the most spirited of the popes looked upon it as the greatest event of his life to be able to place one of them on its pedestal. In the afternoon we walked to the Piazza di Navona, enquired for books, and viewed the fa9ades of several palaces by the way. Over the doors of the palaces of the cardinals, princes, and public ministers there hang up several coats of arms, whereof the pope regnant's is sure to be one ; e. g. over Ottoboni's portal we saw the arms of his holiness, the arms of France because he is protector of the French nation, those of Venice because he is a Venetian, and those of the S. P. Q^R. 13- Mr. Hardy, Mr. Ashe, and myself drove in the forenoon to St. Peter's, where we entertained ourselves in reviewing and ex- amining the structure, with the statues and pictures that adorn it. Of the pictures, those which most pleased me were a St. Sebastian of Dominiquin and the assumption of St. Petronilla by Guercino, the chiaro-oscuro of the latter giving it so strong a relief that it deceives the eye beyond any picture in the church \ and the body of St. Sebastian is a very fine figure. The expression too of the bystanders, particularly a commanding soldier on horseback, is ad- mirable. Having seen the palace of Farnese and the Borghesian 520 younial of a villa since my being last at St. Peter's, the statues did not near please me now so much as then. You may see grace, beauty, and a fine attitude in these statues of Algardi, Porta, Bernini, Sec. They have sometimes a fine expression in the face \ but on a near inspection you perceive nothing so finished, none of those delicate contours, those softnesses, that life and breath that you discover in the fine antiques. The best statue in St. Peter's, in my judgment, is the Dead Christ of M, Angelo Bonaroti. I must not forget an old Gothic iron statue of St. Peter that stands in one side of the great isle, the feet whereof are much worn away by kissing. We saw a soldier not only kiss the feet, but also rub his head and face upon them. From St. Peter's we went to the Loggie of the Vatican to view Raphael's pictures there, which detained us till it was passed dinner time. We saw nothing after dinner. 14. In the morning Dr. Chenion, Mr. Hardy, Mr. Ashe, and I enter- tained ourselves with the sight of the palace of Don Livio Odes- calchi, Duke of Bracciano ; where we saw in the upper apartments a great number of fine pictures by the best masters. I remarked particularly a famous one of Raphael's, said to have cost fourteen thousand crowns : it is a small piece of the Blessed Virgin, with two puttini, our Saviour and St. John the Baptist : it is full of life and grace. Below stairs we saw several vaulted chambers well furnished with statues, ancient and modern, as well as with many beautiful pillars of antique stones, the mines whereof are now either exhausted or unknown. From thence we went to the palace of Prince Borghese. This is a vast palace, the salons and chambers spacious and lofty, as well as many in number : there is particularly one fine vista through nine rooms, that is lengthened by a hole cut through an adjacent house (which the prince bought for that purpose) to a fountain and a beautiful passage. In this palace we saw an incredible number of fine pictures. They are reckoned to be seventeen hundred. Many portraits by Titian that seemed to breathe. Fine soft graceful pieces of Corregio. Excellent ones of Raphael, Annibal Carache, Guercino, Guido Reni, Reubens, Lanfranc, Paul Veronese, Sec. I must particularly remark that famous piece of Titian's, where Venus is represented binding Cupid's eyes. They shewed us two pictures, the one said Tour in Italy. 521 to be nine hundred years old : the other since the days of Romu- lus; it is on metal in a barbarous taste, and represents the rape of the Sabines. In the garden we saw several water-works and statues. In the afternoon we visited churches, particularly the Pantheon, and the two principal churches of the Jesuits, that of Jesus and that of St. Ignatius. The eye is never weary with view- ing the Pantheon. Both the rotunda itself and the vestibule dis- cover new beauties every time we survey them. The beauty and delicacy of the pillars of jallo antico within, as well as the grandeur^ the nobleness, and the grace of the granite pillars with- out, cannot be too much admired. Over the great altar in the upper end of the church we saw a repository, in which they say is con- tained a picture of the Madonna by Saint Luke. They pretend to have six or seven more by the same hand in other churches of Rome, but they are kept shut up (as well as the image of our Saviour at St. Paul's Church that spoke to St. Bridgit), so that it is hardly possible to get a sight of them except at some extraordi- nary time when they are exposed out of devotion. The church of St. Ignatius is richly painted. The ceiling is raised by the per- spective of Padre Pozzo^ and a cupola is so represented by the same hand in perspective that it wonderfully deceives the eye as one waiks towards it from the door along the great aisle. The fine altar, consecrated to one Gonzago a Jesuit (styled Beatus only, as not being yet canonized), is well worth seeing; the sculpture is fine, and the pillars very rich, wreathed of verde antico; the floor of that chapel paved with the richest stones, as verde antico, jallo antico, &c. Here are likewise to be seen beautiful pillars of jasper, with counter-pillars of alabaster. I have already spoken of the church of Jesus, and the rich altar in it, I shall only observe that as these two churches are dedicated to the two patrons of the order, they seem to shew a greater respect to Ignatius Loyola than to our blessed Saviour, — the church of the former being much the greater and finer of the two; besides that in the church of Jesus the glorious rich altar is dedicated to St. Ignatius. In the forenoon we paid a visit to the Capitol, where we met Dr. Chenion and Mn Hardy. Having surveyed the statue of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Pius on horseback, which we had 52 2 journal of a often seen before, we went up to the top of the convent belonging to Ara Coeli, where we delighted ourselves for some time with the prospect of Rome, the Campagna, and the Apennine. Amongst other hills, 1 took particular notice of Soracte. * Vides ut alta stet nive Candida [sic], Soracte.' Hor. It is a mountain towards the north-east, in shape something like a sugar-loaf. Having puzzled one another with questions on the buildings, and run over the seven hills, we visited the church famous for its having an altar built in that very place where Augustus offered incense Primogenito filio Dei, by the admonition (say they) of the Sybil and a vision of the Blessed Virgin with the infant Christ in her arms in a golden circle in the heavens, which an old friar assured us Augustus saw in that same place, and as an inscription round the altar testifies. From thence we went to see some statues in the Capitol a third time. I remarked particularly two graceful Muses antique on one of the staircases. After that we paid a visit to the Tarpeian rock, which we all agreed was high and steep enough to break either the late Bp. Burnet's or any man else^s neck who should try the experiment by leaping down^. In the afternoon we saw the Villa Pamphilia. It stands to the west of the town, in a very delightful situation. The gardens are neat, spacious, and kept in good order, adorned with statues, fountains, &c. ; but the prospect, with the variety of risings and vales, make the greatest part of the beauty. The house is small, but of a very pretty gusto, well furnished with statues and re- lievos (which last are set in the outside of the wall, as in the Villa Borghese). It is a great inconvenience to the persons of quality in Rome that they durst never lie in their villas for fear of the bad air. They only come sometimes in the day to hunt, or divert themselves in the gardens. I must not forget the church of S. Pietro Montorio, where St. Peter was beheaded. In this church we saw the Transfiguration, the last piece designed by Raphael. From hence Rome is seen to the greatest advantage, the fa9ades of the houses meeting the eye as they fall down the ^ This is an allusion to a remark in Bp. Rocli is now so small a fall, that a man Burnet's ' Letters from Switzerland, Italy,' would think it no great matter, for his &c. In that book, 2nd ed., p. 238, the diversion, to leap over it,' &c. H. J, R. following passage occurs : — ' The Tarpeian Toicr ill Italy. 523 seven hilJs towards the Tiber on the adverse side. This prospect is truly noble, and I believe the noblest of any city in the world. 16. This morning I spent at home. In the afternoon, Mr. Ashe, Mr. Hardy, and I went to see the palace of the Barberini. It is, I think, the noblest palace in Rome. The architecture is magni- ficent. The situation on the Mons Quirinalis delightful. It hath many noble chambers and salons, being of great extent, but with- out a gallery. I much wonder this defect should be so common in the Roman palaces, a gallery being a thing of less expense and more beauty, as well as a fitter repository for pictures, than a suite of rooms which serve to no use, their families being not propor- tioned to their palaces. This palace consists of two apartments, that of the Prince and that of the Cardinal Barberini, both ex- tremely well furnished with pictures and statues, especially the latter. In this palace I could not forbear remarking the picture of a giostro or tournament given by Prince Barberini for the enter- tainment of the Queen of Sweden ; it cost him above seventy thousand crowns. The ridiculous part of it was to see a great number of Roman princes and cavaliers marching in sumptuous trappings and great order to attack a green dragon of pasteboard. Amongst the fine pictures here is an incomparable Madeleine of Guido Reni, reckoned the best piece that ever he did. The Madonna and Holy Family of Perugino is the most valuable piece of that painter that I have seen. His drapering every one knows to of a little gout, and he knew nothing of the chiaro-oscuro. But for sweetness, grace, and beauty there is enough in this piece to render it admirable. I must not forget two excellent portraits, the one of Clara Farnese by Gaetano, the other by Parmeginino : it is one head of four in a group, that which looks directly at you. It is perfect life. Here is likewise a most curious piece of art, the bust of Urban the Eighth, done in terra cotta by a blind man, and well done. The antique statue of Brutus holding the heads of his two sons is formed upon a subject that should express the greatest contrast of passion, and yet there is nothing of it. This and another statue of Diogenes, both large and well preserved, shew the ancients had indifferent statuaries as well as the moderns. Th^ Diana and Adonis of Mazzuoli, a statuary now alive in 524 yournal of a Rome, are both very fine, and I think equal to Bernini. They shewed us a piece of ancient mosaic, of Europa and the Bull, &c. It seemed nothing extraordinary. But the greatest curiosity in this palace are some curious pieces in fresco, well preserved from the time of old Rome, and dug up in Tivoli. They are seven or eight in number, most chiaro-oscuro, or painting of two colours. But there is one piece of a Venus and two Cupids incomparably fresh and beautiful. It hath some resemblance to the manner of Guido Reni. In this palace we saw a noted statue antique of a countryman asleep. Nothing can be more soft and natural. There is another of a slave eating the hand of a man, in which extreme hunger is expressed with great art. Upon the staircase there is the noblest antique lion in stone that I have anywhere seen. We ended the day with a walk in the gardens of Montalto. They are very spacious, being said to contain three miles in circuit : cypress trees, espalier hedges, statues, and fountains make the ornaments of this place, which, like the gardens in Italy, is not kept with all that neatness that is observed in French and English gardens. 17. We went this morning with Mr. Hardy and Dr. Chenion to the piazza of S. Maria Maggiore, where we saw the ceremony per- formed of blessing the horses, mules, and asses. On this day every year people of all ranks send or bring their cattle of that kind to receive a blessing from the fathers of St. Anthony. We saw a great number of fellows, with their horses dressed out with ribbons, pressing forward to the blessing. This was dis- tributed at an office in the corner of a street or turning by a father in his cap and surplice, who threw holy water on all that passed ; at the same the owner of the horse gave him a tes- toon and a wax taper ; some country fellows who had not money paid the priest in fruits, corn, or the like. This solemnity lasts the whole day. From hence we went to Dioclesian's baths. The eight entire pillars of granite, each one single stone, standing in that part of the thermae which is converted into the Carthusians' church, we found on measuring to be full fifteen foot round each of them, and proportionably high. The porphyry bason, which lies in the yard, is above six and forty foot round, of one piece. Not Tour ill Italy. 525 far from this church there stands another entire round building which was part of the thermic, and now makes a real church. Having spent some time in viewing the paintings here and in an adjacent church dedicated to St. Susannah, we took a walk in the Carthusian cloisters, which are very beautiful, having been de- signed by Michael Angelo. In the afternoon Mr. Ashe and 1 visited the Villa Medici, on the Monte Pintiano. The building is handsome, designed by Julio Romano, but a present stripped of its best furniture and neglected. We saw nevertheless some good statues. A small Venus, excellent ; a large Cupid, antique and good ; with several antique busts and statues, in the house. In the gardens we took particular notice of a lion done by Flaminius Vacca, of two vastly large granite vases, of a single piece each, and of a group of about sixteen figures, Niobe and her children, antique, well done, and dug up in the garden. From thence we went to the cafe which was then kept on the piazza, and stood facing S. Maria Maggiore, on account of blessing the horses. 18. I saw the pope and cardinals at St. Peter's. There was fine singing, much incensing, carrying about, dressing, and undressing of the pope. His holiness was carried in a chair with two screens or even-tails of feathers, one on each side, protecting him from the air, though within the church. Cardinals officiated at the high altar. A great baldachino, forming a sort of tabernacle, was set up for his holiness between the high altar and the upper end of the choir. This day was the feast of St. Peter's Chair. The guards of light horse and cuirassiers were drawn up in the piazza of St. Peter's, and there was a great number of cardinals and prelates with fine coaches and rich liveries. The cardinals had some three, some four or more coaches of their domestics. Cardinal Aquaviva's liveries were particularly splendid. They came out of church each under a canopy or umbrella to his coach. In the afternoon we saw the lesser palace of Farnese with Mr. Terwhit and Mr. Hardy. The gallery, whose ceiling is painted by Raphael, is very well worth seeing. It contains the Supper of the Gods at the marriage of Cupid and Psyche, and in another piece the admission of Psyche to immortality in a council of the gods. In the skirts of the platfond are painted other figures relating to 526 Jozirnal of a the same design, particularly Venus begging Jove to make her daughter-in-law immortal, which is excellently well expressed. 19. This day we resolved to spend in viewing the antiquities upon the Mount Esquiline. What we first saw was the Church Delia Santa Croce in Gierusalemme. It was built by Constantine, and hath fine pillars of granite on either side the great aisle, thought to have been taken by him out of the temple dedicated to Venus and Cupid hard by. We could not see the piece of the holy cross which is preserved in this church, it being shewn only at certain seasons, and then from an eminence or high pulpit appointed for that purpose. From hence we went to see the ruins of the temple of Venus and Cupid. It stands in the vineyard of the Olivetans, but so defaced that we can make nothing of it. Not far from hence we saw the remains of the Amphitheatrum Castrense, and the conduits of the Aqua Claudia which brought the water from Frescati. We clambered up the ruin to look into the pipe, which is built of huge wrought stones. Upon the frieze over a gate in the aquaduct I could read Caisar Augustus Germanicus. The next ruin we saw was the Templum Minervae Medicae, as some will have it ; according to others it was a basilica. But the shape seems to refute the latter opinion. What remains is a decagonal building, with part of the vault standing, and large niches all round it. In the neighbouring church of St. Bibbiana we saw a fine statue of that saint by Bernini, also the column where she was whipped, and a vast urn of one piece of alabaster, wherein her body lies under the altar. We met with an instance of be- haviour in this church not to be matched in Italy. A poor boy who gave some herbs that growing [in] the church are supposed to have a healing virtue from the saint, refused to take money from Mr. Hardy, who, having accepted his present, thought himself obliged to force it on him. The next antiquity we observed was the Castello de I'Aqua Martia, in which we were told the trophies of Marius were hung up. It was of brick a-piece, with something like a great niche in it, standing, but nothing that could give us an idea of the fabric when entire. From thence we passed through the arch of Gallienusj it was plain, without those bas-reliefs and ornaments which are com- Tour in Italy. 527 monly met with on the like arches. This was in our way to S. Maria Maggiore, near which we observed a prodigious marble pillar of great beauty, raised on a pedestal something like the Monument in London. This pillar was found among the ruins of the Temple of Peace in the Via Sacra. We passed through the church, which is one of the four Basiliche, the other three being St. Peter's, St. John de Lateran, and St. Paul's. We stopped to survey the chapel of Paul the Fifth, which is most richly adorned with marble incrustations, fine architecture, and statues. I must not forget that as we were going to our antiquities this morning, I observed by the way a church with an inscription signifying that it was dedicated to the Holy Trinity and to St. Charles the cardinal-archbishop of Milan. In the afternoon we intended to visit what remained on the Mons Esquilinus, but in the way saw the remains of the basilica of Nerva. The wall is noble, of rustic work, like the palaces in Florence, vast stones heaped one upon the other, with an irregular jutting out here and there. It now makes part of a nunnery. The pillars that re- main are of white marble fluted, very large. The next curiosity we saw was an ancient temple of Minerva : some pillars and entablatures are remaining, with relievos, and a statue of Minerva in the wall. These near the Columna Trajana, in our way to the Esquiline, where the first thing we saw was the church of 8. Pietro in Vincoli. We took but a transient view of a famous tomb here, resolving to come another time. Hence we went to the Thermae di Tito. The ruins above ground are pretty unin- telligible. They are of brick, as the other thermae, but the stucco, &c. one may see. They were encrusted anciently with marble, as the other baths do likewise appear to have been. At some distance under ground we saw eight large galleries or halls, that were anciently reservoirs of water for the baths of Titus. The walls are covered with plaster as hard as stone, and in many places encrusted with a sort of tartar from the water. In our return we saw a piece of antiquity which they will have to be a remnant of the temple of Priapus : it is a small rotunda, with light only through the dome ; in the wall withinside there is a large conical stone, of which they can give no account. Hard by we saw the remains of the circus of Sallustius, with the situation of his gardens and palace. 528 yournal of a 20. This forenoon we saw the Mausoleum of Augustus. What now remains is a round wall, and some vaults which are supposed to have been burying-places for his liberti. We saw some scattered vases, statues, and bas-reliefs. This monument stands in the north-west part of the town, between the Corso and the Strada di Ripetta. After this we visited the castle of St. Angelo. Having passed the guards and the outward lodge, we entered certain passages and staircases hollowed out of the Moles Adriani, which was a solid building, the lower part whereof still remains and makes part of the castle. It is of a round figure, seeming of no great strength, hath in it more room than one would imagine from its outward appearance. We saw amongst other things a salon painted by Perin del Vaga. His design is very graceful, and like his master Raphael. We saw another large and fair salon, painted by Perin and Julio Romano, with a good deal of chiaro- oscuro by Polidore Caravagio. At the upper end of this hall was painted the Angel, and opposite to him at the other end the Emperor Adrian. We saw the two places, one where the archives, and particularly the Donation of Constantine, is kept, the other where the five millions of Sixtus Quintus are preserved. Both these are shut up with iron doors. They shewed us two rooms handsomely furnished, which they said was to be the pope's apartment in case of necessity. In a like apartment, underneath, Clement the Seventh was lodged when prisoner of Charles the Fifth. When we saw the castle, that same apartment, we were told, lodged a Spanish bishop who had been there about six months by order of the Inquisition. He was the same I formerly mistook to have been lodged in the prisons of the Inquisition. Our guide told us he was never visited by any but the inquisitors, nor allowed to go out of his apartment. He said he had often seen him, that he is esteemed a man of great understanding, has a bishopric of twelve or fourteen thousand crowns a year, and is about fifty years of age. We saw an armoury which seemed no great matter, the armour was divided and hung up by pieces that looked rusty enough. The person who keeps it shewed us a col- lection of arms which belonged to criminals executed for murder or carrying concealed weapons. Amongst the rest the pistol that dropped in St. Peter's or in the pope's chapel from the Prince of Tony in Italy. 529 Parma, for which he was condemned to be beheaded by Sixtus Quintus. Below in the court of the castle we saw a Greek arch- bishop who had been fourteen years prisoner of the Inquisition in this castle, and was lately acquitted. 1 must not forget the statue of the angel with a sword in his hand on the top of the castle, in the very spot where he appeared, as they say, to all the people in the time of the plague in the reign of Gregory the Great. From which event the castle takes its name. The bridge of St. Angelo, which leads over the Tiber towards the castle, de- serves notice, being nobly adorned on each side with statues, ancient and modern. From hence we went to see the remains of the Theatre of Marcellus. The Doric and Ionic orders in two ranges are still to be seen j the Corinthian, and perhaps the Composite, being destroyed. Hard by we saw the ruins of the Portico of Octavia, as we were told, though in the inscription we could see mention of Pertinax, but not any of her. As we re- turned home by the Pillar of Antoninus we had the curiosity to enter into it, and go part of the way up stairs. The staircase is hollowed in the solid stones that, being of vast bigness, compose the column. The reliefs with which the outside of the Pillar is covered from top to bottom arc not reckoned altogether so deli- cate as those on Trajan's Pillar. In the afternoon we saw the remains of the Thermae Constantini, being only an old wall in the gardens of the palace of Colonna. Not far from hence we saw an ancient brick tower called Torre di Militia : it hath stood since the time of Trajan, and at a distance seems very entire. We could not come at it because it is hemmed up in a convent of nuns. It is a pity so considerable a remain of antiquity should be rendered inaccessible by that circumstance. It is not very unlike a steeple, being of a square figure in the lower part ; and the upper, which is a tower distinct from and lesser than the under, out of which it proceeds, is a square with the angles rounded. From hence we visited the Giardini d'Aldobrandino (though now possessed by Prince Pamphilio): in them we saw a vast number of ancient statues, the greatest part of which had nothing extraordinary, many of them but indifferent; some re- lievos on the outside of the house arc excellent. I remarked one which I cannot but think represents the combat between Dares and Entellus mentioned in Virgil. An old and a young man are \'OL. IV. M m 530 yottrnal of a fighting with such things as the poet describes the cestus's to be. But the greatest curiosity in this house is the ancient picture in fresco dug up in the Thermae of Titus. It contains ten figures, representing the bride and bridegroom on the marriage night, with maid-servants who seem to burn incense or to be employed in preparing a bath. The bridegroom sits on a very low sort of seat not unlike an oriental sofa. The bride sits, with a modest downcast look, on the other side the bed, in conference with another woman. The bed is without curtains, and like enough to the modern beds one meets with now in Italy. There are three stands, one of which hath a wide vessel in it, in the chamber about which the women seem to be employed. The attitudes are very well, the colouring seems never to have been good, and the drapery but of an indifferent gout. I took the more notice of this piece because it is almost the only one extant of antiquity, at least the most entire, the rest being but fragments much defaced j those shewn for ancient paintings in the palace Barberini being, as I am since informed, done by Polidore Caravagio. This old piece was found in the baths of Titus, where likewise were found the Apollo and the Laocoon in the Vatican : as was the Farnesian Hercules, and the group of the Bull and Zethus and Amphion, Sec. in the baths of Caracalla. We ended the day with music at St. Agnes in the Piazza Navona. 21. This morning we went about two miles out of town towards the north-east to see the church of St. Agnes without the City. It being the day of St. Agnes's feast, we could not exactly see the pillars or inside, they being hung with damask. Here we saw some very bad reliefs representing our Saviour on the ass, &c., four columns of porphyry at the great altar, on which stood an agate statue of the saint, and in the convent an excellent bust of our blessed Saviour by Michael Angelo : it is incomparably fine. Hard by we saw the remains of the Hippodromus of Constantine, and the Mausoleum, as some will have it, of Constantia, as others, the Temple of Bacchus. It is round and entire. A circular row of double figures surround the altar, which stands in the middle of the building. Under it lies the body of Constantia, which was taken out of a vast urn of porphyry very entire, now standing in Tour in Italy. 531 the church. It hath no inscription, and is on all sides adorned with indifferent relievo representing winged boys squeezing grapes, which gives some colour to the opinion of those who will have this building to have been the Temple of Bacchus. In our return we observed, what we had often seen before, the noble Fountain of Aqua Felice, built and adorned with fine statues and relievo by Sixtus Quintus. It hath three great openings, whence the water gusheth forth abundantly. It stands next the Thcrmce Dioclesianse, just by the church of the Madonna de Victoria, which we entered, and spent some time in surveying the statues and pictures of that beautiful little church, particularly the statue of the angel aiming a dart at the heart of St. Teresa, wonderfully well done by Bernini, and the Madonna co'l Bambino and other figures, an excellent picture of Dominiquin's. In the afternoon we went to see the remains of antiquity on the Mons Celius. It lies on the south-east, between the Aventine and the Esquiline. As we passed by the Coliseum we observed some ruins, said to be the remains of the Domus Aurea Neronis, which being of vast extent, reached to the Esquiline, and stood in great part on Monte Celio as well as in the plain. We saw likewise in several places the remains of a prodigious aqueduct, and a wall with several arches consisting of vast stones, said to be the remains of the Curia Hostilia, But the chief curiosity on Monte Celio is the Temple of Faunus. It is an entire building, of great an- tiquity, round, having two circular rows of Ionic pillars, with a good space between them : the interstices between the outer pillars are made up, which anciently, without doubt, lay open, which makes it probable there was some external wall that com- prehended both rows of pillars. These pillars are of an unequal thickness, and the chapiters but ill wrought, though all the shafts of single pieces of granite, which shews the building to have been very ancient, before the flourishing of arts in Rome. The walls on the inside are painted with martyrdoms, particularly with that of St. Denys, who is represented, according to the legend, with his head in his hands after it was cut off. St. John de Latcran being on this mount, we made a second visit to that church, which I take to be the noblest in Rome next to St. for the inside, as S. Maria Maggiore is for the outside. What I had not observed before were four noble Huted pillars of bronze-gilt in an M m 2 532 yotirnal of a altar of the church in one end of the same, which was built by Constantine : there is a much mosaic and gilding on the roof, very ancient, probably from Constantine's time. The cloisters of this church are of that emperor's building, and well worth seeing. One may see a great tendency in that age to the Gothic, the pillars being small, and many of them wreathed oddly, and adorned with inlaid stones in a very mean manner. But the most valuable things are the sacred antiquities brought from Jeru- salem : as the column — this, I think, was of porphyry — on which the cock stood when he crowed and Peter denied Christ j another pillar of white marble, that was rent in two on the suffering of our blessed Saviour. Here is likewise a flat porphyry stone set in the wall, on which, they tell you, the soldiers threw lots for our Saviour's garment. I must not forget the famous porphyry chair, which some will have to have been introduced upon the discovery of Pope Joan, and from that time used at the coronation. This notion, I must own, seems fabulous to me, to wave other reasons obvious enough. There is another chair of white marble made in the same shape, and another of porphyry, broken, now to be seen in the same cloister. It is more probably conjectured that they were used in baths for tlie conveniency of cleaning every part with more ease. This night we were heartily tired at an Italian tragedy of Caligula, where, amongst other decorums. Harlequin (the chief actor) was very familiar with the Emperor himself. 22. This day Mr. Ashe and I went about five miles out of town, through the Porta Capena. The first antiquity we observed on the road was the ruins of the Temple of Mars. Here we saw the remains of a great quadrangular portico that goes round the temple, whereof the substructions only now remain. A little beyond this we saw the Sepulchre of Metella. It is a round tower, 282 foot in circumference: the wall o^c^ foot thick, within brick, without and in the middle stone : the outside is covered with vast hewn pieces of the Petra Tiburtina, which re- mains extremely fresh and entire, being in appearance as hard and lasting as marble. This monument, in the civil wars of Italy, was used as a fortress, and hath some addition of a different work on the top j adjacent are the remains of old fortresses since Tour ill Italy. 533 the civil wars of some centuries ago. On the outside towards the road we read this inscription : c/ECILI^ Q. CRETICI F. METKLLyTi CRASSI. It stands (as many of the ancient sepulchres did) on the Appian Way, whereof we saw the remains in several places. On the wayside we saw several decayed ruins of ancient sepulchres, but which was Scipio Africanus's or which was Duillius's, &c., we could not discover. We returned another way to Rome, and saw the Circus of Caracalla, which is a noble remain of antiquity. You see a good part of the wall and the metse still standing. The wall plainly shews you the figure of the circus. It seems to be near half a mile in length. At one end we saw the remains of two towers where the racers used to prepare themselves, and in the side the remains of a building higher than the wall, where it is thought the Emperor and his Court viewed the sports. After this we visited the grotto of the nymph Egeria, which stands pretty entire from the time of Numa Pompilius. It is of stone, and the vault remaining. In it we saw three fountains, and an ancient statue of a woman lying, the head wanting, and maimed in other parts. We saw likewise in this grotto some vastly large stones — larger than tomb stones, and several ancient chapiters of pillars, that seemed by their little delicacy to shew themselves of the age of Numa. The next thing we saw in our return home was the church of Quo vadis Domine ? It is built, they tell you, on the very place where St. Peter met our Saviour as he was flying from Rome to avoid the persecution. He asked our Saviour, * Quo vadis Domine ?' To which He answered, ' Eo Romam iterum crucifigi.'' Upon that St. Peter returned to Rome and suffered martyrdom. In the church we were presented with prints of this history : in which it is remarkable that St. Peter's church in his lifetime is supposed to have made the left part of the view of Rome. There is an old pavement runs through this church, which they will have to be that part of the road on which St. Peter met our Saviour. An inscription on the wall tells you that the very stone on which our Lord stood, with the marks of His feet, is now preserved at St. Sebastian's. I saw that at St. Sebastian's, and am surprised at the stupidity of the forgery, that stone being of white marble and the pavement in the church of common blue stone. 534 • yournal of a 23. We spent all this day in our lodging. 24. Having turned off our coach, in which we could not so con- veniently observe the streets and palaces, we took after dinner a walk to S. Pietro di Montorio : by the way we observed the fa9ades of many noble buildings, particularly that of Monte Cito- rio, where the courts of justice are kept — it is a most magni- ficent fabric ; and that of the Farnesian palace, in which I remarked that the Ionic pillars are placed above the Corinthian, though it was built by M. Angelo. We looked into the church of S. Carlo de Catenari. It hath a gilt cupola and some fine pic- tures. We saw likewise the Mons Pietatis, where the charitable bank for pawns is kept. The chapel belonging to this building is small but very beautiful, of a round figure, lined with fine marble, and adorned with excellent sculpture, particularly the statue of the Madonna and a Dead Christ by Domenico Guidi, an admirable piece. In the church of S. Pietro Montorio we took particular notice of the famous Transfiguration, the last piece designed by Raphael. Just by the church we saw a small round chapel of the Doric order, built on the spot where St. Peter was beheaded, with an inscription importing that it is declared by Paul the Third that as often as any priest shall celebrate mass in that chapel he shall set free one soul from purgatory. Having delighted ourselves with the glorious prospect of Rome, which appears nowhere to such advantage as on this hill, we returned, and in our way found a Jesuit preaching in the open air in the Piazza Navona. We listened awhile to him. He was a young man of brisk genius, his motions lively, and his discourse rhetorical. The Jesuits send their novices to learn to preach in the public places and corners of the streets. We took the Dogana or Custom-house in our way home. It was anciently the Curia Antonina. A range of Corin- thian pillars with the entablature is now standing in the wall of this building. These pillars are placed nearer one another than I have observed any other antiques to be. In the palace of Verospi we saw some antique statues. I had almost forgot the Roman College. It is a vast and noble building, governed by the Jesuits. In the court of it we saw a list of the books read and Tour ill Italy. 535 I explained in the several schools. I observed the only Greek books they read were Homer's Batrac[h]omyomachia and /Esop's Fables. 25- This morning we spent at home. In the aftern')on we walked through the city as far as the Ripa Grande. The most remark- able piece of antiquity that we had not observed before was the Ponte Senatorio, of which a good part is still remaining. We visited several churches. That of the Madonna di Loretto, it is a neat small round church, handsomely adorned. Over the great altar we saw a picture of the Casa Santa carried by angels, and the Madonna and Bambino sitting on the top of it. The church of St. Cascilia, which was first built anno Domini 232, we saw several fine paintings in it, particularly a fine Madonna col Bam- bino by Guido Reni. Here is likewise a very rich altar, adorned with lapis lazuli, agate, &c., and a prodigious number of silver lamps, burning night and day. S. Maria dcUi Orti, a very beau- tiful church, richly encrusted with marble of different kinds, and embellished with painting and gilding. There is particularly a fine Madonna by Taddeo Zuccre [Zuccaro]. In the church of S. Fran- cisco de la Ripa we saw, amongst other considerable paintings, a fine Dead Christ, &c. by Annibal Carache, and a beautiful statue of the Cavalier Bernini's representing a noble Roman lady beati- fied. In the Palazzo Matthie we saw several statues and some very fine bas-reliefs. This night we went to see a play, with in- terludes of music. The play broke off in the beginning upon the principal actor's being run through the leg on the stage by accident. Die 5*0 Maii, A.D. 1717, iter auspicati sumiis*. Per 3 hor. et \ utrinque Isetissimus ager, vitcs ulmis frcqucnt- issimis implicatae, interstitia frumento &c.^ repleta. Sylva scu potius hortus videbatur perpetuus. Via cumulata pulverea ex utrovis latere fossae, sepes rariores agro plerumque patentc, in hoc tractu vici 2 vel 3 dein Ardessa urbs, dcinde vicus. Per \ hor. prata et seges aperta. Per I hor. campi latiores neque adeo arboribus impcditi ; frumentum &c. ; ulmi insuper et vites, sed rariores; in hoc tractu vicus insigni domo conspicuus. Per \ hor. prata et linum a sinistris; frumentum et faba: &c. * [Commencing from Naples.] 53^ journal of a a dextris • campus ad Isevam apertissimus, a dextris nonnihil arbo- ribus consitus j per totum iter montes a dextris sed remotiores. Capua, animae 7000 j seminarium sub patrocinio Cardinalis Caraccioli ; studentes 80 ; ex iis alumni 30 ; xysti ubi scholares, lecti &c., prseses Collegii Urbanus. Vinum bonum ; bibliotheca ^ ad minimum librorum ad legem spectant. Ecclesia Cathedralis in qua picturae mosaicae et 24 columnae ex marmore granito. Urbs ista foris quam intus pulchrius exhibet spectaculum. A Capua nova ad antiquam iter continuatum est per \ hor. in planitie ex utravis parte frumentum, cannabe, ulmi et vites, sed rariores, tuguria seu domus rarae. Porta Capuas veteris Amphitheatri reliquiae, in iis arcus foveis, et ingressui inservientes ; saxa marmorea ingentis molis et lateres adhuc quasi recentes, pars exigua muri extimi in qua visuntur semi-columnae ordinis Dorici sine fregio j ulnae (3 pedes) 600 circa orbem exteriorem. 5 milliaris abhinc visitur specus lateritius fenestris perforatis, superne tecto cylindrico, constat xystis tribus in banc formam H duo longiores pass. 135, brevior 117, jumenta 439 ibi stabulari possunt, nimirum dum copiis inservit Romanis. S. Maria di Capoa a Capua vetere ad Casertam iter patuit unius horae. Campi utrinque largiores frumento et cannabe consiti, ulmis et vitibus cincti juxta viam sepulchrum baud procul a specu, passus 82 in circuitu, cavitates statuis recipiendis idoneae 14 ab extra, murus duplex et inter muros ascensus, muri ex lapidibus exiguis reticulatis sive ad normam adamantis sectis cum nervis insuper lateritiis. Columnae in muro exteriore simplicissimae. Aliae nonnullae reliquiae. Vici 2 vel 3 inter Capuam et Casertam. Caserta, a small city consisting of little more than one large square; palace of the prince out of repair; villa about \ a mile from town, house therein much decayed; painted pavilions, marble porticos, &c., shew it to have been fine; gardens large, out of order ; walks through a large grove, fountains, grottoes, statues, one good one of a shepherd playing on a pipe. These made 150 years agone, now in ruins, though the prince spends part of his time here. Tonr in Italy, 537 16. Monastery of S. Maria del Angelo, pleasantly situate on the side of a mountain, with a cypress grove behind it, ^ of a mile from Caserta. This mountain anciently Tifata : place famous for Hannibal's camp which was pitched there. \ more St. Gracel, small village, little house on the point of a lower mountain, Matalona^, open pleasant town, well-built, clean, an hour from Caserta. \ more through an alley set with trees to the Duke's villa j the house Gothic but neat • grottoes, waterworks, statues, beans^ peas, kitchen-stuffj tall trees, laurel hedges^ but not so trim as ours, the whole in a natural noble taste beyond the French j a stream, from the villa to the inn an hour. Corn-fields surrounded with elms and vines, hemp, Indian corn, lupins. From the villa onwards groves of apricots, some cherries also and walnuts ; giuppi supporting vines ; apricots, 2 sometimes, 3 frequently, make '3^'^ ounces. Here we dined. From the inn, plain between mountains, the plain fruitful, thick set with vines and fruit-trees; after \ hour deep road, suffering nothing to be seen; \ hour and the former scene re- covered ; mountains on the right well covered with trees to the top, and two or three houses ; mountains on the left fruitful only at bottom ; hedge runs along the road ; deep or hollow road. Arpse, a small town with old walls and towers, taken by some for Furcae Caudinae. Asps ; roads paved with gravel. | hor., fields open, corn and odd trees with vines, row of asps of great length ; pleasant village on the side of a mount on the left. A small close grew (of asps I think). '3^^ pass through Monte Sarki, pleasant town towards the bottom of a conical rock, on the point of which a castle; dance with music of pipe and tambour. \ hor. more moun^ins on left expired; trees thick, open country, wood on our right, vale amidst rising hills ; well ; some coarse ground ; trees few, and few of them with grapes; rivulet through the bottom of the glade; whitish stony soil ; low vale on the right, rising ground on left ; 2 or 3 bridges over the rivulet ; shining flies ; moonlight ; bridge over a small river ; Beneventum to at night. Principato Ulteriore ' [Maddaloni in Orgiazzi's map.] 538 yourual of a ovcro provincia Ilirpinii con qualchc parte di Sanniti et Campani. 1 3 cities, bishoprics, except Ik'neventum and Conza, both arch- bishoprics ; good wines- nuts and chesnutsj many fishing waters j woods full of game j cold and healthy. 17- Bcnevcntum, situate on a rising ground, often suffers by earth- quakes; first in 1688, when the greatest part was destroyed, i.e. two-thirds. Since which several palaces were beautifully rebuilt. The country round it hill and dale, various, open; inhabitants esteemed 10,000; 12 sbirri and 12 soldiers of the Pope's in garrison. Archbishop, Cardinal Ursini, his library chiefly law and scholastic divinity; character good, the miracle of his being saved in an earthquake by the intercession of St. Philippo Neri painted in his cliapel. Handsome place, hall hung with arms of archbi- shops; souls in his diocese 91,985, secular clergy 1405. The statue of the Bubakis, that of the lion, ugly, [?] on a pillar near the castle ; the Porta Aurea, with the respective inscriptions; divers statues and pieces of statues of lions, those probably the arms of Bene- vcntum. Streets paved with marble, many fragments of antiquity in the walls of houses, friezes, architraves, &c. broken. Amphi- theatre, the ruins of it consisting of prodigious stones and brick- work, like those of Rome and Capua, though not near so much remaining. Cathedral clean and in good repair; granite pillars ten, built supposedly on the foundation of an old temple, several fragments of the like pillars lying in the streets; this city refuge for banditti, ill-looking folks; our landlord murdered (I think) 7. Some ruins of temples at some distance in the environs of the town. Papal territory 2 miles one side, 3 on the other; city poor and mean. Bencventum came into the hands of the Pope in the eleventh century. Said to have been built by Diomedes, king of i^tolia. ^ Set out from Beneventum at 5 hours English in the evening. (Jentle hills and vales, pleasant, various, fruitful, like England; vines round poles on left; corn pasture for oxen, a few. 5 h.-f4om., olives on the right, open roads. 6 h., asps with vines round them on right. 6h.-f-8 m., hedge-rows, wild roses in the hedges, fruitful hills all the way in view on our right. Eew oxen, 2 or 3 sheep, fern and bushes, lakes and pleasant hedges; several beautiful Tour in Italy. 539 hedges with red, yellow, and blue flowers, the deep red flower remarkably beautiful and predominant- trees with vines. Terra Nuova, a pleasant village on the hills on right j vineyards left, corn right j few sheep, asses, and oxen. 7 h.-fiom., palace (jf the Marchese Santo Georgio- trees and vines thick right and left. Monte Fusco and Monte Mileto, pleasant towns on points of hills on right j trees, vines, and corn right and left j open roads, trees and vines thick, delicious scene as various and better planted than round Beneventum. 7 h. 4- ^, painted meadows ; 2 towns on the sides of hills on our right j vineyards left, corn right; lupins; de- lightful opening of great extent; shrubs; open region continued, like Ireland ; river Galore ; stony road along the side of it ; bridge, on the other side of which at a small distance a single-house seen. 18. Set out at Ave in the morning from Ponte Galore; country open, wavy, various, less fruitful than the day before, but thinly in- habited; procession out of a small town (I think La Grotta), to implore rain ; 2 confraternities, crosses, standards, girls crowned with leaves some, and some with thorns, all barefoot but the priests and friars. Short chasm. Shrubs on right, pasture left, vines round reeds on the sides of the hills in our first ascent to the city. Grottoes in the side of the rock inhabited, several one above another. Ariano, poor city on a hill. The environs hilly; bare open ground; alphabet over the bishop's gate; Spina Santa carried in piocession, crosses on men's shoulders, men and women after the clergy of all orders. Bread good, water bad, which probably made some think it the Equus Tuticus of Horace, which opinion confuted by Gluverius, or rather the town 'quod versu dicere non est,' for it is not doubted to be the Equus Tuticus built by Diomedes. Having dined and walked round the town, set out from Ariano at 3 h 4- 1 : vines opening scene, and grove on right, some corn, some pasture, indifferent soil and a few sheep ; hills all round and those naked ; a great hollow glade on the left, another on the right. A wide plain before like a theatre, and a semicircle of hills facing us. This plain mostly pasture, two flocks of black sheep on it, no trees, bridge over a small stream ; valley after the plain, bridge over the fontanc, all mountains, Savigni right, Grieci left. 5 h. + 53 m., shrubs right and 540 yoiirnal of a left, wood on the hills, stony road, pleasant vale, oaks, &c. ; lata esculeta; long stony road through a forest, fountain seeming ancient with wall of great stones. Still forest, moonlight, light- nings without thunder j lo a clock arrive at a large waste inn (i. e. little inhabited for the size, having the country palace of some nobleman), called Ponte Bovino. 19. Set out at six j bridge over Cervaro, bridge without water, as two or three yesterday ; hills. Troja, a city on left on a rising ground; coarse ground, wood. 6 h. + 50 m., large plain; black sandy soil between naked hills; corn, a little shrub, much the greater part poor pasture. io|, Ardona*', anciently Ardonea, now only an inn. At 2\ set out from Ardona; the same vast plain, parched, poor, hardly any corn or houses to be seen ; mountains at a great distance, sometimes on right, sometimes on left, sometimes on both ; a tree here and there, a wood, some groves at a distance on left; granary of the Jesuits; 30 carts; corn throughout Apulia burnt up this year. 5 h., the sea appears on left. 6 h. -f- ^, we come to La Cerignola, a village well enough built ; in it 4 convents and the palace of a prince ; passed the Aufidus at 9 + 2 over an old bridge ; came to Canusium, now Canosa, at 10 + i. [N.B. On passing the Aufidus the ground grew unequal. After much wander- ing in the dark and clambering in our chaises over places out of the way we arrived at Canosa. M.] 20. In Canusium old bad statue, castle; poor town on a low hill; land round it looked poor, great part plain, the rest gentle risings ; no trees; monument of Boemund very magnificent for that age, being the Greek architecture of the Secolo basso. Catacombs, therein niches, in some whereof six or seven hollows like troughs for dead bodies, all out of soft rock ; grottoes, old temple with four porches, afterwards had been turned to a church; Roman ruins mistaken for those of a monastery, huge brick walls and fragments of pillars shew antiquity; old gate, brick, with the arch entire; ruins full of odd insects, lizards, serpents, tarantulas, scorpions, &c., the earth full of holes for them ; some old pieces of wall, but nothing entire seen at a distance. N.B. At Canosa I saw the « [Ordona, Org?\ Tour in Italy. 541 fellow reading a book that he knew not a word of out of devotion. From Canusium to Cannx, about six miles by the side of the Aufidus • this a river that would be thought small in England, with deep banks. Cannar, its few ruins on a small hill, being fragments of white marble pillars, bits of walls, wrought stones, &c., nothing great. Field of battle must have been the plain between Cannae and Canosa, on the bank of the Aufidus; on the other side the plain a gentle rising ground ; land between Cannx and Barletta planted with corn on the side next the sea : the Spur of Italy in view. Barletta, in a plain by the sea-side; bishoprick; inhabitants last year 11,500 (so the Prior of the Theatines assured us); wide, fair, well-built streets, all hewn stone, diamond-cut, rustic ; cathedral poor ; Colossus, in bronze, in the principal street of the town of Heraclius. In the Jesuits' church this epitaph : '■ Hectoris a Marra fratris memoriae, aeternitati, a mari marmor aes aureum Antonius a Marra posuit.' 2 convents, 5 nunneries, Theatines 8, Jesuits 10. Antonius a Marra's altar in the Jesuits' cost 1 8,000 ducats, besides other benefactions given and expected ; he the only benefactor. Theatines' poor library; their Prior, or properly their Padre Vicario's cabinet of pasteboard fruit shewed by him as a great curiosity; the Piemontese father who talk of play and the court with gusto, &c. N.B. At Barletta the inn was only for mules or horses ; we found nevertheless a camera locanda in a private house, with good beds, &c., but we bought our own provisions. N.B. The P. Vicario tells us of the tarantula, he cured several with the tongue of the serpente impetrito found in Malta, and steeped in wine and drunk after the ninth or last dance, there being 3 dances a day for three days; on the death of the tarantula the malady ceases; it is communicated by eating fruit bit by a tarantula. He thinks it not a fiction, having cured among others a Capucin, whom he could not think would feign for the sake of dancing. The patients affect different coloured hangings. Thus far the father. N.D. The peasant at Canosa told us his way of catching the tarantula, which takes the end of a straw wet with spittle and thrust into the hole in his mouth on the man's whistling, and suffers himself to be drawn out. One peasant at Canosa was afraid of them, while his companion laughed and said he had taken them without harm in his hands. 542 ' yoiirnal of a 21. Left Barlctta at 6 in the morning, along the sea-side • corn, a few vineyards, and enclosures on each side the road, some stony and open, uncultivated, after that open with low shrubs. 7I, enclosures, corn, vines, figs on right and left. N.B. Square low towers begun to be observed this morning at certain distances along the coast, being spy-towers against the Turks. 7.38', close by the sea on left ; vines, figs, and other fruit-trees all the way to Tranij strike off from the sea a little in the road to Trani, just before we enter the city. This city, as Barletta, paved and built almost entirely of white marble ; noble cathedral, Gothic, of white marble, in the nave two double rows of columns made out of the fragments of old pillars, granite, &c. j pieces of pillars lying in the streets j port stopped or choked j piracies of the Turks make it unsafe travelling by night; inhabitants 7,000; convents 5 or 6 archbishop ; poor library of the left convent, viz. the Dominicans a thousand crowns per annum make the revenue of that convent 6, 8, or 10 go to a convent in these towns. N.B. The muscatell of Trani excellent. [N.B. Ports of Trani and Brindisi choaked by the Spaniards to suppress commerce. M.] From Trani in something above an hour we reached Biseglia ; road lay through vines, pomegranates, olives, figs, almonds, ^c.^ and enclosures, part hedge, part loose stone walls. Biseglia is a city on the coast, beautiful, well-built ; the lower part white marble, of the town, walls, and houses, the rest hewn stone; without the town-wall a fosse. N.B. Walls likewise and bastions round the two last towns, but nothing of considerable strength observed by us. Biseglia, as divers other cities in Apulia, suffered much in an earthquake 15 years before, of which several signs remaining in palaces repaired, cracks in the walls, &c. Handsome palaces of the Durazzi, Flori, and other nobles; the taste noble and unaffected, were it not for the diamond cut in some fagades; 1500 families, or as others reckon 8 or 9,000 souls ; commerce of this and the two foregoing towns, corn, oil, almonds, &c. ; small, insecure, pitiful port for Tartan boats, &c.; convents 5, nunneries 2 ; a bishoprick. The environs full of villas and charming gardens; no inn in this town, an auberge for horses only without the walls. From Biseglia to Molfetta 5 miles, the road very stony, loose stone walls on both sides; the same fruits and corn, but olives in greatest quantity; the Toitr in Italy. 543 square towers still along the coast, the sea a field's breadth distant on the left ; the last mile we coasted close j little or no strand j no mountain all this day in sight. Morfeta, a small walled city, walls^ towers, buildings of white marble; noble convent of Domi- nicans, with a church of very handsome architecture, and another with a beautiful facade adorned with statues. From Morfeta to Giovanasso 3 miles by the sea-side, close ; the country on the right well planted with fruit-trees and corn as before; the road very rugged with stones^ no hedges in view, but macerise or stone walls; within half-a-mile of Giovanasso a quarry of white marble, the shore all the way rugged with rocks of white marble; sea rough. I Giovanasso walled with towers, &:c., all squared stones of a yellow- ish rather than of white marble ; town but mean within, streets narrow, poor look, said to contain about 4,000 souls. They seem to exceed in the numbers of this town and Biseglia. From Giova- nasso 3 miles by the sea, road exceeding rough, country as before. Then we struck off from the sea a little through a plain, partly corn, partly shrub, green and various, the land on the right con- tinuing as before ; little white square houses in the vineyards all along this day's journey, since we left Trani. Turks taking off" whole families together. Round and pyramidal heaps of stones in the fields, vines and corn on right and left, fruit-trees at some distance on right; deep sand and bad road before we entered Bari. Delicious vineyards, gardens, &c., powdered with little white houses about Bari. 22. Castle of Bari. Bari hath inhabitants 18,000; moles old and new, port shallow, not admitting ships of any burden; square towers at every half mile, the watchmen advertise each other by smoke from them, this round the coasts of the kingdom; convents of Fran- ciscans and Augustines. In the former a father played on the organ, which he said was the curiosity most visited next to St. Nicolo, and it was indeed very fine; visited likev/isc other convents, Capucins and Minims, out of town, pleasantly situated, cool cloisters, orange and lemon little groves in them, fine views, delicious living. Jesuits in the city, one of them upon our demand- ing to see their library, asked whether we had confessed, and sent us first to see St. Nicolo. The adventure succeeding, the fountain 544 yotirnai of a sanctified by the bone of that saint lying in a marble case on the brink of it, but commonly thought to flow from the bone ; Head of the Franciscans, with great devotion, showed us the nail that nailed the knocker of the door which the angel struck to tell the mother of St. Francis that she should not be delivered till she came down to the stable, after the manner of the Blessed Virgin. Bari hath not above 9 noble families, merchants ; streets narrow and dirty, buildings not beautiful. In the evening of this day we took a walk out of the town and searched for tarantuli ; they showed us certain spiders with red bodies for them, or certain reddish spiders: the environs extremely pleasant. N.B. Inhabitants of Terra di Bari reckoned somewhat stupid. N.B. We employed peasants at Canosa, &c., to find us tarantuli, but in vain, because the hottest season not then come. Returning we met a French officer, who invited us to dine, and called on us next day, which we spent here hearing of Tarantati danced 23. The French officer, with the Abbate Fanelli and another Abbate, all concur in the belief of the tarantula, and that peremptorily, ladies of quality as well as mean folks bitten, v. g. a cousin of the Abbate Fanelli and the wife to the Ricevitore di Malta. Nothing given to the tarantati, th^y paying the music themselves. The number of the days of dancing not limited to three • different in- struments of music for different patients ; they see the tarantula in the looking-glass, which directs their motions. The officer saw 30 tarantati dance together at Foggi. Tarantula likewise found, say they, in the Campagna di Roma. Don Alessio Dolone told me the tarantati affected those colours that were in the tarantula, that he knew an old woman turned of 60, servant in a nunnery, that danced, &c. He would not believe it at first, but was then convinced. As to the time of dancing, he and another gentleman said it was not to a day the anniversary of their being bitten, but it may be some days sooner or later; no bite discoverable in the patient. The tarantato that we saw dancing in a circle paced round ^ On the opposite pages of the Diary Dissertalio de Analome, morsu et effectibus Berkeley has here copied a very long passage Tarantula. from the dissertation of Baglini, entitled To2ir in Italy. 545 the room, and sometimes in a right line to and from the glass • staring now and then in the glass, taking a naked sword, some- times by the hilt and dancing in a circle, the point to the specta- tors, and often very near particularly to myself, who sate near the glass, sometimes by the point, sometimes with the point stuck in his side, but not hurting him j sometimes dancing before the musi- cians and making odd flourishes with the sword, all which seemed too regularly and discreetly managed for a madman ; his cheeks hollow and eyes somewhat ghastly, the look of a feverish person ^ took notice of us strangers j red and blue silks hung on cords round the room, looking-glass on a table at one end of the room, drawn sword lay by it (which he regularly laid down after using it), pots of greens adorned with ribbons of various colours ; danced about half an hour the time or bout we saw him, had danced before crowd of spectators, who danced many of them, and probably 4 hours, and between whiles was to continue dancing till night; paid the music; we gave money to the music; the man bow[ed] to us as he came in ; my danger from the sword ; he did not seem to regard the colours. Tarantata likewise seen, daughter to a man of note and substance in the city ; chamber or large hall adorned as the other, bating the sword and looking-glass ; danced or pace ; round in a circle, a man bearing a green bough decked with rib- bons of gay colours; she seemed not to mind the bough, colours, or company, looked fixed and melancholy ; relations and friends sate round the hall; none danced but the tarantata. Her father certainly persuaded that she had her disorder from the tarantula: his ac- count that she had been ill 4 years, pined away, and no medi- cines could do good, till one night, upon her hearing the tune of the Tarantula played in the street, she jumped out of bed and danced; from that time, he told us, he knew her disorder. He assured us that for 3 months before we saw her she had taken no nourish- ment except some small trifle which she almost constantly threw up again, and that the next day he expected (according to what he had found before) that she would be able to eat and digest well, which was, he thought, owing to her dancing at that time of the year. That this very morning she looked like death, no mark of a bite on her, no knowledge when or how she came X.o be bitten. Girl seemed about 15 or 16, and ruddy look while we saw her. VOL. IV. N n 54^ yournal of a 24. Set out from Bari at 7 in the morning, the sea a quarter of a mile distant on left (the road stony, land likewise, loose stone walls for hedges) • corn, vines, fruit trees as before, with extremely delightful small white houses. N. B. The gentry of Bari dare not lie during the summer in their villas, for fear of the Turks. 8 a clock we had an enlarged view delivered from the stone en- closures on the roadside j houses now few or none. 8^, rugged ascent, rocky unequal ground ; land now wavy a little, hitherto from Barletta a plain ; great stones and shrubs on the right j in a word, a large open tract since the rugged ascent, with little corn and much shrub. 9 + 25', close by the sea j rocky, unequal, great stones, shrubs and pasture among them, a few oxen, corn on right, not a house in view though the country quite open, not a tree but shrubs. 10, the country again fertile, corns, vines and fruit-trees in abundance. N. B. Vines in Apulia unsupported j world of fig- trees on right, corn on left, and open to the sea. 10 + 1, along the shore, no strand but flat rock; corn reaped and standing in sheaves. Strike off a little from the sea; fig-trees very large, mul- berries several, stone walls, next the sea few or no trees in the corn ; the right well planted, few or no houses (I suppose) for fear of the Turks, which obligeth families to live in towns ; figs predo- minant, though all the same trees as about Bari. Mola, small city walled round a castle ; old cathedral, suburb bigger than the city within the walls ; no place in the town to dress or eat our victuals in ; a merchant of the town gave us the use of an apartment to eat our own meat in, as likewise a present of cherries. Mola hath a great and considerable trade ; 5,000 souls in Mola ; strange to see beggars live in houses of hewn stone ; 3 or 4 handsome cupolas. I ■\- 40', left Mola ; well planted fruitful country as before. 3, a stony, rocky, shrubby tract. 2|, wood of large olive-trees, little corn, a large white monastery on the left in the forest of olives. 3 h. 40 m., got out of the olive-forest ; craggy ascent, rocky way close by the sea, loose stone wall on the right and rocks, shrubs, olive-trees. Pulignano in view ; bridge over a valley or narrow glen among rocks ; unequal rocky ground ; another bridge over a chasm or glen. The town Pulignano small, inconsiderable, walls and towers of hewn stone ; passed by it, leaving it on the left at 4 + 20; rocky barren sea-coast, but on the right fruit trees, corn. Toiw in Italy. 547 vines, almonds predominant • locust trees here, and between whiles ever since Barletta, 4 + 40, enter a grove of olives, some I pears, &c. intermixed; soil twixt red and yellow, stony. 5 + 50, corn reaped, the olive plantation divided into squares by loose stone walls, serving only to clear the soil of stones. (>-\-S-> ^"^ ^^ the olive grove ox forest. This afternoon we had a ridge of low hills parallel to our road, a mile off on right, covered with trees for the most part. 6 + 1, Monopoli, walled, 8,000 inhabitants; 6,000 died of the plague twenty-two years agone : steeple having all the orders ; palace on the right new and of a good gout, were not the Doric pilasters ill proportioned; cathedral, piazza indiffer- ent, convents nine, nunneries four ; trade in oil and almonds. Governor, a nobleman of Naples, Don Tito Reco, offered his house ; being refused, recommended us to the Franciscan convent without the walls ; he walked us round the town ; the friars' treat- ment of us ; the Definitore's [?] conversation ; their retiring tower and ladder, their guns, preparations, watch against the Turk. 25- Left the convent at 6 + 30 ; stony road, stone walls, corn, open. 7, even road, red soil, corn, olives. 7 + 20, forest of olives; lose our way in this forest®. 10 + 5, out of the olive forest into a corn field ; pasture ; the sea about a mile distant ; much wild thyme ; pasture, olives, corn, shrub, stones, thyme. 10 + i, the same olive forest again. 11 + i, shrubs, corn-fields, pasture. 12 + ^, serpents, copse or thicket, pasture, trees, olives, unequal craggy ground. I 4- 10, forest of olives; dined under an olive-tree. 3 + 4, out of the forest into a thicket, wild thyme among the shrubs in abund- ance ; corn, thicket of shrubs again ; a few cows and oxen here, as through the whole kingdom, whitish ; olive-trees and shrubs mixed, fields of pasture and corn among the shrubs. 7, the hills on our right all this day and half of yesterday end ; open country, with shrubs, &c. ; hollow stony road about a mile before Brundisium, where we arrived at 9 + i- Country round Brundisi well planted with corn and vines, but open, having few trees, and those fruit- trees. Appian Way near the town, which is ill built, straggling, poor. ' Liquefaction formerly at Gnatia [Egna- exceeding dry all this morning. sia Or^.] as now at Naples. This left on ' Iratis Gnatia lymphis.' our left hand for fear of the Turks, which [Hor. I. Sat. 5. See Cramer's Italy, vol. II. also caused the loss of the road : country p. 299, for further references.] N n a 548 Journal of a 26. Two pillars of white marble, the one entire, Corinthian and urn on the top, the other only pedestal and piece of the top, which fell and remained on the pedestal a. d. 1528, without any storm or earthquake, the intermediate parts falling out • this looked on as a presage of the ruin of the city, which ensued in the war between the League and Charles V. The two pillars the ancient arms of Brundisium, as having been built by the son of Heracles, who erected two pillars at the Straits, The two pillars had figures of puttini, &:c. above the foliage ^. N. B. The following inscription on one of the pedestals : — ^ ILLVSTRISPIVSACTIB — ATO : REFVLG PTOSPATHALVPVSVRBEMHANCSTRVXITADIM — QVAMlMPERATORESMAGNIFICIQ:BENIG desunt reliquae. Several fragments of ancient pillars about the town, churches nothing extraordinary; Capucins, fratres minores conventuales inter quos Monsignor Griego; walk round the walls, of the old ones some ancient ruins ; a bishopric. I judge this, in proportion to the other towns, to contain about 4,000 or 5,000 souls ; as to the port and town, it is, as Strabo saith, a stag's head and antlers. We ' Brundisium. N. B. Orange gardens in last in our return. Taranto and Brindisi, groves in the suburbs where we entered with all the towns below them, are in the Brundisium. Bad air from choaking the province, which was formerly Messapia port, and few inhabitants. Giro of the old Salentina or Calabria. Air in all parts good, city 7 rniles, whereof remains now much especially about Lecce : produce corn, wine, less, with vacant streets and piazzas. and oil in plenty ; also sheep and strong Fidelitas Brundusina the motto to their mules in plenty, which last are much arms, i. e. the pillars. Two forts, the esteemed : minerals also, as saltpetre, bolo newest built by Philip, the second built on Armeno, Terra Lemnia, and excellent salt for a tongue of land 2 miles from the town, whiteness at Taranto. 3 abps. and 10 bps.; reckoned the strongest in the kingdom. the fomier Brindisi, Otranto, and Taranto. ABP. Among reliques in the dome Strabo (lib. 6) describes the town and the tongue of St. Jerome and 12 heads of ports as a stag's head and antlers, and as the 1 100 virgins attending or accompany- more convenient even than that of Tarentum, ing St. Ursula. The magistrates (i. e. syn- which bad inter qucedam vadosa. No vada die, maestro-giurato, treasurer, &c.) by a there, but many in Brundisium. This the child drawing balls of divers colours at common passage into Greece, the opposite hazard in the town-house in the presence city of Illyricum, Dyrrachium, receiving on of the governor and judge every day of the the other side. Vergine assunta. ' Hanc latus Augustum,' &c. The island below the port of Brundu- Lucan I. 5. sium mentioned by Caesar, Bell. Civ. lib. 3 ; ' Gravis auctumnus in Apulia circumque first Libo and after that another of Pom- Brundisium ex saluberrimis Galliae et Hispa- pey's admirals having possessed themselves niaeque regionibus omnem exercitum vale- of it to blockade the part of Caesar's army tudine tentaverat,' Caesar (Bell. Civ. lib. 3), which remained in Brundusium. speaking of his army when he followed Brundisium the first town we come to Pompey. in Terra d'Otranto, and Castelnetta the Toiw in Italy 549 walked round the town and found some pieces of the walls of the ancient town, which was much bigger than the modern. As to the port, N. B. Five islands and the island with the castle or fortress, then a port or bay, and within that another port or bay, then the stag's front, then the horns on either side embracing; a bishopric. N.B. An English seaman here demands our charity; his working and earning twelve pence a day, his boxing with the townsfolks, his pretending to go to Naples, his shipwreck and companions going through the country^". Left Brindisi at 4 + 6; a bridge over a narrow sinus of the sea (i. e. one of the horns), olives and corn, vines, corn, and fig-trees, pasture and yellow flowers, corn, beans, oats, low shrub left, pasture right, coarse pasture ; all this land open, sandy barren soil, here and there corn, low shrubs but no trees, a large extended plain, wild artichokes, long shrub, corn, shrub, corn. 7 + tj olive grove or forest, the trees of this and the other olive forests large and of great age; corn on left and vines on right, more little farm houses or villas than usual, figs, pere muscanellae, vines ; a village ; Indian aloes common here and elsewhere; vines right, corn left, olive grove, corn, open country, spacious corn field right, olive plantation left ; ample stubble right and left ; olive grove, vines, figs, pears, apples, &c. left; vineyard right and left; wine presses, olive grove. 84-^, seeming all the way olive grove and large vineyards and corn intermixed. Long tract of open country, corn, pasture, fruit- trees. Leave at midnight ; obliged to wait some time for the open- ing of the gates. 27. Function on Corpus Christi day in Lecce ; standards, images, streamers, host, rich habits of priests, ecclesiastics of all sorts, confraternities, militia, guns, squibs, crackers, new clothes. Piazza, in it an ancient Corinthian pillar sustaining the bronze statue of St. Orontius ; protexi et protegam ; marble statue on horseback of Charles the Fifth, another on horseback of a King of Spain on the top of a fountain adorned with many bad statues ; Jesuits' college most magnificent; fine buildings of hewn stone, ornamented windows, pilasters, &c. ; large streets, divers piazzas, *» At Naples informed of the villany of him and his comrades in murdering some Mahometan passengers. 550 yournal of a fa9ades of churches, &c. j inhabitants 16,000 ; eight miles from the sea ; oil only commodity j convents fourteen, nunneries sixteen ; streets open, pleasant, but crooked ^ several open places ; situate in a most spacious plain j gusto in the meanest houses ; nowhere so common ornamented doors and windows ; balconies, pillars, balus- trades, all of stone, the stone easily wrought ; incredible profusion of ornaments in the fa9ades of churches, convents, &c., pillars or pilasters (mostly Composite or Corinthian), festoons, flowerpots, puttini, and other animals crowded in the chapiters above the foliages, double friezes filled with relievo, i. e. beside the common frieze another between the chapiters. Took particular notice of the Jesuits' church, that of the Dominicans, nunnery of St. Teresa, convent of the Benedictines, of the Carmelites,* nunnery of St. Chiara. These and many more deserved attention • most of them crowded with ornaments, in themselves neat but injudi- ciously huddled together. The fa9ades of the church and convent of the Jesuits noble and unaffected, the air and appearance wonder- fully grand ; two rows of pilasters, first Composite, second or upper Ionic, with mezzoninos above the second row of windows; win- dows in front twenty-six, and two between each pair of pilasters in front ; orange-trees in the squares within the cloisters, long corridors before the chambers, which had each a door of stone ornamented like that of a palace. Some Greek MSS., as of Lyco- phron, Stephanus de Urbibus, and Homer in their library, but those dispersed, and no index that I could see. Twenty-five win- dows in front beside the church. Fayade of the Benedictines' convent and church wonderfully crowded with ornaments, as likewise the altars generally adorned with twisted pillars flourished all over, and loaden with little puttini, birds, and the like in clusters on the chapiters and between the wreaths along the fusts of the columns. Nothing in my travels more amazing than the infinite profusion of alto-relievo, and that so well done : there is not surely the like rich architecture in the world. The square of the Benedictines is the finest I ever saw ; the cloisters have a flat roof and balustrade supported by double beautiful pillars with rich capitals, a fountain also and statues in the middle ; the corridors above stairs are long, lofty, and wide in proportion ; prospect into the town and country very pleasant ; each chamber of the fathers hath a noble balcony of stone, Corinthian and Tour in Italy. 551 Composite pilasters in front; the vast number of locusts; in the piazza the pillar from Brundisium supporting a statue in bronze of St. Orontius, Cathedral handsome, much gilding and indifferent painting, modern architecture, noble steeples ; hospital rustic at bottom, double pilasters, Doric below, Ionic above, simple ; semi- nary near the cathedral, rich fa9ade, plain, neat, handsome square within ; bishop's palace, fine ascent by double stairs and balus- trades, open arched portico. Fa9ade of the Jesuits' church orna- mented but not redundantly, as noble as I remember any where to have seen, very fine; as likewise that of the Nosocomium. St. Spi- ritus very neat and unembarrassed, in which Corinthian pilasters with festoons between. Houses generally but two stories, but noble air and well proportioned in height to the breadth of the streets ; several fine gates nobly adorned; interdetto ; people civil and polite, and, so far as we had dealings, honest and reasonable ; variety in the supporters of their balustrades; bold flights of archi- tecture, as in the fayade of the church of St. Mattca, a nunnery; garlands and coronets often round their pillars and pilasters. Church of the Carmelites very good, especially within ; now build- ing out of their own stock, which is only 2000 ducats per annum, and to maintain twenty-six persons; in the front a little diamond work, which they are sometimes guilty of. Dominicans, a Greek cross; Carmelites, whimsical unequal figure; others oval, &:c. ; no remains of antiquity. Lecce seems as large as Florence in extent, but houses lower ; not a spout or supporter to the balustrade or balcony, but wrought in the grotesque figure of some animal, or otherwise carved; horses, men, griffins, bears, &c. supporting the balcony of the Benedictines' church, with a round window some- what Gothic ; stone handsome and well coloured. In no part of Italy such a general gusto of architecture. Environs well in- habited ; gates Corinthian and Composite; Jesuits' convent vast building for fourteen fathers; no river; their gusto too rich and luxuriant, occasioned without doubt by the fiicility of working their stone; they seem to shew some remains of the spirit and elegant genius of the Greeks [who] formerly inhabited these parts. 28. 8-f f, set out from Lecce; corn, sheep, pasture, olives, olive- grove. 10+25, '^^^ ^^^ grove ; corn, sheep, pasture ; fine view to the left of a country well inhabited; white houses, extended fields. 552 yournal of a rows of trees, groves, scattered trees, the whole a wide plain, 11 + IO, corn, wide unenclosed plain, few trees, reddish soil, not very rich and somewhat sandy. 1 1 4- 25, passed through Gua- gniano, a considerable village and well built; stony road, corn, vines, fig-trees, stone walls for hedges, open stony ground, burnt grass, as indeed everywhere ; sheep a small flock ; large vineyards right and left ; walnuts ; spacious corn-fields on left, behind them trees^ and behind the trees a considerable town ; corn right and left ; beans. 12 + 5, olive grove, corn and vines and walnuts and almonds mixed with the olive-trees ; got out of the grove at 12-}- 40; olives and vines to the left, open country, corn and scattered trees on the right; flax, corn and olives right and left. 12 + 50, a wood, oaks and other forest trees thin, much under- wood, oxen and cows, large birds like cranes, i -|- 20, quit the wood for a large plain covered with divers sorts of pretty green shrub and thyme, which we have often met with, and supply the place of heath and fern ; stubble, goats and sheep right ; corn right, shrub left, the country wide and flat ; scattered trees and groves in view, but no enclosures; stony field on the right, open pasture, sheep and oxen, corn, oxen ; air perfumed with speermint growing over an ample space right and left. 2, Bracciano, a poor village, where we dined under a fig-tree by the side of a well in a poor man's garden, who helped us to a salad, &c. ; this village belongs to the Archbishop of Brindisi. 4, we set out from Bracciano. Large green plain, in which corn; shrub, corn, pasture, cattle, goats, sheep; small ascent; shrub, wide stony field; shrub and stony ground ; long tract of corn, interrupted in one place with a little flax, in another with a few olives ; rocky ground and corn on the left; road rocky; corn right and left; parched pasture, amidst wall of huge uncemented stones grown rough with age, on the right. 7 + 5, Casal-nuovo ; Franciscan convent ; treatment there ; friar at midnight knocking at the door and singing ; Thomas and Scotus ; conversation with the guardian in Latin, and another friar. Franciscans, except Capuchins, not bitten or poisoned by the tarantula, those animals having been cursed by St. Francis; the habit worn twenty-four hours cures the tarantato. 29. Walk out in the morning ; meet a physician gathering simples in a field near the town. He judged the distempei* of the taran- Tour in Italy. 553 tati to be often feigned for lewd purposes, &c., as the spiritati. The wonderful fountain, which, being in a great subterraneous grotto, runs into a cistern without ever filling it". Great remains of double walls of huge stones, and fosse of the ancient Mandu- rium. The odd small old building, consisting of a double rotunda and a large niche at the upper end and some walls, as of a vestibule beyond it, said by the inhabitants to have been a temple of the Sun, afterwards turned into a church j some old pictures of saints on the wall- seems built in the early times of Christianity, Many, if not most, of the great stones in the old walls seemed a congregation of oyster and scollop shells entire, cemented together by hard plaster. Convents six, and one nunnery; 8000 souls, though I think over reckoned, belonging to the Prince of Francavilla. Corn, flax, and cotton in great plenty about Casal- nuovo. 7 + 50, left Casal-nuovo ; corn, olives left ; few figs and walnuts right; pasture amidst quarries; roads very rocky; low shrubs and thyme ; land open and poor ; corn and figs for half a mile before we come to Oria. 10 + 5, Oria, situate on a rocky hill ; chain of small hills about two miles long, and Oria on one of them. A bishopric; fragments of old pillars in the streets; goodly prospect to Gravina, Brundisium, Lecce, &c. Inscription as follows on a pedestal lying in the churchyard of the cathedral : — D. M. COCCEIA M. F. PRIMA V. A. XX M. COCCEIUS FILI^ PIENTISSIM^E. Plain of vast extent round on all sides; part of an old Roman wall near the castle ; belongs to the Prince of Francavilla. N. B. Several caves or grottoes in a rocky hill near Uria. Set out from Uria at i, after having dined wretchedly in a stable, that being the only place we could find in the town ; stony ground, corn and olives in abundance, figs, vines; long tracts of corn and long tracts of vines alternately, olives and fig trees; ditches on each side the road, and bramble hedges. 2+4, grove of olives, ground gently wavy. 2 + 40 m., quit the grove; large open tract of ground, stony field, spacious field of oats, stony road, shrubs right, vineyard left. Francavilla about 2 miles on our right; vines right and left ; vineyard left, field of beans right ; ridge of fruitful hills about two miles oflF on right; corn, beans, [Rudiae the country of Ennius, placed by Cluverius between Uria and " [Berkeley here quotes Pliny Lib. ii. He adds, ' N.B, The Physician mistook Livy c. 103, of part of which the description of for Pliny.'] the fountain is an abridged translation. 554 yottrnal of a Tarentum midway ; but we saw no ruins of that town. At Lecce they placed Rudise within two or three miles of that city. M.] This afternoon single houses up and down the country thicker than usual ; few scattered trees throughout; pasture and stubble; cows, oxen, sheep, corn, and ciceri ; stony field, ploughed land, corn ; shrub on left, corn right ; beans, corn ; stones and shrub right ; ample prospect of open country, pasture, ploughed land, &c., bounded by gentle hills or risings. Get out of the spacious stony shrub; easy descent; olive grove, corn, garden stuff. Gulf of Taranto in view; large vineyard right and left; parched rough b pasture. S. Giorgio, a considerable town on our left ; corn, open, c Pass close by a village on our left; pasture and corn; rough, stony, shrubby ground ; flock of sheep, almost all black, the com- mon colour in these parts ; large shrubby, stony tract, and corn &c. a small distance to the right; slew a black serpent, 4 feet long; ploughed land, corn, shrub. Come to the side of an arm of the Gulf on our right; great space of corn ; olives at a distance to the left, on a gentle hill ; the ridge of low mountains still continued on the other side of the sea; tufts of ciceri, rushes, olives, corn, cows and oxen; ascent ; shrub ; space of corn ; corn, olives, vines, the olive trees large and many among the corn; vines and fig trees; olives, vines, and gardens; convents, houses; olives, pasture; corn left, convents and gardens right and left. Arrived at the Zoccolanti Scalsi [Barefooted Friars ?] by 8 -f i. 8 + 3, open corn and Tarentum. 30. Taranto, trade in corn and oil; inhabitants 15,000; no taste in the buildings; streets narrow and extreme dirty. Archbishop's palace noble; spacious apartments; loggie overlooking the whole Gulf of Tarentum ; the serenity and noble prospect of that Gulf. Handsome seminary near the Archbishop's palace; logic, philo- sophy, theology, humanity taught in the same; youth, secular and ecclesiastic, are taught, dieted, and lodged for 30 ducats per annum each. N. B. These seminaries common. Fine inlaid chapel in the cathedral, which hath likewise ancient pillars in the great aisle, with rude chapiters; various coloured marbles in the inlayings, found in the ruins of the ancient city. Nothing more beautiful than this oval inlaid chapel, painted well enough above with the life of St. Cataldus, an Irishman, formerly Arch- Tour in Italy. 555 (ishop of Tarentum, now patron of the city; his body behind he great altar. [The skull of St. Cataldo in the silver head (which hey say was finished by an angel) of his silver statue. His tongue Iso uncorrupted, M.] A Gothic building shown for Pilate's house. Jeveral noble families settled in Taranto. Tarantato that wc .aw dance here, no looking-glass or sword ; stamped, screeched, jcemed to smile sometimes; danced in a circle like the others. The Consul, Sec. inform us that all spiders except the long-legged )nes bite, causing the usual symptoms, though not so violent IS the large ones in the country. He tells me the tarantula auses pain and blackness to a great square round the bite ; thinks :here can be no deceit, the dancing is so laborious ; tells me they are feverish mad, and sometimes after dancing throw themselves into the sea, and would drown if not prevented; that in case the tarantula be killed on biting, the patient dances but one year; otherwise to the death of the tarantula. Ruins of old walls on the sea-shore, half a mile from modern Tarentum^^, Ruins of an amphitheatre (different from what we had elsewhere seen, as being without the passages) \ of a mile from the town, between the foresaid ruins and the town. A mile from town the same way an old church and the grotto or subterraneous passage from the little sea to the gulf, built of huge stones. AH spiders, except those with very long legs and those in houses, white and black. The taking of the tarantula out with a straw nothing singular, and done without whistling or spittle. Tarentum now in an island, with two bridges. Two old columns of Verde antico in the chapel. The ruins of the amphitheatre defaced by the friars, who have a convent there, and a garden in the amphitheatre. Medals and intaglios found here; gold and silver, wrought and unwrought, found along the side of the little sea, which makes them believe the street of the goldsmiths' shops was there. Corn, wine, oil, fruits in abundance in the territory of Tarentum. Consul says the scorpion likewise causes dancing^ J. '^ [Vallardi in his Ilinerario Ilalio says, through, chiefly by the holes of the [braces?], ' The harbour being choked can only receive and sending in a moist vapour swells the small barks.'] corn to 43 increase in the 100: to prevent '■' [Berkeley gives in a brief form the infor- its rotting by this moisture they change it Illation and quotations relative to Tarentum, every 8 dales from one magazine to another. which are now to be found in Cramer's The experiment easily made by weighing Italy. He also adds this note :] — ' Inhabit- equal bulks of theirs and the peasants' corn ants of Taranto place their magazines of just brought in. This affirmed by the Con- corn near the sea, which insinuates itself fessor to the Germans.' 556 Journal of a 31. 8 + ^, set out from Tarentum. The ancient Tarentum on a tongue of land between two seas, same way by which we came towards Fagiano, a town of the Albanian colony. Left our last road on the left j olives and corn, and open corn fields ; wide green wavy pasture, large flock of black sheep. No mountains in the heel of Italy. Coarse pasture, open corn ; all the way corn and pasture ; open country ; hills at our left distant, sea near our right. N. B. Mistake in the maps making the heel mountainous, there being nothing more than gentle hills or risings, and few of them. Dined with an Albanian priest at Fagiano, who treated us very civilly ; he could give no account of the first settling that colony. The men, he said, had been formerly employed in some wars of Italy, and during their absence the women taking no care of their books, they were destroyed ; so their MSS. histories and records perished. 1500 souls in Fagiano, all Albaneses, and speaking the Albanian tongue ; their children learn the Italian at school. Fagiano a clean, irregular town ; instead of our thatched cabins, small, square, flat-roofed, white houses. The priest told us the arm, e. g. being bitten by the tarantula swelled, confirmed, as indeed everybody, that common notion of the tarantula's death curing the bite. His house very neat. Everywhere great respect for a knowledge of the English, owing to our commerce, fleets, and armies. Ancient Greek chapel painted with barbarous figures, and inscriptions much defaced, in characters partly Greek and partly barbarous. This priest never drank wine except at the sacrament, having an antipathy to it. Beside Fagiano, La Rocca, S. Giorgio, and 3 or 4 more towns mostly Albanese, but Fagiano entirely. Bed of cuorioli, or broken shells of periwinkles, &c., along the shore of the small sea, used formerly, as they say, in dying purple; wool in the fish called baricella, of which stockings, waistcoats, Sec, like silk, but stronger. A little fish in the shell with the baricella, which, standing on the top of the open broad shell (the lower end being shaped like a horn, and always stuck in the ground), sees the approaching porpoise, and retreating into the baricella, gives him notice to shut his shell. Three or four drops of oil spilt on the sea enables fishers to see the bottom. Abbate Calvo said Count Thaun had given 40,000 pistoles for Tour m Italy. 557 the continuation of his government the last year- a grain per rotolo tax on the beef- the butchers discount with the town- CQlIectors by little bits of stamped lead given by the free persons for the tax of each rotolo. Two islands in the gulf that break the winds and make the harbour more secure. Taranto walled j a strong castle ; soldiers 128. June I. 1 4- Tj set out from Taranto over the other bridge. Corn, large grove of olives j corn mixed with olives, being great old trees, as indeed in every other grove • corn fields ; corn, apples, olives, pomegranates, and other fruit trees; shrub and corn fields; a forest ^ of a mile distant left ; ridge of low fruitful hills or risings all the way about a mile and a half distant on our right. Town Matsafra on the side of the said ridge. The country we pass through plain, and though fruitful, hardly any houses to be seen. Dried pastures, unequal ground, being descent ; a small vale, in which tufts of rushes, olives, figs, &c.; ascent. A small village on left; corn fields planted with young olives in rows; long vine- yards right and left, with figs and other fruit trees ; poor pasture ; corn right, olives left ; a great open country, not a perfect level, but nearly so, consisting of pasture, corn, and a vast large shrub of wild thyme, &c. 5 -f 35', ground wavy ; some corn amidst the shrub; rugged stony ground, hills and vales mostly covered with shrub. 7 + 32', out of the shrub ; corn fields, grove of olives ; ine- quality of hill and dale; ground rocky; still olives, corn among the olives ; quarry of white stone on the right, wide corn field on left ; road hewn through the rock ; corn and olives on both sides ; stone walls, beans. 8+10', Castalneta; the people drawn up in the street in lines to see us ; the number of clergy or abbates besides the regulars; these loiter in the streets, particularly at Mandu- rium the Theatines. Letter to the Dominicans from a clergyman at Taranto; their inhospitality in refusing to lodge us; we are received at the Capucins; sit round their fire in the kitchen. Castalneta belongs to the Prince of Acquaviva, of a Genoese family. A bishopric, 6000 souls; 3 convents of men and 2 of women; city dirty, and nothing remarkable in art, nature, or antiquity. Odd to find the fame of Whig and Tory spread so far as the inland parts of South Italy, and yet one of the most 558 Journal of a knowing fathers asked whether Ireland were a large town. [Library Scholastic, and some few expositors with a few fathers in a small room. One or two Classics. They take it ill to be asked ,if they have any poets. In another convent^ they said ' What have we to do with Virgil ? we want good sound books for disputing and preaching.' M.] June 2. Set out at 7 + 12', the friars in a body accompanying us to the gate of the convent. Land unequal ; corn, vines, figs, almonds intermixed; corn, open country; large shrub to the left, pasture and few scattered fruit trees to the right ; shrub on right and left. 8 + 50', get out of the great shrub into a spacious tract of wavy country, or distinguished by risings ; in it not a tree in view ; some corn, some shrub, much the greater part stony pasture; a small brook, no cattle nor houses, except one or two cottages, occur in this ample space ; sheep feed here in winter, in summer in the Abruzzo, grass here being dried up in the summer, and a fresh crop in September; in the Abruzzo pinched with cold in the winter. These easy hills, or rather risings, and plains great mountains in the maps. This immense region to the right and left, a parte de vue^ appears desert, not a man nor beast; those who own the sheep mentioned are men of the Abruzzo, many of them very rich, and drive a great trade, sending their wool to Manfredonia, and so by sea to Venice ; their cheese to Naples and elsewhere up and down the kingdom; they nevertheless live meanly like other peasants, and many with bags of money shan't have a coat worth a groat; much cloth made at Venice. 10 + 40', grass deeper, white, yellow, red, blue flowers mixed with it. 10 + 55', vast opening before and on the right, on the left rocky hills; in all this vast tract not a tree or man or beast to be seen, and hardly 2 or 3 scattered poor houses ; an infinite number of butter- flies, and shrubs mixed with the pasture. 11+ 25', rocky ground ; opening on right into a far extended green corn vale between green hills bearing corn to the very tops ; rocky hills left, stony ground, a vale before with corn and vines and a few trees. The hills round have corn, but no trees, except those on the right, which are barren and rocky, without either trees or corn ; pasture, wild corn, vines left; corn right, vines left for a long space; road Tour in Italy. 559 cut through the rock. Inconveniently cold for several hours this morning j ciceri, vines, corn; great quarries in rocky hills on our left; few figs on left, corn on right ; rocky ground ; vines right and left. Matera 1 + 303 archbishopric, souls 17,000; they seem to mis- reckon, being deceived by the figure of the town. Houses 10, one above another like seats in a theatre, built down the sides of an oval hole ; more men cannot stand on a mountain than on the under plain. Dined in a garden, offered by a farrier of the town as we were looking for a tree in the suburbs; the man very civil and well behaved, which is the general character. Guardian of the Franciscan's letter to Gravina; he's displeased that we stayed not there in Matera, as Calvo had intimated in his letter to him. Nothing extraordinary in the buildings or churches ; all these inland towns in our return inferior to those on the Adriatic. 6, set out from Matera; vines, corn, walled gardens of fruit-trees, rocky road, wide opening descent, mostly high mountains at a distance on the left ; hills below ; pasture and corn ; hills and vales all green ; pasture^ corn, shrub, the last but little and on the hills. Vines left, corn, pasture ; the same hilly country continued in the night ; a world of shining flies ; rocky hills. Lost our way ; arrived after much wandering afoot at a Franciscan convent without the walls of Gravina at 11 in the night, dark. [Grana dat et vina Clara urbs Gravina inscribed over a gate of the town. M.] Last reckoning of the inhabitants 9850; walled town, duke's palace, bishopric, cathedral; well paved with white marble ; situate among naked green hills ; 5 convents of men and 3 of women ; unhealthy air in wet weather. Duke a wretch ; princes obliged by del Caspio to give their own or the heads of the banditti with whom they went sharers. Priests count the number of their parishioners at Easter; Bishop of Gravina dead these two years, since which no bishop in the town, the Viceroy not admitting the person made bishop by the Pope, as being a foreigner. N. B. The Bishop of Matera 12,000 crowns a year; these bishops not so poor as commonly thought. In Matera and Gravina they make a distinction between nobile and cavalere, the latter being esteemed the higher rank. June 3. Part from Gravina at 10; open green fields and hills mostly covered with corn backwarder than in the plain; corn the com- 560 Journal of a modity of the country. Here and there rocky j rocky barren moun- tains about three miles distant on right j not a tree ; some trees on our right thinly scattered; a small brook; pasture and little corn. II, great scene opening, long chain of barren mountains distant about 3 miles on right; open pasture, not a tree, and pretty plain, wavy rather than hilly ; few blue mountains distant on left; a little corn on the right, thistles left; for half an hour passed a green vale of pasture bounded with green risings right between our road and the stony mountains. 11+ 40, vast plain, corn, the greater part pasture between ridges of mountains; Appennine on the left, old Vultur on the right; hardly a house on the plain or hills ; the Vultur near and is a stony barren moun- tain. I + 20, a deep vale, diversified with rising hills reaching to the mountains on left, i -f 25, Poggio Ursini, where we dined ; chaplain lent us his chamber in the Duke of Gravina's. Masseira, dirty ; the Duke spends some time there in hunting. Tarantula not in this country; he hath seen several bitten with a black swoln mark as large as half-a-crown ; they knew not they were bitten till dancing; tarantula bites only in the hot months; a peasant at Canosa laughed at their biting, and said he had often taken them in his hands. Duke of Gravina 30,000 ducats per annum feudo, and 30,000 negotio. Doors and entrances of the houses dirty and forbidding here and elsewhere, but otherwise at Lecce. 3 + 40, set out from Poggio Ursini along the same plain; pasture, corn ; beans left, corn right. 4+ 10, descent into a vale ; pasture left, meadow right with hay made ; corn, plain, pasture, and green hills on right and left. After a little straying, turn to the left and descend ; tall thistles 5 foot high ; corn in the vale ; corn and pasture. 5, great length of corn along the bottom of the vale on the right, small hills and large spaces of rising ground well covered with corn and pasture. [N.B. Italians living in towns makes 'em polite; the contrary observable in the English. M.] Still between the mountains as before; ample space again; wood at a good distance on left, 2 of great length along the low mountains. 64-20, descend into a spacious plain (not a perfect plain, but rising lands and vales intermixed) ; corn, pasture, and wood ; not a house in view this afternoon. 6 + 1, Spennazzuola, a village belonging to the Duke of Calabretta, inhabitants about 3000 ; this seems too many for so Toil/ in Italy. 561 small a place, and yet I was assured it by a priest of the town ; 3 convents. Situate pleasantly, having on one side fine wood and hilly glens with trees and corn, on the other an open country, corn, and pasture ; fleas innumerable. June 4. Set out at 6 + 1; open hills, corn, and pasture as before; corn. 7 + :^, large space of ground, shrub thin, and pasture; forest trees on the right, ridge of woody mountains three miles on left; wide vale, shrub, and pasture opening to the left, displaying a delight- ful scene, a fruitful ridge of hills well wooded bounding the sight. 8, wood on right, and shrub succeeding. Lopalozzo, town on a pleasant hill on the left ; fruitful pleasant plain between over swelling hills and mountains on left; vale between gentle hills; pasture, corn, shrub; rising ground, corn, pasture and corn in a long vale on right, wood on the gentle hill that bounds it; rising land, pasture, shrub or copse ; descent into an ample plain ; corn, shrub, pasture advancing obliquely to the woody mountains, beyond which higher mountains; delightful small vale, environed with gentle hills most crowned with wood, a river or rather rivulet running through. 9 + :i, ascent, little space, through a wood; rising open corn field right, wood left ; beyond the corn on right, pasture with cattle, and beyond that chain of fruitful hills; up and down through the skirts of a wood, soil stiff reddish clay, glade opening to the fruitful hills on right. 9 + 40, large corn field, bounded with gentle hills, a few scattered trees among the corn right, forest left ; down a hill, at the bottom of which a rivulet, forest on both sides, long glade opening to the left bounded by the mountains. Left Acherontium, now Circnza ^^^^ on our left behind, on a moun- tain's top. 10 + 25, Brionrc, a city on a mountain left, and Barial on the mountain side; large shrub, being the skirt of the forest; a large plain, shrub, pasture, much corn, in which Vcnosa. Ail this while advancing obliquely to the mountains on the left; glen, large walnut trees in the same descending road along the right side of it, bits of old walls on our right of the road; corn, vines, olives, &c. on the steep hills on either side ; pass over a brook at bottom of our descent, which stony; stony ascent after the brt:K)k, grottoes on the left; the same glen, after turning, now on right. ['* Acerenza. Orgi\ VOL. rv. O O 562 Jotirnal of a Arrived at Venosa at 12; poor ill-built town inhabited by pea-, sants; souls 5000 j bishopric; churches mean ; statue of Horace, being a sorry Gothic bust placed on the frieze of a pillar in the place. Horatius Flaccus by name^ well known to all the poor men of the town, who flocked about to tell us on seeing us look at the statue; the men of this town in crowds gaping and follow- ing us about the town, the idlest canaille and most beggarly I have anywhere seen. Morsels of inscriptions in the walls, pieces of pillars and other ornaments of rich marble about the streets. Near the cathedral old brick walls shown us for the house of Horace. ' This,' say they, ' we have by tradition.' By the foun- tain remains of 2 busts, with an inscription maimed underneath, beginning 'C. TuUio;' fine white marble lion at the same fountain. Two or three more monumental stones with maimed epitaphs in a row. Venosa belongs to the Prince of Torella. 3, set out from Venosa, which is situate on a rising ground in a vale between the horns of the Apennine (the horn on our left entering the town, low and fruitful, the Vultur anciently). Rising ground, descent ; walnuts, pomegranates, olives, figs, vines, corn ; ascent, fruit-trees on right and left, corn, and pasture, and wavy plain. 4, along a narrow road between hills, thicket on either side, vale ; brook on our left ; stony road ascending, coarse narrow vale on the right bounded by stony or rocky hills ; narrow between hills, vale opening to the right, pasture, much corn, herd of swine. Leucrienna; small river on the right running through the vale; turn to the right through corn part ripe and part reaped ; pass a stream ; hills close on the left, vale with pasture and corn ex- tended on the right. 6 + ;^, narrower between hills, presently large opening ; ploughed land right, corn left ; not a house this afternoon ; wide vale opening to the right and left ; old church ; green hills left, partly covered with wood ; corn reaped and ripe ; two little houses near each other. River Aufidus in view on right, running so as to make oblique angles with our road ; his banks deep and shore spacious, showing him outrageous at certain times; his margin adorned with green trees. 7 + i, crossed Aufidus ; steep ascent, then a spacious plain, corn; corn everywhere suflPers for want of rain. Wide pasture after the corn ; flock of sheep, black as usual; a straw cabin belonging to one of the Abruzzo shep- herds; ascent, stony coarse pasture full of thistles; not a tree; Tour i)i Italy. 563 pasture less stony. Cappella, small town on a rock distant 6 miles left; ample space of corn right and left. 9, ascend out of the vale. N. B. All this day environed by mountains. After our ascent through a difficult path, many ups and downs, stony, nar- row and uneasy, among shrubby mountains, 8cc. on fcx)t, we arrived in the night at an ample opening, much corn, and thence by an unequal stony road descended to the town of Ascoli, where we arrived at 10 + ^. While on foot in the dark, about \ a mile before our chaises (which we had lost and sought crying), we passed by some country folks eating beans in a field, who kindly asked us to partake. Ascoli hath 500 friars; bishopric; 10,000 ducats; Duke of Ascoli residing there, 15,000 ducats per annum from tenants, besides 10,000 from negotio. Roman bricks and frag- ments in the walls of houses, several pieces of pillars, imperfect or defaced Roman inscriptions, grottoes in the hill adjfjining. Situation on a hill, environed mostly by a plain, corn and pasture; not a tree; hills on the left. Inhabitants are clergy and peasants. They boast of a saint's finger kept in a church of a convent on a hill overlooking the town, which, so far as the church is visible, prevents the bite of the tarantula. Convents in Ascoli 3; stone lions several here as at Venosa and Beneventum. 5- Set out from Ascoli at 7 ; descent, coarse pasture most, some corn left; plain, some corn, much pasture; plain, opening to the sea on right. 7+^5 bridge over the Carapella; Villa Cedri about 10 miles wide on left on a hill ; ground dried and burnt like a turf. N. B. Mornings cold, afternoons hot; ascent, convent on right; soon aftjr descent, some corn, most pasture, soil burnt black, road black like turf; large parched plain continues, bounded on each side by hills. 9 \-% ascent, then descent into a larg.- vale ; parched ground, grass and corn, large grove of wild pear-trees right. Troja, on a hill before us, ascent; large field of corn in a vale on right, better or less parched land than before. Troja left on our right about 6 miles. 10 -j- ^^, past a bridge over a perfectly dried stream ; stony road through woods; out of the wtxxi, hill covered with wood left, shrubby hills on right. 1 1 -f-20, Ponte Bovino; s:-t out from Ponte Bovino, or the Great Inn, at i \'\. Stone road through the Apennini" on the side of the Cerbalus, which runs through the 002 564 yournal of a bottom of the glen on left; woody mountains right and left. Bovino, city on the mountain top left, the deep vale or glen on left full of trees, spots of corn now and then, as well in the vale on left as on the mountain on right; between whiles delightful openings of cultivated land among; bridge. Bauro, town on the mountain left ; long bridge over a glen. Monteon, town on mountain right ; another bridge ; dry river now and then shows itself; large fountain built of square stone, pleasant shading from either hand across the road. 6 -}- 20, the mountains sink on either side and the road opens, the wood decreasing; fields of shrub, and corn mixed therewith, on the sides of the mountain ; flat slips of green corn along the bottom of the vale left ; bridge ; wood ends in shrub; pasture and corn fields on a hill left. Savignano left, Greci right; both on points of hills. Out of the shrub into an open hilly country, corn and pasture; bridge over a dry river, not a drop of water; country grows more plain, wavy corn country, not a house to be seen, hills fruitful. 10 + i, Ariano ; after several hours of windy rainy, cold weather; forced to have a fire, being exceeding cold (not wet), the 5th of June, N. S. June 6. 8 -{-25, left Ariano; descent, large prospect of fruitful low hills covered with corn and trees like England right and left. Grove left, delightful prospect of wide vale and chain of adverse hills fruitful. Furmini on a hill left ; descent for some time past ; rising hills fruitful, yielding view like the county of Armagh. Brook; Bonito on a fruitful hill right, the other brook or branch of Fumo- rella between Ariano and La Grotta. Wavy, hilly, open country; corn and grass, some hills (especially about La Grotta and on the sides at some distance) well planted with trees, others bare of trees; little shrub near La Grotta. La Grotta at 11 ; procession; peasants in fine clothes, host under canopy; firing guns, streamers and standards flourished; confraternities, clergy, &c.; red and blue petticoats, &:c. hung out for arras. N. B. A procession in the same place before, y^scent between corn fields, hills and vales thick scattered with trees ; ascent through enclosed road, on both sides fine gentle hills covered with corn and adorned with trees ; all this day cold, though wrapped in my cloak ; foggy, mizzling, bleak weather, like that in Ireland ; beans, corn ; ascent all the Tour hi Italy. 565 way from La Grotta to Fricento '■'"'. Shrub and corn, long view of pleasant hills left, long grove of oaks on pleasant rising ground right; ample fields on gentle hills, fern, corn, oaks; deep glen or vale full of trees left, another vale right ; beans, corn, oaks scat- tered all about; m.ost ample prospect, opening hills, partly wooded, partly naked; towns on points of hills, beautiful vales, elegant confusion, all this on looking to the north from a hill. [In a sanctuary on Monte Virgine are contained the bones of Shadrach, Mesech, and Abednego. This in the famous monastery there resorted to for miracles, indulgences, and reliques numberless. M.] Stony road, corn, top of a hill covered with fern ; short descent, corn. Jesualto in a vale right, vale of great extent running parallel to our road on right, and terminated on the other side by moun- tains finely wooded and thrown together. [Mons Tabor, anciently Mons Taburnus. M.] From Fricento (where we dined suh dlo without the town, in the view of many people) we went down a descent of three miles, through wood, corn, and pasture, to the Amsancti lacus; triangular, whitish, stinking; about 40 paces about. Famiglietta threw in a dog, who, after half an hour, came out bones. Peasants find birds, hares, goats, wolves, Sec dead about it, and go to lock for them in the mornings during summer : 5 years agone 2 men found dead. The water good for the itch, wounds, leprosy; cold; thrown a yard high; other the like lakes, but small; depth unfathomable. Silver all turned yellow, whereas Vesuvius and Solfatara turn black; oaks smell, being burnt. Small stream hard by the lake, of a like whitish water. Stone hollowed at one end, somewhat like a font, said to be a remain of the temple. N.B. Our entertainment at Famiglietta's, &c. June 7. Vale, and beyond that vale, craggy, high, green, shrubby moun- tain; open fields; woods; fields planted with trees around; Vcsu- vio; towns and white houses scattered on the hills to the right, with Mons Taburnus; Amsancti valles to the left — this on kxiking to the west. Pianura, Campi Taurasini '«, Benevcnto lontano; flat ploughed land, wood in the middle — north. Trevico right, Ariano left; sea between naked mountains thrown variously together; villages, ploughed land, and woods in the vale ; Fiumc Albi — cast [IS Frigento. Org7\ ["• ? Sec Smith's Diet, of Ancient Geography, in art. 'Taurasia.'] 566 jfournal of a prospect. Amsancti valles; two fine woods • rising land between S. Angelo delli Longobardi right, and La Guardia delli Longo- bardi left; high mountains to the right and left, lower before — south. Six bishoprics and 2 archbishoprics; Taurasi and La Torella. Fricento belongs to the Principe della Torella ; 25,000 souls [2500. M.] ; July and \ August without fires. An image on Monte Virgine protects the country about as far as visible, from tarantulas, which, say they, are here likewise. Two bears slain last year in a neighbouring wood. June 8. Set out from Fricento at 12; down hill; corn, pasture, open a few scattered trees; shrub left, corn, deep vale right; before a vast opening, vale between rising hills, green, yellow, red different shades of; corn fields, with woods and scattered trees lost the way among beans and corn; got into the great road descent; rising hills, corn, woods; fruit trees and few vines on either side the road ; adverse long hill or fruitful mountain on the other side the Galore ; Monte Mileto and Monte Fusco in the same. 6, left Ponte Galore; passed the river, which in Italy is large enough ; ascent up a paved road ; corn, pasture, trees ; vari- ous rising ground. Monte Mileto left, on a hill covered with wood ; vines twining round trees left, corn and trees right ; vines hanging in festoons from tree to tree; Monte Fusco right; veiy good made road; immense prospect of vale and hills right, part wooded, part not. This view seen to advantage from Monte Fusco and Monte Mileto ; our road like lightning. 8, got to the top, whence a new extended scene discovered of vales and hills covered with wood, likewise of high mountains, and several towns scat- tered on the sides and tops of hills ; country beautiful, fruitful, various, populous; very many new towns in delightful situations, some on the points of hills, others hanging on precipices, some on gentle slopes, &c. Double most noble scene (just described both) seen from Monte Fusco, lying to the eastward and westward; highest mountains right and left, covered with trees. Ponte del Prato; large bridge, hardly a drop of water under it; hills and vales all round, richly covered with trees, as well fruit as others, and vines and spots of corn ; another bridge over a valley for the convenience of travelling. Prato, a town right ; ascent ; descent ; Tour in Italy. 567 long bridge over a valley; cross a bridge over the Sabato, 4 miles before we reach Avcllino; shining flies. From Sabato we pass along an enclosed level road to Avellino, where we arrived at 10+^. Avellino reckons (I doubt misreckons) 30,000; 'tis an open, handsome town, situate in a vale among high mountains covered with wood. Fountain and town -house adorned with busts and statues handsome enough. N.B. Best inn I met with in the kingdom here. June 9th. Set out from Avellino at 6 + 50; a tall avenue of elms; grove of hazels (much esteemed here) on each side the road, and vines in festoons from pole to pole among the nuts on left ; avenue ends, being a mile long. All this way on right and left high hills covered thick with trees, chesnut or continued forest ; large wall- nuts on the wayside ; grapes in festoons on both sides. 8 + ]- , hazels end. 8 + 20, pass through Monteforte, a small town ; as- cent ; descent ; stony unequal road, between mountains covered with chesnuts close on either side ; hazels, walnuts, chesnuts all the way ; vines in festoons ; large cherries, great number of trees thick laden with them all along the road ; hill on left almost naked, having only the stumps of trees ; bridge. Pass through a village; vineyards in festoons right and left; village; vines and fruit trees; another village; figs, cherries, vines, &c. right and left; village. 11 4- ^, vineyards right and left; olives and vines left, vines right. (N.B. Corn, hemp, &c. among the vines for the most part.) Vineyards right and left, i, Nola; souls, 3000; 7 convents men, 5 women. POLLIO JULIO CLEMENTIANO SUBVENTUI CIVIUM NECESSITATIS AURARI^ DEFENSORI, LIBERTATIS REDONATORI VliE POPULI OMNIUM MUNERUM RECREATORI UNIVERSA REGIO ROMANA PATRONO PR^ESTANTISSIMO STATUAM COLLOCAVIT '''. First inscription under a statue in the court of a private house; '■^ [Berkeley has here copied another in- nor is it plainly writtin. It ieems to be scription, but it does not appear correct : thus : — FILI^ SEX. F. RUFIN/E SORRERI FIGI SERENI AUG. LA RUM MINISTRI. LD. DD. VICTORI/E AUG. AUGUSTALES.] 568 yournal of a 2 other inscriptions under 2 of the 4 statues ancient in the place before the cathedral; one of the remaining two is of the same Pollius, the inscription of the other is defaced. The Bell. Bishop 4000 crowns, out of which pension 2000. Left Nola at 3 + 1 ; 'Thisus Alus Cujus/ &c. over the Jesuits* gate along the fagade of the convent ; apples, plums, cherries ; pears, apricots, vines, corn on each side the road. 4 + j, festoon vineyards right and left, also corn; Campagna between mountains; Vesuvius left. 5 -|- f , a village ; still festoon vineyards, elms, corn right and left, but no mountains, at least none in view. (> -^ ^-^ village. 6 + f , vil- lage. N,B. The greatest part of this afternoon vines round elms without festoons. 8, Naples. Road from Rome to Naples. ist post 6 miles, through the flat campagna; some hay and corn; not a tree; hardly a cottage. 2nd post to Marino, 6 miles through the like flat campagna, though ascending insensibly towards Marino, which is a pretty, clean village, belonging to the Constable Colonna. 3rd post 9 miles, to Veletri. About 2 miles after Marino, pass by the lake of Caste! Gondolfo on our right; view of Castel Gondolfo; land pretty well tilled in the beginning of this post. Within 3 miles of Veletri, steep descent to that city. This post over and among hills and woods. 4th post 8 miles and \. First mile and \ through enclosures and trees; 7 last through rising ground, being spacious, open, green corn fields. Cisterna, seat of the Prince of Caserta. 5th post 7 miles from Cisterna, the better part through a forest with deer, belonging to the Prince. 6th post 8 miles from Sermeneta, lying through the Campagna. A mile and \ on the other side Sermeneta attacked for a giulio. N.B. The Campagna green, and in many parts woody, flat, and marshy ; no houses ; hardly any corn ; no cattle, but a few buffa- loes. 7th post to Piperno, seven miles. Near a mile in the Cam- pagna di Roma; the other 6 among hills and fruitful vales. Piperno situate on a hill. 8th post 8 miles: 2 first among wood and hills; 6 last through a plain champaign, mostly uninhabited, &c. Tour in Italy. 569 9th post to Tcrracina, (S miles, along the side of shrubby, stony hills on left. Some ruins, seeming of sepulchres, on the road • on the right Monte Circello in view. All this post on right marshy low ground, little cultivated or inhabited. loth post to Fondi, 10 miles. Limits of the kingdom entered within 6 miles of Fondi. Near 2 miles beyond the boundaries passed on our left a sepulchre of huge square ftones, very noble and entire, now turned into a stable for asses j no inscription. The 2 first miles of this post close along the sea, b:'ing edged on the left by mountains; many broken rocks has fallen in an earth- quake on the road; about 5 miles further having woody and stony hills on left close, and at small distance on right the Palus Pomptina; land flat, marshy, hardly inhabited for the illness of the air, 3 last miles through a fruitful plain ; oranges, &c. before we reached Fondi. A small river seemed to render it marshy and unwholesome, flowing by the city on the side towards Rome. nth post from Fondi to Itri, 7 miles. First 3 or 4 miles over a plain, gently ascending, planted with cypress, orange, and lemon trees near the town of Fondi ; last 3 miles between and over hills on the Appian Way : these hills extend across to the sea. 12th post from Itri to Mola, 5 miles. Itri a town poor and dirty, but pretty large. This post enclosed between hills right and left; many olives, almost all on the Appian Way, 13th post from Mola to the Garigliano, ,S miles. A large grove of olives, after which near 4 miles stony, unequal, shrubby ground; 4 miles more, fine corn country, meadows also pleasant, and scattered trees in sight. Near the Garigliano we passed between an old aqueduct on the left and certain large ruins on the right, as of an amphitheatre. This post we had the mountains near us on left and sea on the right. Divers ruins, as seeming of sepulchres, this post on the road side. Greater part of this post on the Appian Way, whereof fragments appear entire, and ending abruptly, as if part had been cut oflFor taken away, Liris larger than the Vulturnus, N.B. Treeto on a liill on the other side the aqueduct. 14th post from Garigliano to S. Agata, jo miles. Ferry over the river; open, large, flat, pleasant meadows along the Liris, which flowed on our left; after which, chain of mountains on our right; country unequal, with pleasant risings; wiliiin 4 miles of 570 yournal of a S. Agata country thick planted with vines and olives, especially the latter, of which a perfect wood near S. Agata. N.B. Sessa fine town within less than a mile of S. Agata. Henceforward to Naples the Campania felix, which begins either at the river Liris, or on the other side Sessa, the ancient Suessa Aurunca. 15th post from S. Agata, 10 miles. 2 first miles through a country thick set with vines, olives, &c., in which the Appian Way, no more of which to Naples ; hills these two miles on left and right; at the end of these two miles a village, [Cassano] where the view of the Appian road. After this village a hilly country, and great part of the road cut through a rock ; then a wood of oaks, cypress, &c.; after which delicious country like the following post. 1 6th post 9 miles to Capoa, through delicious green fields, plain and spacious, adorned with fruit trees and oaks so scattered and disposed as to make a most delightful landscape, much corn and fruit, many white country houses beautifying the prospect; mountains on our left. ^^ Terra di Lavoro, 56,990, besides Naples, its casali, and about \ a dozen more from towns whose fuochi^^ are not numbered. Fuochi. Aversa 1905 Capua and casali 5343 Caserta and casali 1 1 84 Fuochi. Fundi 188 Itri 440 Madaluni 749 Principato citra Salerno. Fuochi. Auletta 119 EboU '3^^^ Nocera di Pagani 536 Principato ultra. Fuochi. Ariano 749 Fricento Avellino 600 Fuochi. Salerno 1636 Scafati 68 Vietri „ 185 Fuochi. '* The following notices are on the oppo- site page : — (1) Principato citra all Picenza [^Picentia on the coast] with part of Lucania and Campania felix : its metropolis Salerno. Cities 18, whereof Salerno and Amalfi are A.B.Pcs, the rest Bps. Grain and wine plenty. (2) Principato Ulteriore, provincia Hirpina, with a small part of the land cf the Samnites and Campanians; of 13 cities, 2, i.e. Bene- ventum and Conza, ABps, the rest Bps. Wine, chesnuts, hunting, fishing. ^'^ [This word is indistinctly written. It looks like /uodi. I believe it to ht fuochi = fires, i.e. hearths or families, as in the phrase pro arts etfocis.'\ Toiw in Italy. 57^ Basilicata. Fuochi. I Lago Negro 570 Vcnosa Spennazuola 491 | Matera Calabria bassa 6 citra. Fuochi. Castro Villari 183 Cosenza 1 854 Cassano 284 Tarsia Terranuova Calabria alta n ultra. Fuochi. Catanzaro 2651 Montcleonc Cotronci 60 Pizzo Cotrone 446 Rofarno ... Isola 112 I Scminara Terra d'Otranto. Fuochi. I Brindisi 1428 I Fagiano Castellancta 691 : Lccce , Casalnovo 1002 Taranto Terra di Bari. Fuochi. Bari 2345R Barletta ^1?tS^ Canosa 269 Gravina 1916 Giovcnazzo 628 Monopoli Molfetta Mola Traiii Visceglia alias Biscglia. Fuochi. 47.? 2027 Fuochi. 37 168 Fuochi. '793 442 379 945 Fuochi. 123 3300 1870 Fuochi. 1864R 1247 '43*^ 7«7 1692 Capitanata. Ascoli 381. In the Kingdom of Naples — Princes 128 I Counts Dukes 200 Archbishops Marquesses 2CO | Bishops N.B. Reckoning the eldest sons and double titles. 21 127 Gran coite della V'icaria, supreme court like (somewhat In cur :i 572 Journal of a King's Bench. Governed by the Regent of the Vicaria a Cavaliere, who therefore is assisted by judges civil and criminal. The great officers have the precedence, title, and stipend due to j. their places, but their power is exercised by the King; that of the j Great Constable (i. e. Captain General) by the generals, colonels capitani d'arme, Sec; that of the Gran Giustitiere by the Regent of the Vicaria; and in like sort of the rest. Collaterale is the supreme royal tribunal, composed of the seven great officers, the Consiglieri di Stato and the Regenti, or of the 7 officers and Regenti della Cancellaria. This hath supreme power in making laws, punishing magistrates, commerce^ &c. Sacro Consiglio, consisting of President and Counsellors. An- ciently the kings of Naples appointed judges of appeal from the Vicaria and other tribunals. But Alfonsus the First of Arragon took away those judges, constituting this Sacro Consiglio di Giustitia to judge of appeals from all parts of the kingdom. Not only causes of appeal, but likewise first causes are determined by them, for which the President delegates such Counsellors to judge as he pleases. Their sentences are given in the King's name. Regia Camera, which takes cognizance of the royal income or patrimony (as they call it), i.e. taxes, customs, &c.; in a word, all that belongs to the Exchequer. Gran corte della Vicaria, above explained, but this its place. So much from Capaccio; what follows next from Pacichelli and others. I mo. Tribunale is the Consiglio di Stato, consisting of such persons as Viceroy pleases : a sort of Cabinet. 20. Tribunale is the Collaterale, consisting of six regents of the Cancellaria, who have great power, or rather sovereign, in the management of affairs relating to civil institutions, commerce, &c. 3". II Sagro Consiglio, un Presidente con Ventiquattro Consig- lieri, hear appeals, and also first causes: acts in the King's name. 4°. La Regia Camera detta la Sommaria ha per capo il gran Camerlengo ma esercita la Giurisdittione per un Luogotenentc scelto dal Re. Under him are 8 presidents, doctors, and 3 presi- dents [?], idiots' advocate, procurator fiscal, secretario, registers, accountants, clerks, &c., qui si maneggia il patrimonio reale, Sec, si affitton gabelle, 6cc. La gran Corte della Vicaria si Administra da un Luogotenente Tour in Italy. 573 che si elegge ogni due anni del Vicere detto Regente. This court is divided into the two udienze civile et criminale, .6 judges to each. Divers other tribunals, as that of S. Lorenzo, governed by the eletti, 7 in number, but with 6 votes, one being chosen out of and for each Seggio, except that of Montagna, which chooses two, one for itself, and one for Ponella and Seggio incorporated with it, but they have only one voice. N.B. The eletto del popolo is thus chosen : — Every ottina (of which there be 29, into which the whole city is divided, being the same with regions or wards) nameth two persons, which making in number 58, these assemble, and with the Secretary of the Piazzo del Popolo for Revisori delli voti ; after which every of the 58 names being eletto, which is often done with maledic- tion and invective scurrilus, si bussolano and si notano i voti and the six with most votes are written in a note and carried to the Viceroy (by 8 persons chosen by ballot out of the 58), who names which he pleases for eletto. The 58 likewise name a council of ten persons to assist their eletto. Every ottina likewise names 6 persons, whereof the Viceroy chooseth one for capitano of that ottina, who is a sort of justice of peace, taking care that no one offends or is offended in his ottina, take care of the poor, &c. ; great power commanding so great a people. Capitani and eletti del popolo govern as long as the Viceroy or the Piazza pleases^ but ordinarily for 6 months. The power of the Tribunal of the eletti extends to setting a price on the annonaj take care also of the health, for which they appoint two deputies, one a noble the other a plebeian, who govern a felucca that visits all ships, boats, &:c., and sees that nothing contagious enters the city. The eletti themselves pay a salary to these, and give out patents for ships parting from Naples, as likewise pay the man who watches to see the quaran- tine duly performed and goods aired. The Grassiero is a huomo Regio, or magistrate appointed by the King. He was first joined to the council of the eletti in a.d. 1562, in the time of the Viceroy Don Perafan di Ribera, Duke d' Alcala, under the pretext only of providing the city with corn, but by little and little hath crept into all business, and now in fact is president of the Tribunal of the eletti, who can do nothing with- out him. 574 yournal of a Divers other tribunals or courts of lesser note, as la Zecca Regia per Pesi et Misure, per li Notari, per Dottori in Legge et Medi- cina, &c., &c. A parliament or deputation of 24 persons, 12 deputati del Baronaggio and 12 della cita di Napoli, give a donative, for which effect use to be assembled by King's letter every 2 years. The city pays no part of these donatives, yet the deputies of the city are the first to vote, and subscribe, and have precedence in all cases, but with this difference, that the city hath but one vote and the Baronaggio 12, 6 titolatos and 6 plain barons. Their use the Donative. These deputies or parliament meet in the convent of S. Lorenzo; the Viceroy at the opening goes to hear read the King's letter before the parliament by the Secretary of State, and at the close goes to receive their compliance with it. Giulio Cesare Capaccio assures us that in his time the garden herbs eaten every month amounted to 30,000 ducats in the city of Naples; likewise that the gabella on fruit (it not being ^ of a farthing per pound of our measure and money) amounted or (which is more) was set for 80,000 ducats per annum, exclusive of oranges, lemons, bergamots, and the like. Four castles in Naples to protect and bridle the city: — Castel St. Elmo, Castel Nuovo, Castel dell' Ovo, and II Torrione del Carmine. Si ricavavano prima dal regno 5 milioni e piu di rendita, oggi pero S2 ne ritrahe da due millioni in circa. Pacichello, published 1703. The nobility of the several parts or districts of the city of Naples were used anciently to assemble in certain public places or piazzas in each district, where they conversed together. These places being much frequented, they came to build certain open porticos, sustained by arches and railed round, where they met together, which in process were improved and beautified in imi- tation of the portici of the ancient Greeks and Romans, and separated or appropriated to those families that used to assemble in them; and from being places of mere chat or conversation, grew to be so many courts, in which they considered and debated on choosing magistrates and providing for the health and plenty of the city. The S.ggios are five. N.B. The Seggios are five, viz. il S:ggio di Capoana, di Nido, di Montagna, di Porto, di Porta nuova. Totir in Italy. 575 Lac Virginis in Ecclesia S. Ludovici apud P.P. minimos S*' Francisci a Paulo asservatum liquefit quolibet assumptionis die. Sanguis Johannis Baptistse liquefit quotidie in ecclesia quadam Neapoli prout mihi referebat Dux quidam Neapolitanus. Sbirri 150 tyrannized the island of Ischia cruelly, on account of seven persons who had slain one of their number. The re- lations to the number of 100 taken up and imprisoned at Ischia; general ordeis that no one remain in their houses in the country, all with their goods being obliged to repair to the towns; people met in the masserias beaten unmercifully. Fear and trembling, and no going to do their business in their vineyards for 10 days, then allowed to return, some to their houses, others not. Cellars of wine throughout the island all this while left wide open at the mercy of the Sbirri. Relations of the banditti seized in the churches. Some few, many of the prisoners allowed the liberty of walking about the fortress. The prisoners most part poor old women, the men absconding and lying out of their houses in the woods for fear. Commissario della Campagna, with his Sbirri, continued about a month at Ischia. The inhabitants may kill one another without fear of punishment, this rout being never made but for the death of a Sbirri. We were alarmed and roused out of our beds by o^^ Sbirri one night. The people of this island in other respects good enough, but bloodthirsty and revengeful. Those of Foria and Moropane of worst fame for murdering, being said by the rest of the island to have no fear of God or man. The habit of the Ischiots: a blue skull-cap, woollen; a shirt and pair of drawers; in cold weather, doublet and breeches of wool. They wear each by his side a broad pruning-knife, crooked at the end, with which they frequently wound and kill one another. Piano now Pieio, Casa Nizzola now Casamici, Fiorio now Foria. A fine plain all round Pieio, planted with vines, corn, and fruit trees. The amphitheatre about a mile and half round the top, whence on all sides a shelving bank descends to the flat bottom, the which bank clothed with oaks. Oaks, elms, chesnuts, and cupc [?] in this island. East of the amphitheatre (which is called La Vatalicra vulgarly) is a village called Cumana, and beneath a shady valley 576 yournal of a called II Vallone Cumana, between that village (seated on a moun- tain called II Monte di Borano) and a high mountain called La Montagna di Vezzi. Pleasant vineyards overlooking Ischia on the middle between the two towns. On the north side of the Cremate, about 2 mile long and i broad, fine hills covered with myrtle and lentiscus; vales too among them, and towards the sea fruitful with vines, &"c. Here- abouts Pontanus formerly had a villa. Onwards to the north-west you pass through roads planted with myrtle, &c., vineyards, and little inequalities of hill, vale, wood, shrub, &c. to the lake, about a mile round, on the border of which the Bagno di Fontana. Vistas in the island very various, as sometimes in a plain thick planted with trees and vines, obstructing a distant view ; at other times a patent prospect in a vale environed with fruitful hills, on which white houses scattered, Borano with its steeple makes a pretty prospect, being situate on a hill. Sometimes a deep road with high banks on either side, very refreshing in the heats; sometimes deep and tremendous precipices, many round hills gently rising, covered to the top with vines; sometimes horrid rocks and grottoes, and clefts in the earth with bridges over them in some places. The bath Ulmitello lies to the south part of the island in a deep cleft between rocks, which opens into the strand of the sea ; it is a well or two without buildings. South of Testanio there is a strange confusion of rocks, hills, vales, clefts, plains, and vineyards one above another, jumbled together in a very singular and romantic manner. North or north-west stands the Sudatorio di Castiglione in the side of a rock, on which Jasolino tells you may be seen the ruins of a castle since the days of Hiero. I saw some ruins of an old wall, but nothing that looked like Greek or Roman work, the stones and cement being but rude. I saw likewise the ruins of a piscina, or receptacle for water, well plastered. Between this rock and the sea, in the vale, lies Casa Cumana, a small village where Jasolin thinks the Euboeans first inhabited. Near the sea-shore, likewise in the vale, I saw the Bagno di Castiglione. Two eletti in the city of Ischia officers of the city supreme. When they go out of office they name each two candidates, out of Tour in Italy. 577 which the eletti del popolo for next year are chosen by the parhi- mento, consisting of twenty persons, 10 countrymen, ten citizens, the which parliament is new made reciprocally by the eletti as soon as they come into employment. This parliament consults of things relating to the well governing the town, assessing taxes, 6cc. In Furia they have a syndic for supreme magistrate, likewise chosen by the people^ there is another syndic between Borano and Fontana, one year in Borano, and names a deputato to govern in •Fontana, and vke 'versa. This magistrate sets prices on meat, bread, corn, wine, &c. Catapani are inferior officers that go about the shops inspecting bread, wine, measures, &c. So far Signor Giam. Battista. Jachino and Aniele say that once only in three years the syndic is in each of the 3 following towns — Fontana, Borano, Casamici, the syndic sending two deputati to the other places. Twenty men constitute the senate of each of these 3 towns, and Furia, which ibath constantly its own syndic. These all vote for the eletti of Ischia, who (if I mistake not) reciprocally make the syndics. Several gentlemen of Ischia taken up and sent, some to be im- prisoned at Naples, others at Surrento, others at Caprea, at the same time that near 200 were imprisoned as relations of the ban- ditti in the castle of Ischia. These gentlemen were taken up on suspicion of having favoured somehow the flight or concealment ).siti : iidem nobilium ac divitum exsequias ducunt, et altcrnantibus in odseo choris, carmina suo more decantant, et dicendi copia cl facultate pnrstantes concionibus populum arbitralu suo circum- 590 yournal of a agunt. Variae ac multae numerantur eorum sectae : nee desunt qui ad quandam Rhodiorum equitum speciem bellicas una cum re- ligione res tractent: sed communi omnes appellatione Bonzii vocitantur, honesto loco nati plerique : nam proceres multitudine liberorum et angustia rei familiaris urgente ex iis aliquos ad Bonzi- orum instituta ac familias aggregant. Multa insuper variis habent locis gymnasia quas Academias dicimus copiosis instructa vecti- galibus. Atque ob eas res prsecipuum, ante hanc hominum setatem, toto Japone obtinebant honoris ac dignitatis locum ; sed post illa- tas in ea loca faces Evangelii, fraudesque vulgo nudari et coargui coeptas, multum videlicet universo generi de auctoritate atque existimatione decessit. A man makes a fine entertainment of music and refreshments, or he discharges a vast quantity of powder in mortalletti, or he makes an expensive firework, and this they call devotion, and the author devout. In the sudatory adjoining, Gregory the Great {Lih. Dial. 4) says the Bishop of Capua saw the soul oF a holy man doing penance. This he relates as a thing told and believed in his time ^i. N.B. The various dresses, aspects, and complexions of the Madonna. [The following notice occurs on the opposite page : — 'The plebs ( Valetta tells me) are in the interest of the Germans j most of the middling people, or gente civile, in that of the Spaniards. More lawyers among the Neapolitans than in all Italy besides. Several Spanish families settled and mixed with the Neapolitan, and now become one with the people. He tells me that these eleven years that the Germans have been here they have not made one friend- ship, any of them, with the natives.'] Seely's story of the piece of tongue stuck in the wall of a church, I heard told by him in presence of a marchese and a law- yer, who yet persisted in the belief of that absurd miracle, saying his unbelief hindered the operation. At Bari the thigh-bone of the saint was seen in an open stone chest on the side of the fountain, which had four lighted lamps round it j this the German tells me, who saith the water most cer- '• [This treatise, to say the least, is of probably very much interpolated. See Cave, very doubtful authorship, and, in any case, Hist. Lit. H.J.R.] Tour in Italy. 591 tainly did not run out of the bone, as he evidently saw. Yet at Naples men of quality and learning stedfastly believe this. One Saturday morning, a pewterer, our next neighbour, had a Madonna, being a painted, gay dressed baby, brought from the Spirito Sancto to his shop, which was hung with gaudy pieces of silk for her reception. She came in a chair, the porters bare- headed. Upon her arrival, mortalletti were fired at the door of the pewterer ; the porters handing her out made a profound reve- rence ; the windows opposite and adjoining were hung with silk and tapestry. That night she was entertained with firework, as she had been in the day with music playing in the street to wel- come her. The next morning music again in the street, and fire- work at night. The Monday likewise music, and tapestry hung out as before. She was that day after dinner sent away in a chair, with salutations of the porters bareheaded, and with firing of mor- talletti. S. Gregory (lib. 4 Dialogorum) relates that S. Germanus, Bishop of Capua, being advised to sweat in the sudatory by the Lago Agnano, there saw the soul of Cardinal Paschasius doing penance. N.B. The Lago d' Agnano hath no fish, but abounds with frogs and serpents. Monday, April 11, 1 718. Set out from Naples after dinner; reached Capua that evening. Germans busied in fortifying the town against the approach of the Spaniards. 12. First post through delicious green fields, plain and spacious, adorned with fruit trees and oaks, so scattered and disposed as to make a delightful landscape ; much corn and fruit. 2d post, good part of it like the foregoing • then pass through a wood of oaks, cupi [cypress ?], &c.; after that came into a country less plain; hills, and great part of the road cut through rocks; after which a village, Cassano, where we first meet the Appian Way. Mountains sometimes before, mostly on our left, since we left Naples. Then through a country thick set with wine, oil, &c., to S. Agata, having hills on left and right. Sessa, fine town within less than a mile of S. Agata. 592 yournal of a 3rd post 10 miles from S. Agata, thick planted with olives and vines j save a good part in the beginning, a perfect wood of olives; chain of mountains on our left; country somewhat un- equal, with pleasant risings; after this, open^ l^fge, flat, pleasant meadows along the Liris, which flowed on our right. Cross the Liris or Garigliano at ten miles from S. Agata, which is a post- house and little else. Here the Germans had made a bridge of boats, which we drove over —. Having changed horses at Garig- liano (a house or two so called), we passed onward between an old aqueduct on the right and certain large ruins on the left. Treeto on a hill on the other side the aqueduct, and in the last post we passed by Castelforte on the hills, also on the right. Fine corn, &c. country, till within about 4 miles of Mola, when it grew stony, and unequal, and shrubby; near the town a large grove of olives. This post we had the mountains near us on the right, and sea on the left. Mola a sea-port ; poor town ^3. Divers ruins, seeming as of sepulchres, &c., this post on the road side. Greatest part of this post passed on the Appian Way, whereof fragments appear entire, and ending abruptly, as if part had been cut off or taken away. Liris larger than the V^ulturnus. 5th post from Mola to Itri. After a little way this post all enclosed between hills on right and left ; many olives ; almost all on the Appian Way. Itri a town poor and dirty, but pretty large. 6th post from Itri to Fondi. First 3 miles pr^terpropter between and over hills on the Appian Way; then descend a few miles further to Fondi, over a plain well planted ; cypress, orange, and lemon trees near the town -^. 7th post from Fondi to Terracina, 3 miles through a fruitful plain; oranges, &c. Without the town a small river seemed to render it marshy and unwholesome, flowing by the city on the side towards Rome, about 5 miles more, as I could judge^ having woods and stony hills on right close, and at small distance on left the Palus Pomptina; land flat, marshy, hardly inhabited for the '^ [As they crossed in a Ferry-boat in tifully with the olive groves near them, while coming from Rome, the bridge must have the middle of the picture is formed b}' the been constructed in the interval. H. J. R.] Bay and the Promontory, and the back- ® [The Cicerone, the inn at Mola di ground by the distant hills. H. J. R.] Gaeta, is supposed to be on the site of the ^' [The scenery between Fondi and Itri Formian Villa of Cicero. The scenery is is very beautiful, but travellers in posting lovely. The orange groves almost touch the days were anxious to press on quickly, as the shore, and their bright green contrasts beau- inhabitants had a bad reputation. H. J. R.] Tour in Italy. 593 illness of the air. About 2 miles further close along the sea, being verged on the right by mountains, many broken rocks, as fallen in an earthquake, on the road. Near Terracina a grotto with an entrance like a large door cut in the rock, the face whereof is also cut even down, resembling somewhat the gable-end of a stone house. A fine square sepulchre of huge square stones I observed within less than two miles before we came to the boundaries of the kingdom. It stood on the road to our right, and is become a stable for asses, a door being in one side of it, and no inscription. N.B. Having passed six miles from Fondi we came to the limits of the kingdom and entered the Roman States. Lie this night at Terracina. 13. ist post 8 miles from Terracina to Limarudi, along the side of shrubby, stony hills on right; some ruins, seeming of sepulchres, on the road ; on the left Monte Circello in view. All this post on left marshy, low ground, little cultivated, and uninhabited. and post 8 miles to Piperno, whereof six first through a plain champaign much like the foregoing; the 1 last among wood and hills. Piperno situate on a hill or eminence. 3rd post from Piperno to the next post-house, 7 miles, 6 among hills and fruitful vales (i. e. the last) ; almost enter in the Cam- pagna di Roma. 4th post 8 miles to Scrmeneta, lying through the Campagna; a mile and half before we reached Sermeneta, a fellow extorted a Julio with his gun. [See the 6th post in the Journey from Rome to Naples, p. 568.] N.B. The Campagna green, and in many parts woody; still flat and marshy; no houses, hardly any corn, no cattle but a few buflraloes. 5th post 7 miles to Cisterna, where the dwelling-seat of the Prince of Caserta. We passed this post the latter part through a forest with deer belonging to the said prince. Few or no houses in the Campagna. 6th post 8 miles and \ to Veletri ; 7 first through rising ground, being spacious, open, corn, green fields; the other mile and \ through enclosures and among trees, &c. 7th post nine miles to Marino, over and among hills and woods. Near 3 miles steep ascent from Veletri ; after about 6 miles pass VOL. IV'. Q q 594 JoiLrnal of a Tour in Italy. j by Castel Gondolfo, situate in a lake seeming 3 or 4 miles round. The latter part of this post pretty well tilled. Marino a pretty clean village, belonging to the Constable Colonna. 8th post from Marino to the next post-house, 6 miles through the flat Campagna di Roma. Overturned topsyturvy in this post in the night. 9th post 6 miles to Rome, through the flat Campagna; hardly a tree or cottage ; some corn. Arrived at Rome about ten o'clock last night, Tramontane reckoning -■5. [Bishop Berkeley here gives many extracts from Roman Catholic books. One he prefaces thus : — ' Instance of praying ultimately to saints out of an office recited at certain times, viz,, on Fridays, in the church, called II Transito di S. Antonio di Padua.' Oremus, &c. He refers a^so to the Gratie e Miracoli del Gran Santo di Padova : in Padova col /icenza anno 1 703, p. '^'y'^- He quotes also the Acta Cano7iizationis Sanctorum Petri de Alcan- tara et Maria Magdalene de Pazzij Rome, 1669, p. ID, and remarks on the titles Sanctissimus and Nostro Signcre^ which belong to the Saviour, being applied to the Pope. He quotes also other instances of the practice of praying to saints.] ''^ [The above Itinerary is almost identical ever, a few differences, which, combined with with that in a former part of the Journal, other circumstances, give it an interest of its only in the reverse order. There are, how- own. H. J. R.] SERMONS, SKELETONS OF SERMONS, AND VISITATION CHARGE. PREFATORY NOTE BY ARCHDEACON ROSE. The Sermons and Skeletons of Sermons by Bishop Berkeley, now published for the first time in the present edition of his Works, constitute the largest amount of purely theological teaching which has ever been laid before the world as proceeding from him. His high reputation was won in other fields of thought ; but the character which the well-known line of Pope has always connected with his name must necessarily give a deep interest to any writings of his which relate to religion or the Bible. These Sermons therefore have a double interest. They have the interest derived from their own merit, and the additional interest of enabling us to see in what manner a mind, at once so acute and powerful as Uiat of Berkeley, would treat these most important subjects. We learn from them the nature of his ordinary religious instruction from the pulpil. It is remarkable that so little of it should remain. We have in his pub- lished works only one Sermon and a Discourse on Passive Obedience. The present edition adds three complete Sermons and twelve Skeletons to those formerly known. These Sermons, though they may not increase his literary fame, will in no measure detract from his reputation. They have indeed a special value in shewing his manner of handling these important subjects. In one of them, that on the love of our neighl)()ur, wc may perhaps feel that there is too much which is commonplace, but at the same time it reflects so exactly the character which he always bore, in regard to a charitable construction of the conduct of oilier men, that it has, on that account alone, its own proper interest. The Sermon in Trinity College, Dublin, was written in January, 1708, when he was very young. It is more a reasoning essay than a sermon, but as Berkeley advanccil in life he became more scriptural in his teaching : the moral reasoning -appears rather to be withdrawn, and Scripture to come forth into its own place. If we compare the sermon in 1708 with that preached at Leghorn Q.q 2 5q6 Prefatory Note. on Palm Sunday in 17 14, we shall observe this progress, which is still more plainly seen in the Skeletons of Sermons, which belong to the period of his residence in Rhode Island (in 1729-31), after a lapse of fifteen additional years. In the Skeletons of Sermons he marks constantly the passages of Scripture which bear upon the subject of his text, and conducts the whole range of his teaching in accordance with the line indicated by them. He appears rarely to have been expository in his teaching; there is more of application than of exegesis, and the whole discourse usually takes a practical turn. If we knew the nature of his delivery, we could judge better of these remains, for they appear exactly of the class of sermons to which an earnest and winning manner would give great attraction ^ There are however some doctrinal arguments put forth (e.g. the reconciliation of the passages relating to the Divine and Human nature of Christ), but Berkeley generally takes the common doctrines of the Church as the basis of his instruction, and rarely seems to have argued in favour of them, as if they needed support. Strong in the faith of the Catholic Church on all important points, this great writer uses them as acknowledged among Christians ; and taking them as his starting-points, he illustrates them, and sometimes confirms them, but for the most part applies them to Christian practice. At least such is the impression made on me after an attentive consideration of these remains of Berkeley, which, I think, form a very precious monument of his truly Christian and Catholic spirit. Two addresses delivered by Berkeley in the discharge of his episcopal duties are added to these Sermons and Skeletons of Sermons. Brief as they are, they have considerable interest, as forming almost the only examples now extant of the mode in which he carried on this portion of his clerical work. One is an address to the candidates for confirma- tion ; the other the Charge delivered at his primary visitation as Bishop of Cloync. The former, though very brief, is very clear and explicit in the doctrines which it is intended to enforce. It describes the privileges which the Church confers upon its members, but its extreme brevity precludes his enforcing his practical directions with any power. The Visitation Charge is also important as a testimony to the con- dition of Ireland at that time -, in regard to the intercourse between the ' In the conclusion to the Sermon on stj'le of his discourses, which is for the I Tim. i. 2, preached at Leghorn on Palm most part very calm and unimpassioned. Sunday, there is a very touching passage - It ought also to be compared with his relative to the sufferings of our Lord. It Word to the Wise and his Letter to the forms rather an exception to the general Roman Catholics of Ireland. Prefatory Note. 597 clergy and the Roman Catholics. His directions to the clergy to seek opportunities of conversing with their Roman Catholic parishioners on religious topics, in the hope of converting them, are interesting. The gentleness and courtesy of his character are quite reflected in the tone of his Charge, while his sense of the evils of the errors of Romanism and of its superstitious practices is declared in a manner quite in harmony with the tone of his other works. SERMONS. I. PREACHED IN [TRINITY] COLLEGE CHAPEL, SUNDAY EVENING, JANUARY ii, 170^. 2 Tim. I. 10. Jesus Christ, ivho hath abolished death, and hath brought life and immortality to light through the gospel. Whether or no the knowledge of eternal life may be reckoned among the attainments of some ancient philosophers, I shall not now enquire. Be that as it will, sure I am the doctrine of life and immortality was never so current and universal as since the coming of our blessed Saviour. For though it be granted, which nevertheless is very hard to conceive, that some few of extraor- dinary parts and application might, by the unassisted force of reason, have obtained a demonstrative knowledge of that impor- tant point- yet those who wanted either leisure or abilities for making so great and difficult a discovery, which was doubtless the far greatest part of mankind, must still have remained in the dark : for, though they who saw farther than other men should tell them the result of their reasonings, yet he that knows not the premises could never be certain of the conclusion except his teacher had the power of working miracles for his conviction. 'Tis therefore evi- dent that, whatever discoveries of a future state were made by those that diverted their thoughts that way, how far soever they might have seen, yet all this light was smothered in their own bosoms, not a ray to enlighten the rest of mankind till the dawn- ing of the Sun of Righteousness, who brought life and immortality Sermon preached at Trinity College, Dublin. 599 to light by the gospel. In discoursing on which words I shall observe the following method: — ist, I shall consider what effect this revelation has had on the Christian world; 2ndly, I shall en- quire how it comes to pass that it has no greater effect on our lives and conversations; 3rdly, I shall shew by what means it may be rendered more effectual. As to the ist point, one would think he had not far to seek for the effects of so important and universal a revelation — a reve- lation of eternal happiness or misery, the unavoidable inheritance of every man, delivered by the Son of God, confirmed by miracles, and owned by all the professors of Christianity. If some among the heathen practised good actions on no other view than the temporal advantages to civil society; if others were found who thought virtue a reward sufficient for itself; if reason and experi- ence had long before convinced the world how unpleasant and destructive vice had been, as well to its votaries as the rest ot mankind, what man would not embrace a thing in itself so lovely and profitable as virtue, when recommended by the glorious reward of life and immortality ? what wretch so obdurate and foolish as not to shun vice, a thing so hateful and pernicious, when dis- couraged therefrom by the additional terrors of eternal death and damnation ? Thus might a man think a thorough reformation of manners the necessary effect of such a doctrine as our Saviour's. He may perhaps imagine that men, as soon as their eyes were opened, would quit all thoughts of this perishing earth, and extend their views to those new-discovered regions of life and immor- tality. Thus, I say, might a man hope and argue with himself. But, alas! upon enquiry all this, I fear, will be found frustrated hopes and empty speculation. Let us but look a little into matter of fact. How far, I beseech you, do we Christians surpass the old heathen Romans in tem- perance and fortitude, in honour and integrity? Are we less given to pride and avarice, strife and faction, than our Pagan ancestors ? With us that have immortality in view, is not the old doctrine of ' Eat and drink, for to-morrow we die,' as much in vogue as ever ? We inhabitants of Christendom, enlightened with the light of the Gospel, instructed by the Son of God, are we such shining exam- ples of peace and virtue to the unconverted Gentile world? and is it less certain than wonderful that now, when the fulness of time 6oo Sermon preached at is come, and the light of the Gospel held forth to guide every man through piety and virtue into everlasting happiness, — I say, is it not equally evident and strange, that at this time of day and in these parts of the world men go together by the ears about the things of this life, and scramble for a little dirt within sight of heaven ? 1 come now to enquire into the cause of this strange blindness and infatuation of Christians, whence it is that immortality, a happy immortality, has so small influence, when the vain, transi- tory things of this life do so strongly aflFect and engage us in the pursuit of them ? Wherein consists the wondrous mechanism of our passions, which are set a-going by the small inconsiderable objects of sense, whilst things of infinite weight and moment are altogether ineffectual? Did Heaven but kindle in our hearts hopes and desires suitable to so great and excellent an object, doubtless all the actions of our lives would evidently concur to the attain- ment thereof. One could be no longer to seek for the eff^ects of our Saviour's revelation amongst us. Whoever beheld a Christian would straightway take him for a pilgrim on earth, walking in the direct path to heaven. So regardless should he be of the things of this life, so full of the next, and so free from the vice and cor- ruption which at present stains our profession. If, then, we can discover how it comes to pass that our desire of life and immor- tality is so weak and ineff^ectual, we shall in some measure see into the cause of those many contradictions which are too con- spicuous betwixt the faith and practice of Christians, and be able to solve that great riddle, namely, that men should think infinite eternal bliss within their reach and scarce do anything for the obtaining it. Rational desires are vigorous in proportion to the goodness and, if I may so speak, attainableness of their objects; for whatever provokes desire does it more or less according as it is more or less desirable ; and what makes a thing desirable is its goodness or agrceableness to our nature, and also the probability there is of our being able to obtain it. For that which is appa- rently out of our reach affects us not, desire being a spur to action, and no rational agent directing his actions to what he sees impossible I know a late incomparable philosopher will have the present uneasiness the mind feels, which ordinarily is not propor- tionate to the goodness of the object, to determine the will. But I speak not of the ordinary brutish appetites of men, but of well- Trinity College, Dublin. 60 1 grounded rational desires, which, from what has been said, 'tis plain are in a direct compounded reason of the excellency and certainty of their objects. Thus, an object with half the g(X)dncss and double the certainty, and another with half the certainty and double the goodness, are equally desired; and universally those lots are alike esteemed wherein the prizes are reciprocally as the chances. Let us now by this rule try what value we ought to put on our Saviour's promises, with what degree of zeal and desire we should in reason pursue those things Jesus Christ has brought to light by the Gospel. In order whcrcunto it will be proper, ist, to consider their excellency, and 2dly, the certainty there is of our obtaining them upon fulfilling the conditions on which they are promised, ist, then, the things promised by our Saviour are life and immortality; that is, in the language of the Scriptures, eternal happiness, a happiness large as our desires, and those desires not stinted to the few objects we at present receive from some dull inlets of perception, but proportionate to what our faculties shall be when God has given the finishing stroke to our nature and made us fit inhabitants for heaven — a happiness which we narrow-sighted mortals wretchedly point out to ourselves by green meadows, fra- grant groves, refreshing shades, crystal streams, and what other pleasant ideas our fancies can glean up in this vale of misery, but in vain ; since the Apostle himself, who was caught up into the third heaven, could give no other than this empty though emphatical de- scription of it : 'tis what ' eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.' Now, by the foregoing rule, the hazard, though never so small and uncertain, of a good so ineffably, so inconceivably great, ought to be more valued and sought after than the greatest assurance we can have of any sublunary good; since in what proportion this good is more certain than that, in as great, nay, in a much greater proportion that good is more excellent than this. 'Twill therefore be need- less to enquire nicely into the second thing which was to be considered, namely, the certainty there is of the prize, which is good enough to warrant the laying out all our care, industry, and affections on the least hazard of obtaining it. Whatever effect brutal passion may have on some, or thought- lessness and stupidity on others, yet I beHeve there are none amongst us that do not at least think it as probable the Gospel 6o2 Sermon preached at may be true as false. Sure I am no man can say he has two to one odds on the contrary side. But when life and immortality are at stake, we should play our part with fear and trembling, though 'twere an hundred to one but we are cheated in the end. Nay, if there be any, the least prospect of our winning so noble a prize j and that there is some, none, the beastliest libertine or most besotted atheist, can deny. Hence 'tis evident that, were our desires of the things brought to light through the Gospel such as in strict reason they ought to be, nothing could be more vigorous and intense, nothing more firm and constant tiian they; and desire producing uneasiness, and uneasiness action in proportion to itself, it necessarily follows that we should make life and immortality our principal business, directing all our thoughts, hopes, and actions that way, and still doing something towards so noble a purchase. But since it is too evidently otherwise, since the trifling concerns of this present life do so far employ us that we can scarce spare time to cast an eye on futurity and look beyond the grave, 'tis a plain consequence that we have not a rational desire for the things brought to light by our Saviour, and that because we do not exercise our reason about them as we do about more trivial con- cerns. Hence it is the revelation of life and immortality has so little effect on our lives and conversations; we never think, we never reason about it. Now, why men that can reason well enough about other matters, should act the beast and the block so egregiously in things of highest importance; why they should prove so deaf and stupid to the repeated calls and promises of God, there may, I think, besides the ordinary avocations of the world, the flesh, and the devil, be assigned these two reasons: ist, we have no determined idea of the pleasures of heaven, and therefore they may not so forcibly engage us in the contemplation of them; 2dly, they are the less thought on because we imagine them at a great distance. As to the ist, 'tis true we can in this life have no determined idea of the pleasures of the next, and that because of their surpassing, transcendent nature, which is not suited to our present weak and narrow faculties. But this me- thinks should suffice, that they shall be excellent beyond the com- pass of our imagination, that they shall be such as God, wise, powerful, and good, shall think fit to honour and bless his family withal. Would the Almighty inspire us with new faculties, and Trinity College, Dublin. 603 give us a taste of those celestial joys, there could be no longer living in this world, we could have no relish for the things of it, but must languish and pine away with an incessant longing after the next. Besides, there could be no virtue, no vice j we should be no longer free agents, but irresistibly hurried on to do or suffer anything for the obtaining so great felicity. As for the 2d reason assigned for our neglect of the life to come, namely, that it appears to be at a great distance from us, I own we are very apt to think it so, though, for ought that I can see, without any reason at all. The world we live in may not unfitly be compared to Alexander the Impostor's temple, as described by Lucian. It had a fore and a back doo*", and a continual press going in at the one and out at the other, so there was little stay for anyone to observe what was doing within. Just so we see a multitude daily crowd- ing into the world and daily going out of it; we have scarce time to look about us, and if we were left every one to his own ex- perience, could know very little either of the earth itself, or of those things the Almighty has placed thereon, so swift is our progress from the womb to the grave ; and yet this span of life, this moment of duration, we are senseless enough to make account of as if it were longer than even eternity itself. But, granting the promised happiness be never so far off, and let it appear never so small, what then ? Is an object in reality little because it appears so at a distance? And I ask, whether shall a man make an estimate of things by what they really are in themselves, or by what they only appear to be ? I come now to the third and last thing proposed, namely, to show how our Saviour's revelation of life and immortality may come to have a greater effect on our lives and conversations. Had we but a longing desire for the things brought to light by the Gosp-'l, it would undoubtedly show itself in our lives, and we should thirst after righteousness as the hart panteth after the water brooks. Now, to beget in ourselves this zeal and uneasiness for life and immortality, we need only, as has been already made out, cast an eye on them, think and reason about them with some degree of attention. Let any man but open his eyes and behold the two roads before him — the one leading through the straiglit, peaceful paths of piety and virtue to eternal life; the other de- formed with all the crookedness of vice, and ending in everlasting 6o4 Sermon preached at Trinity College^ Dublin. death, — I say, let a man but look before him and view them both with a reasonable care, and then choose which he will, A man taking such a course cannot be mistaken in his choice j and is not this a small thing to weigh and ponder a little the proffers of the Almighty ? Would any one propose to us a bargain that carried with it some prospect of worldly advantage, we should without doubt think it worth our consideration; and when the eternal God makes us an offer of happiness, boundless as our desires and lasting as our immortal souls, — when He dispatches His well-beloved Son on this momentous message, shall we remain stupid and inattentive \ and must it be said to our reproach that life and immortality are pearls before swine? 'Tis true most people have a peculiar aversion for thinking, but espe- cially to trouble one's head about another life is much out of fashion. The world to come takes up little of our thoughts and less of our conversation. Wealth, pleasure, and preferment make the great business of our lives ; and we stand on all sides exposed to the solicitations of sense, which never fail to draw off our thoughts from remote goods. But be it never so unfashionable, be it never so painful and laborious a task, he that will enjoy heaven in the next life must think on it in this; he must break through the encumbrances of sense and pleasure sometimes to have a serious thought of eternity, and cast an eye on the recompense of reward. In short, he that is not resolved to walk blindfold down to hell must look about him betimes, while he stands upon firm ground, and from off this present world take a prospect of the next, in comparison of which the whole earth and all contained therein is, in the elegant style of a prophet, no more than the drop of a bucket, the dust of a balance, yea less than nothing. Grant, we beseech thee. Almighty God, that the words which we have heard this day with our outward ears may, through Thy grace, be so grafted inwardly in our hearts, that they may bring forth in us the fruit of good living, to the honour and praise of Thy Name ; through Jesus Christ our Lord. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all evermore. Scnnou preached at Lef^honi. 605 II. PREACHED AT LEGHORN, PALM SUNDAY, A.D. .714. I Tim. I. 2. This is a faithful saying and ivorthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the ivorld to save sinners. As there is not any subject on which wc can employ our thoughts with more advantage and comfort than the life and sufferings of our blessed Saviour, and the inestimable benefits that it is in our power to receive thereby, so we ought frequently to make them the subject of our meditations j especially at this time, which is appointed by the Church for a peculiar season of con- trition and repentance, and a devout preparation of ourselves for the reception of the Holy Sacrament. But that you may clearly see the necessity and importance of our Saviour's coming into the world, it will be necessary to reflect on the state in which man- kind was before his coming amongst them. The whole world was then comprehended under two general heads of Jews and Gentiles; and that the wisdom and goodness of God in sending the Messiah upon earth may be made more manifest unto you, I shall consider the condition and circumstances of each of these distinctly; and first of the Gentiles. By whom we are to understand all those nations that had no other guides to direct them in the conduct of life and pursuit of happiness besides reason and common sense, which are otherwise called the light of nature. They had no inspired writings to inform them of the being and attributes of God, or of the worth and immortality of their own souls: no lawgivers to explain to them that manner of worship by which the Supreme Being was to be adored: no prophets or apostles to reclaim them from their evil ways and warn them of the wrath to come, or to encourage them to a good life by laying before them the infinite and eternal happiness, which in another world shall be the portion of those who practise virtue and innocence in this. It must indeed be owned that the Gentiles might by a due use of their reason, by thought and study, observing the beauty and 6o6 Scnnon preached at Le^/iorn. order of the world, and the excellence and profitableness of virtue, have obtained some sense of a Providence and of Religion ; agree- ably to which the Apostle saith that the invisible things of God from the creation of the world are clearly seen, and understood by the things which are made, even his eternal power and Godhead. But how few were they who made this use of their reason, or lived according to it ? Perhaps here and there one among those who were called Philosophers, while the bulk of mankind being diverted by the vain pursuits of riches and honours and sensual pleasures, from cultivating their minds by knowledge and virtue, sunk into the grossest ignorance, Idolatry and Superstition. Professing themselves wise they changed the Glory of the incorruptible God into an image, made like to corruptible man, and to birds and fourfooted beasts and creeping things. Their Sacred Rites were polluted with acts of unclcanncss and debauchery ; and Human Sacrifice often stained the altars erected to their Deities. It would take up too much time to recount all the extravagant follies and cruelties which made up the belief and practice of their religion : as their burning their own children to the God Moloch in the valley of Hinnom; their adoring oxen and serpents or inanimate things as the sun and stars, and certain plartts or fruits of the earth, which things are at this day practised by many nations where the glorious light of the Gospel has not yet shone. I shall conclude this account of their idolatry by the following description of it taken out of the Prophet Isaiah : — ' A man planteth an ash, and the rain doth nourish it. Then shall it be for a man to burn: for he will take thereof, and warm himself; yea, he kindleth it, and baketh bread ; yea, he maketh a god, and wor- shippeth it ; he maketh it a graven image, and falieth down thereto. He burneth part thereof in the fire ; with part thereof he eatcth flesh ; he roasteth roast, and is satisfied : yea, he warmcth himself, and saith. Aha, I am warm, I have seen the fire : and the residue thereof he maketh a god, even his graven image : he falieth down unto it, and worshippeth it, and prayeth unto it, and saith. Deliver me J for thou art my god. They have not known nor understood : for he hath shut their eyes, that they cannot see; and their hearts, i that they cannot understand. And none considereth in his heart, ■ neither is there knowledge nor understanding to say, I have burned part of it in the fire; yea, also I liave baked bread upon the coals Sermon preached at Leghorn. 607 hereof; I have roasted flesh, and eaten it: and shall I make the esidue thereof an abomination ? shall I fall down to the stock of L tree ? ' In such circumstances as these for a man to declare for free- hinking, and disengage himself from the yoke of idolatry, were loing honour to Human Nature, and a work well becoming the ;reat assertors of Reason. But in a Church where our adoration s directed to the Supreme Being, and (to say the least) where is lothing in the object or manner of our worship that contradicts :he light of nature, there, under the pretence of Free-thinking to ail at the Religious institutions of their country, sheweth an mdistinguishing mind that mistakes the spirit of opposition for reedom of thought. But to return. Suitable to their Religion were the lives of our ancestors : our incestors I say, who before the coming of our blessed Saviour nade part of the Gentiles, the rest of the heathen worlds sate in larkness and the shadow of death. In those days of ignorance md estrangement from the living God, it is hardly to be conceived vhat a deluge of licence and iniquity overwhelmed mankind. It :annot indeed be denied that vice is too common amongst us low, but, however, virtue is in some reputation. The frequent denouncing of God's judgments against sinners hath some effect )n our consciences; and even the reprobate who hath extinguished n himself all notion of Religion is oft restrained by a sense of lecency and shame from those actions which are held in abhor- •ence by all good Christians, whereas in the times of Gentilism, nen were given up to work uncleanness with greediness. Lust uid intemperance kiiew no bounds, and our forefathers acted those ■rimes publicly and without remorse from which they apprehended leither shame nor punishment. St. Paul gives us a catalogue of ;heir crimes when he tells us they ' were filled with all unrighteous- iiess, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of !mvy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity ; whisperers, backbiters, laters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents; without understanding, covenant-breakers, [A^ithout natural affection, implacable, unmerciful.' What a frightful picture of our forefathers; but we may still >ee too much of it among ourselves not to believe it true. Now when so thick a darkness had covered the world, how expedient 6o8 Sermon preached at Leghorn. was it that the Sun of Righteousness should arise with healing on his wings ! When the general state of mankind was so deplorable how necessary was it that Christ Jesus should come into the world to save sinners ! And the like necessity of a Saviour will appear also with rela- tion to the Jews, if we reflect on their state. These were indeed the chosen people of God, who, as such, had vouchsafed to them many extraordinary miracles, prophecies, and revelations. They had a law imparted to them from Heaven, together with frequent assurances and instances of the Divine protection so long as they continued in the observance of it. But we must consider in the first place that the ancient ceremonial Law was a yoke which, as the Apostle tells the Jews of his time, neither they nor their fathers were able to bear. Their circumcision, sacrifices, purifi- cations, abstaining from meats and the like ordinances, were burdensome and carnal ; such as in themselves could not perfect or regenerate the soul. And are therefore to be considered as having a further view, inasmuch as they were types and prefigura- tions of the Messiah and the Spiritual Religion that he was to introduce into the world. And as proofs that this ritual way of worship accommodated to the carnal and stifFnecked Jews was not the most acceptable to God, there occur several passages even in the Old Testament. Thus, for example, in the Prophet Isaiah, ' To what purpose is the multitude of your sacrifices unto me, saith the Lord ? I am full of the fat of your burnt offerings of rams and of the fat of the fed beasts. Bring no more oblations, incense is an abomination unto me. The new moons and sabbaths I cannot away with. Cease to do evil ; learn to do well. Seek judgment, relieve the oppressed ; judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.' But, secondly, the moral Law, was not arrived to its full per- fection under the dispensation of the Jews. They were borne with on many points upon the account of the hardness of their hearts. The adhering to one and the same wife, the forgiving our enemies and loving our neighbours as ourselves, are precepts peculiar to Christianity ^ To the wisdom of God it did not seem convenient that the Law at first proposed to the Jews, should enjoin the most heroic strains of charity or the height and purity of Christian virtue j but rather by morals less severe, and figures of things to come, to ' [This statement requires modification. See Lev. xi.\. l8.] Sermon preached at Leghorn. 609 prepare their minds for the more perfect and spiritual doctrine of the Gospel. In regard to which we may say with the Apostle, that the Law was a schoolmaster to bring the Jews to Christ, Thirdly^ the knowledge of a future state was not so clearly and fully revealed to the Jews. These hopes do not generally seem to have reached beyond the grave. Conquests over their enemies, peace and prosperity at home, a land flowing with milk and honey. These and such like temporal enjoyments were the rewards they expected of their obedience ; as on the other hand the evils com- monly denounced against them were plagues, famines, captivities, and the like. Pursuant to which, we find the Resurrection to have been a controverted point among the Jews, maintained by the Pharisees, and denied by the Sadducees. So obscure and dubious was the revelation of another world before life and immortality were brought to light by the Gospel. We should further consider that it was in vain to expect salvation by the works of the Law ; since it was impossible for human nature to perform a perfect unsinning obedience to it. We are told that even the righteous man falls seven times in a day. Such is the frailty of our nature, and so many and various are the temptations which on all sides assault us from the world, the flesh, and the devil, that we cannot live without sinning at least in word and thought. And the unavoidable reward of sin was death. Do this and live was the condition of the old cove- nant; and seeing that by the corruption of our nature derived from our first parents we were unable to fulfil that condition, we must without another covenant have been all necessarily included under the sentence of death. Agreeably to which St. Paul saith, ' As many as are of the works of the Law are under the curse. For it is written, Cursed is every one that continueth not in all the things that are written in the book of the Law to do them.-* You see, from what has been said, the miserable forlorn con- dition of all mankind, both Jews and Gentiles, in former ages ; and we should still have continued in the same state of sin and estrangement from God, were it not that ' the day-spring from on high hath visited us' — were it not for Him of whom Isaiah fore- told : ' The Gentiles shall come to Thy light, and the kings of the Gentiles to Thy rising ' — the ever blessed Son of God, who came down upon earth to be our Teacher, our Redeemer, our Mediator. VOL. IV. R r 6 1 o Sermon preached at Leghorn. [Well, therefore, may we be filled with gladness and cry out with the prophet, 'Sing, O heaven, and rejoice, O earth, and break forth into singing, O ye mountains ! for the Lord hath comforted His people and will have mercy on His afflicted.'] How just an occasion have we here of comfort and joy. What if we were by nature ignorant and brutish, we have now the glorious light of the Gospel shining among us, and instead of worshipping stocks and stones are brought to adore the living God? What if we are encompassed with snares and afflictions in this present world ? We have the grace of God and the blessed hope of eternity to strengthen and support us. In fine, what if we have merited the wrath of God and vengeance of heaven by our sins and trans- gressions, since this is a faithful saying and worthy of all accep- tation that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners ? which words, that you may the better understand, it will be necessary to explain unto you. The second point pressed, viz. how and in what sense Jesus Christ promotes the salvation of sinners. And this He has done in four respects. Firstly, by His preaching; secondly, by His example; thirdly, by His death; and fourthly, by His intercession. First, I say, by His preaching. As there is nothing which renders us so acceptable to God as a good life, which consists in the practice of virtue and holiness, it was highly necessary, in order to put us in a capacity of salvation, that our duty should be plainly laid before us, and recommended in the most powerful and persuasive manner. This has been effectually performed by our Lord and His apostles, who went about preaching the Word of God, and exhorting all men to forsake their evil ways and follow after righteousness, to become just and sober, and chaste and charitable; in a word, to discharge all the several offices and duties of life in a blameless and exemplary manner. Jew and Gentile are equally called upon in the Gospel, and morality is there advanced to a degree of purity and perfection beyond either the Law of Moses or the precepts of the wisest of the heathen. And that no motives or engagements to the observation of it may be wanting, we have, on the one hand, the highest and most inestimable rewards, and on the other hand, the sorest and most terrific punishments proposed to us. But as example is oftentimes found no less instructive than precept, and to the end all methods Sermofi preached at Lei^/ioni. 6 1 i might be employed to rescue man from the slavery of sin and death, our blessed Lord condescended to take upon Him human nature, that He might become a living example of all those virtues which we are required to practise. His whole life was spent in acts of charity, meekness, patience, and every good work. He has not only told us our duty, but also showed us how U) per- form it, having made Himself a perfect pattern of h(jliness for our imitation. And this is the second method whereby Ciirist con- tributes to save sinners. In the next place we are to observe, that as our blessed Saviour omitted no instance of love and goodness to mankind, not only His life, but His death also, was of the last importance to our redemption. Such is the infinite purity and holiness of Almighty God, that we could not hope for any reconciliation with Him, so long as our souls were stained by the filthiness and pollution of sin. But neither could rivers of the blood of rams and bulls, or of our own tears, have been sufficient to wash out those stains. It is in the unalterable nature of things that sin be followed by punishment. For crimes cried aloud to Heaven for vengeance, and the justice of God made it necessary to inflict it, [Behold, then, mankind at an infinite distance from Heaven, and happi- ness oppressed with a load of guilt, and condemned to a punish- ment equal to the guilt, which was infinitely heightened and aggravated by the Majesty of the offended God ! Such was our forlorn, hopeless condition,] when lo ! the Lamb of God, the Eter- nal Son of the Father, clothed Himself with Hesh and blood that He may tread the wine-press of the wrath of God, and offer I limsclf a ransom for us. He sheds His own blood that He may purge away our sins, and submits to the shameful punishment of the Cross, that by His death He may open to us the d(X)r to eternal life. Lastly, having broke asunder the bands of death, and triumphed over the grave. He ascended to Heaven, where He now sitteth at the right hand of God, ever making intercession for us. To this purpose speaks the apostle to the Hebrews, in the following manner: — 'Christ Jesus, because He continueth for ever, hath an unchangeable priesthood. Wherefore, also, He is able to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him, seeing He ever liveth to make intercession for them.' And should not this be an occasion of unspeakable comfort to us, that we have the Son R r i 6 1 2 Sermon preached at Leghorn. of God for our advocate, even His ever-blessed Son, whom He hath appointed Heir of all things, who hath so great love for men that He never ceases to plead our cause and solicit our pardon. And this is the fourth way whereby our Lord makes good the words of my text, that this is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. It appears, then, from what hath been said, that sinners shall be saved j and, if so, may we not sin on in hopes that we shall go to Heaven when we can sin no longer? The lives of too many Christians would' persuade us they entertain such thoughts as these. But let us not deceive ourselves, and abuse the method which the good providence of God designed for our salvation, cross the gra- cious designs of Heaven, and treasure up to ourselves vengeance against the day of wrath. Can we be so foolish as to think our holy Redeemer led a life of spotless innocence upon earth, in order to procure us a licence to taste the pleasures of sin ? Must He be humble that we may be proud and arrogant? Must He live in poverty that we may make a god of riches, and heap them together by avarice and extortion ? Shall the Son of God give His body to be crucified that we may pamper our flesh in drunkenness and gluttony ? Or can we hope that He will without ceasing intercede with the Father in behalf of those wretches who, instead of pray- ing for this mercy at His hands, are perpetually blaspheming His name with oaths and curses ? But you will say, are not these sinners saved ? I answer, it is true sinners are saved. But not those who tread under foot the Son of God, and do despite to the Spirit of Grace. Christ Jesus came into the world to save repenting sinners. If we will be saved, we must do something on our parts also, and, without rely- ing altogether an the sufferings and merits of Christ, work out our own salvation with fear and trembling. The good tidings of the Gospel amount, in short, to no more than this : that we shall be saved if we repent and believe ! But we must not suppose that this repentance consists only in a sorrow |l for sin • there must be a forsaking of our evil ways, a reformation ' and amendment of life. Neither must it be thought that the faith here required is an empty, notional belief. ' Thou believest,' saith St. James^ 'thou doest well: the devils also believe and tremble; but wilt thou know, O vain man, that faith without works is dead.' i Sermon preached at Leghorn. 6 1 J The faith of a true Christian must be a lively faith that sanctifies the heart, and shows itself in the fruits of the Spirit. By nature we are vessels of wrath polluted with the original corruption of our first parents and our own manifold transgressions, whereas by the grace of God, showed forth in Christ Jesus, our sins are purged away, and our sincere, though imperfect en- deavours are accepted. But without these sincere endeavours, without this lively Faith and unfeigned repentance, to hope for salvation is senseless. We cannot be guilty of a more fatal mistake than to think the Christian warfare a thing to be per- formed with ease and indifference. It is a work of diflficulty that requires our utmost care and attention, and must be made the main business of our lives. We must pluck out the right eye, cut off the right hand, that is, subdue our darling affections, cast o^ our beloved and bosom sin, if we have a mind to enter into the kingdom of heaven. He that will partake of the benefits of the Gospel, must endeavour to live up to the precepts of it — to be pure and innocent in mind and manners, to love God with all his heart, and with all his strength, and his neighbour as himself. There must be no hatred, no malice, no slandering, no envy, no strife in a regenerate Christian. But all love, joy, peace, long- suffering, gentleness, goodness, meekness, the most ardent and diffusive charity, ever abounding in good works, and promoting his neighbour's interest as his own. You see how great obligations our profession lays upon us. How far short of these do the per- formances of most men fall ! What, I beseech you, docs the piety of a modern Christian commonly amount to ? He is indeed content to retain the name of that profession into which he was admitted by baptism, but without taking any care to fulfil his baptismal vow, or, it may be, without so much as ever thinking of it. He may, perhaps, in a fit of the spleen, or sickness, or old age, when he has no longer any ability or temptation to sin, entertain some slight thoughts of turning to God while the strength and flower of his age is spent in the service of Satan. Or some- times he may give a penny to a poor naked wretch that he may relieve himself from the pain of seeing a miserable object-. On ^ This is altered on the opposite page lie service of the Church, if, when we lift up thus: ' Neither must we rely on outward per- our hands and eyes to God, our hearts are formances, without an inward and sincere far from Him ?' piety. What avails it to frequent the pub- 6 1 4 Sermon preached at Leghorn. a Sunday, in compliance with the custom of our country, we dress ourselves and go to church. But what is it that folks do in church ? When they have paid their compliments to one another, they lift up their hands and eyes to God, but their hearts are far from Him ! Prayers and thanksgivings are now over, without zeal or fervour, without a sense of our own littleness and wants^ or the majesty of that God whom we adore. The warmest and most Ssraphic hymns are pronounced with a cold indifference, and sermons heard with- out one resolution of being the better for them, or putting one word of them in practice. God declares that He has no pleasure in the death of a sinner, but had rather that he would turn from his wickedness and live. Why then will ye die ? ' I have spread out my hands, saith the Lord, all the day to a rebellious people, a people that provoketh me continually to my face. I have spread out my hands.' God, you see, is desirous and earnest for our con- version and ready to receive us ! Why then should we be neg- ligent in what concerns our salvation ? And shall all those methods which God has used to bring us to Him be in vain ? Shall we frustrate the mission and sufferings of His well-beloved son ? ' The infinite pangs and sufferings that He underwent in the work of our redemption should, one would think, soften the most obdurate heart, and dispose us to suitable returns of love and duty. The prophet Isaiah, several hundred years before our Saviour's birth, gives the following lively description of His sufferings : — * He was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows : yet we did esteem Him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But He was wounded for our transgressions. He was bruised for our iniquities : the chastise- ment of our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way ; and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth : He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so He openeth not His mouth.' And does it seem a small thing to you that the blessed son of God, by whom He made the worlds, who is the brightness of His glory and the express image of His person, should quit the happy mansions of Heaven to come down upon earth and take upon Himself the punishment of our sins ? That He who could Sermon preached at Leghorn. 615 eommand legions of angels should, for our sakes, submit to the insults and scorn of the lowest of mankind ? Figure to yourselves His head dishonoured with an ignominious crown of thorns, His face spit upon, and buffeted by an impious and profane rabble ! His flesh torn with scourges. His hands and feet pierced with nails, blood and water streaming from His side ! His ears wounded with taunts and reproaches ! And that mouth which uttered the glad tidings of salvation, filled with gall and vinegar ! in fine, figure to yourselves. His sacred body hung upon a cross, there to expire in lingering torments between thieves and malefactors ! But who can figure to himself, or what imagination is able to com- prehend the unutterable agony that He felt within when the cup of the fury of God was poured out upon His soul, and His spirit laboured under the guilt of all mankind ? Can we think on these things, which are all the effects of our sins, and at the same time be untouched with any sense or compunction for them ? Shall the sense of those crimes that made our Saviour sweat drops of blood be unable to extort a single tear from us? When the earth quakes, and the rocks are rent, the skies are covered with dark- ness, and all nature is troubled at the passion of the Lord of Life, shall man alone remain stupid and insensible ? But if we are not generous and grateful enough to be affected with the sufferings of our Saviour, let us, at least, have some regard to our own, and bethink ourselves in this our day of the heavy punishment that awaits every one of us who continues in a course of sin ! Let us bethink ourselves that in a few days the healthiest and bravest of us all shall lie mingled with the common dust ! and our souls be disposed of by an irreversible decree, that no tears, no humiliation, no repentance, can avail on the other side of the grave. But it is now in our power to avoid the tor- ments of the place where the worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched, provided that we repent of our sins, and, for the time to come, 'denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, wc live soberly and godly in this present world, looking for that blessed hope and the glorious appearance of the great God and our Saviour Jesus Christ, who gave Himself for us that He may redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto Himself a peculiar people zealous of good works.' That all we here present may be partakers of this redemption, 6 1 6 Sermon preached at Leghorn. and numbered among this peculiar people, God, of His infinite mercy, grant ; to whom be ascribed all honour, praise, power, and dominion, now and for evermore ! III. PREACHED AT LEGHORN I [NO DATE.] St. John xiii. 35. By this shall all men knoiv that ye are my disciples, if ye hanje love one to another. To a man who considers things with candour and attention there are not wanting on all sides invincible proofs of the divinity of the Christian religion. So many prophecies accomplished, so many and so stupendous miracles wrought in the eyes of the world, such a constant uninterrupted tradition sealed with the blood of so many thousand martyrs, such a wonderful spread and propagation of it without human force or artifice, and against the most powerful opposition from the subtilty and rage of its adversaries : these things, I say, with the sublimity of its doctrines and the simplicity of its rites, can leave not a doubt of its coming from God in a mind not sullied with sin, not blmded with pre- judice, and not hardened with obstinacy. But among all the numerous attestations to the divinity of our most holy Faith, there is not any that carries with it a more winning conviction than that which may be drawn from the sweetness and excellency of the Christian morals. There runs throughout the Gospels and Epistles such a spirit of love, gentle- ness, charity, and good-nature, that as nothing is better calculated to procure the happiness of mankind, so nothing can carry with it a surer evidence of its being derived from the common Father of us all. Herein that paternal love of God to men is visible, that mutual charity is what we are principally enjoined to practise. He doth not require from us costly sacrifices, magnificent temples, or tedious pilgrimages, but only that we should love one another. This is everywhere recommended to us in the most practical ^ Preached at Leghorne. . . . Brother Henry Berkeley. Sermon preached at Leghorn. 6 1 7 and earnest manner both by our Saviour and His apostles. And when our blessed Lord had spent His life upon earth in acts of charity and goodness, and was going to put a period to it by the most amazing instance of love to mankind that was ever shown, He leaves this precept as a legacy to His disciples, ' A new com- mandment I give unto you that you love another, as I have loved you that you also love one another. By this shall all men know that you are my disciples, if you have love one to another.' Mark with what earnestness and emphasis our Lord inculcates this commandment. In the compass of a few verses He repeats it thrice. He invites us by His own example to the practice of it, and to bind it on our conscience makes our obedience in this point the mark of our calling. ' By this,' says He, ' shall all men know that you are my disciples, if you have love one to another.' In treating of which words I shall observe this method : — First, I shall endeavour to make you sensible of the nature and importance of this duty j Secondly, I shall lay before you the good effects it is attended with when duly practised ; and, in the last place, I shall add some further considerations to persuade you to the observation of it. First, then, I am to show the nature and importance of this duty. If you are minded duly to put in practice this evangelical virtue of charity, you must preserve and cherish in your minds a warm affectionate love towards your neighbours. It will not suffice that you have an outward civility and complaisance for I each other; this may be good breeding, but there is something more required to make you good Christians. There must be an inward, sincere, disinterested affection that takes root in the heart and shows itself in acts of kindness and benevolence. ' My little children/ saith St. John, Met us not love in word but in deed and truth.' In the Gospel use of the word we are all brothers, and wc must live together as becomes brethren. Is a poor Christian naked or hungry, you must in proportion to your ability be ready to cloath and feed him; 'for,' says the apostle, 'whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwcllcth the love of God in him ?' Does your brother labour under any bodily infirmity, 6 1 8 Sermon preached at Leghorn. or is he likely to incur a danger when it is in your power to re- lieve or protect him, you must do it cheerfully without grudging the trifling expense or trouble it may put you to, for ' great is your reward in heaven/ Does he take ill courses, does he harden himself in habits of sin, is he led astray by the conversation and example of wicked men, is he remiss in observing the ordinances of religion, or does he show a contempt of sacred things j * restore such a one in the spirit of meekness, considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted. Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.' When your neighbour is in flourishing circumstances you should rejoice at his prosperity, and instead of looking on him with an envious eye, be well pleased to see him thrive in this world and reap the fruits of an honest industry. Or in case his affairs take an unhappy turn, you should be generous enough to feel another's suflPerings, and employ your credit or interest to support the sinking fortune of an honest man. Lastly, instead of taking a diabolical pleasure in hearing the faults of other men aggravated or blazed abroad, you must be delighted to hear their virtues celebrated and placed in a public light for the encouragement and imitation of others. We should be slow to believe, displeased to hear, and always averse from propagating any scandalous stories to the disparagement of our neighbours. If they are false to spread or countenance them is the highest injustice, and if they are true it may be called the highest cruelty. It is not doing as you would be done by to draw the secret failings of your neighbours into the full view of the world ; it is a barbarous, savage joy that you take in discovering his sins and imperfections ; it is a cruelty not only to him but likewise to other men, inasmuch as vicious examples made public strengthen the party of sinners, spread the contagion of vice, and take oflT from the horror of it. And yet by a base malignity of temper, men are for the most part better pleased with satyr than panegyric, and they can behold with much greater satisfaction the reputation of another stab'd and torn by the venemous'* tongues of slanderers and detractors than sett* off to advantage by the recital of his good actions. It were an endless task to lay before you all the passages in the New Testament where this duty of charity is recommended to our Sermon preached at Leghorn. 6 1 9 practice j it is in every page insisted on as the principal, the essential, the distinguishing part of the Christian religion. It is represented as the great scope and design of our Saviour and His apostles preaching in the world. 'For this,' says St. John, 'is the message that you have heard from the beginning, that ye should love one another.' It is sett forth as the sum and perfec- tion of the law. Thus Saint Paul says to the Romanes, ' He that loveth another hath fulfilled the law.' And our blessed Lord Him- self hath declared unto us that on the love of God and our neigh- bour hang all the law and the prophets. Certainly 'tis inculcated and bound upon the conscience as that without which all the spiritual gifts and performances are of no effect. Though you could speak with the tongues of men and angels, though you had the gift of prophecy and understood all mysteries and all knowledge, and though you had all faith so that you could remove mountains, and have no charity, if you will believe the apostle you are nothing. Nay, though you give all your goods to feed the poor, and though you give your body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth nothing. Numberless are the like passages in the holy Scripture which enforce this duty in the strongest and most urgent terms. How careful then ought we to be to understand this main point, and how diligent to put it in practice 5. This charity, without which it is vain to hope for salvation, is understood by too many to consist only in bestowing some trifling part of their fortune on their poor neighbours, which in the expenses of the year is never felt. But by the words last cited from St. Paul you may see that it is possible for a man to give all his goods to the poor and yet want charity. That indeed is a laudable part or rather effect of charity, but it does not complete the entire nature of it. To the end you may not be mistaken in this, take the following description of it from the same inspired author : ^ Charity suffereth long, and is kind ; charity envieth not j charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly^ seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh ' On the opposite page of the MS. there of charity, it nevertheless cannot he denied is the following passage, without any mark to be a part or branch thereof, or rather an of reference : — ' But altho' the giving of our outward and visible effect of that inward goods to the poor be, not that which alone grace which is the life of a true [member of constitutes and comprehends the true nature Christ's mystical body] Christian. 620 Sermon p7^eached at Leghorn, no evil, rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.' What then shall we say of those Christians who envy the prosperity of other men, who take fire at the least provocation, and are so far from suffering long, that they are for revenging the smallest injury with death, and cannot have satisfaction for a rash word till they have spilled the blood of him that spoke it. In fine, what shall I think of that censorious humour^ that austere pride, that sullen, unsociable disposition which some people mistake for religion ; whereas, on the contrary, gentleness, good-nature, and humanity are so far from being inconsistent with the true spirit of religion, that they are enjoined as the indispensable duty of all who call upon the name of Christ. As men are very apt to flatter themselves that God is to be put off with any slight performance of duty, they think that so long as they do not rob or murder or swear their neighbour out of his life, there is nothing more required in order to make them charitable. How charitable are ye that are so jealous of your own interests, you that are so punctilious in point of honor and freedom, you that are thus pleased with scandal, that suck in with delight every idle report that tends to discredit or blast the reputation of your neighbour, that rejoice in any failings and are [never happier than ?] that at the expense of one another. Hear what St. James saith, ' If any man among you seem to be religious and bridleth not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man's religion is vain.' And if injurious words are certain marks of a reprobate mind, how much more so are bloody quarrels, vexa- tious [habits ?], with all those hellish contrivances to supplant and destroy each other which we see daily practised in the world ? As men are never wanting to excuse ill actions and palliate their faults with one pretext or other, I doubt not it is very possible some among you make [may] think it a sufficient excuse for calumny and slander that it is used only to pass away the time, for mirth's sake, and now and then to season conversation. But know, O Christian ! that the mirth you find in hearing and telling malicious stories, in magnifying every little fault of your neigh- bour, and putting the worst interpretation on all his actions, is a mirth unbecoming your profession, it is inconsistent with that charity without which you cannot be saved, and however you Sermon preached at Leghorn. 621 may do these things in jest, you will be punished for them in earnest. It may perhaps be pretended as an excuse for the want of charity, that you have to do with men of ill natures, of rough and untractable tempers, and who have no charity themselves for other men. But what says our Saviour, ' If you love them which love you, what reward have you, do not even the publicans the same ?' And surely it is but just to expect that you who are instructed by the example and precepts of the Son of God, who are animated with the blessed hopes of eternity, who are delivered from the power of darkness, and called to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light, should practise a higher strain of virtue than publicans and heathens who are destitute of all these advantages ? But others make free with your reputation, or have injured you in your estate or person, and it is reasonable you should make reprisals. But consider, O Christian, whether it be more reason- able in such a case by obeying the uneasy, sinful motions of anger and revenge to expose yourselves to the wrath of Almighty God, or by laying hold of that fair opportunity which is given you to put in practice these Christian virtues of meekness, patience, forgiving injuries, and returning good for evil ; turning the de- signed injuries of an enemy into the greatest blessings that could befall you. If we would behave ourselves as becomes the disciples of Christ, we must open and enlarge our hearts towards the whole mass of mankind. 'Ye have heard that it hath been said. Love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.' Our Lord says, ' Love your enemies.' And if we ought to love our enemies, whom ought we not to love ? We must therefore above all things be sure to preserve in our souls a constant universal benevolence which extends itself to all the sons of men. Our charity must not be limited to any sect or party j Turk and Jew, infidel and idolater, and much more the several subdivisions of Christians are to be the object of our love and good wishes. It is the unhappiness and reproach of Christendom that we are crumbled into so many sects and parties ^ but whatever grounds or pretences we may have for keeping at a distance from each other in point of opinion, yet for heaven's sake let us be united in the bands of love and charity. Let us not upon the [ground ?] of controverted notions transgress 62 2 Sermon preached at Leghorn. and trample under foot the most unquestioned fundamentals of re- ligion. In fine, let us carefully distinguish between the sentiments and the person of our neighbour, and while we condemn the one be sure that we love the other; ever remembering that charity is the principal duty of a Christian, without which all other pretensions to purity of faith or sanctity of life avail nothing at all. And, as difference in opinion can never justify an uncharitable conduct towards those who differ from us, so neither can difference of interests. My neighbour rivals me in point of riches or honor, he aims at the same employment or carries on the same trade that I do, or there is some difference between us in point of money. In fine his prosperity interferes with mine. What then ! shall I therefore swell with malice, envy, and discontent, and instead of being a child of God, transform myself into a fiend of hell ? We must by all means mortify and subdue that base principle of self-love whose views are always turned inwards, which, instead of prompting us to good offices towards our neigh- bour, will not allow us to have good wishes to any but ourselves. It is interest that sets the world together by the ears, that makes us break (?) with our bosom friends, that fills our hearts with jealousy and disquiet ; no personal merit, no ties of consanguinity, no past obligations, are strong enough to oppose the resolutions that it inspires. So long therefore as that continues the governing principle of our lives and actions, we cannot hope to be any great proficients in the necessary and essential duty of charity. Hence we must learn to wean ourselves from our self-interest, or rather learn wherein our true interest consists. And this leads me to the second point proposed, namely, to show the good offices that charity is attended with, and how much it conduceth to the interest of those who practise it. However mistaken, men may be too apt to place their chiefest interest in the slight pleasures and transient enjoyments of this life, in the gratification of some passion, or the gaining of some temporal advantage, yet a man who considers things with any fairness or impartiality will be easily convinced that his chief interest consists in obeying Almighty God, in conforming his life and actions to the will and command of his Creator who first gave him being and still continues to preserve it, whose free gift are Ser^non preached at Leghor^i. 623 all the good things he can enjoy, and who has promised to reward our obedience in this life with eternal happiness hereafter". But because the spiritual nature of God^ though most near and immediately operating on our souls and bodies, is yet invisible to our senses, and because the riches of that place where there is no moth nor rust, and where thieves do not break through and steal, are placed at a distance from our present state, and that men are more powerfully influenced by things which are present ami sensible, 1 shall therefore, waiving all other considerations, apply myself to consider the advantages which the practice of charity is attended with, and how much it conduces to the happiness of men in this present state. The good effects of charity may be considered either with respect to public communities of men, or with respect to private persons. As to the first, the advantages of an amiable corre- spondence between different nations are plainly to be seen in traffic and commerce whereby the product of each particular soil is communicated to distant countries, useful inventions are made common and flourish, and men mutually supply the wants of each other. But when the spirit of ambition or revenge begins to operate, when jealousy of each other's wealth and power divides nations and breaks the bonds of charity, then all those advantages are interrupted, and men instead of promoting each other's benefit, are employed in destroying one another. Whole provinces are laid waste j cities, palaces, and churches, the work of many ages, are in an instant demolished and burnt to the ground : thousands of widows and orphans are made in one day ; and he who makes the greatest havock of his fellow-Christians is esteemed most worthy of renown and honor. After an infinity of rapes, murders, rapines, sacrileges, when fire and sword have spent their rage, and are glutted with human blood, the dreadful scene often ends in plague or famine, as the natural consequences of war. But, alas! we can only bewail these things without any hopes of reforming them. Tne commands of God are on all sides forgotten, and when two armies are on the point of engaging, a man would be laughed at who should put them in mind of our Saviour's pre- cept, 'By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.' " On the opposite side of the page. 624 Sermon preached at L eghorn. But although all orders of men are involved in these public calamities, yet few there are in whose power it is to remedy or prevent them, whereas it is in the power of every one of us to avoid those infinite mischiefs which arise in private life from a defect of charity. As different countries are by their respective products fitted to supply each other's wants, so the allwise providence of God hath ordered that different men are endowed with various talents, whereby they are mutually enabled to assist and promote the happiness of one another. Thus one has health and strength of body, another enjoys the faculties of his mind in greater perfection ; one hath riches, another hath learning. This man is fitted for a public station, that for the oeconomy of a private life. One. man is skilled in this art or profession, another in that. [Note to say that in many instances the single act, industry, or power of every one is ineffectual when the united endeavours of many might avail.] There are in the various qualifications panics, occasions by which a man is rendered capable to give or receive assistance from his neighbour. Hence it is that men find it necessary to unite in friendships and societies, to do mutual good oflRccs and carry on the same designs in harmony -and concert. We relieve one another in distress, we bear with each other's infirmities, we study to promote the advantage of each other ; that is, in our Saviour's phrase, 'we have love one to the other.' And so long as we continue thus disposed peace and plenty abound, families live comfortably together, our affairs thrive and flourish in the world, which gives a blessing to our endeavours ; every one finds his own interest in advancing that of his neighbour. Whereas the reverse of this happy state must certainly be ex- pected when men of ill natures and uncharitable tempers are always [envying ?] the prosperity and thwarting the designs of each other, where men endeavour to raise their own fortunes and reputations by destroying those of their neighbours, and instead of sweet and friendly conversation entertain one another with satyr and invectives. Take a view of the greatest evils that afflict mankind, and you will find that they spring from the want of charity. What factions and cabals, what fierce ments, what dire^ revengeful ruptures in families, [what disagree] ments be- tween friends and neighbours take their rise from source. Sermon preached at Leghorn. 6 2 5 It is not for nothing that our blessed Saviour was so instant in recommending the of charity by His preaching and example ; it is not for nothing that the holy apostles insist in almost every page of their epistles upon charity as the principal of Christian virtues, the mark of our calling, the distinguishing badge of our profession. It is for want of this that we see so much poverty, so much care, so much sorrow, so much bloodshed in tlie world. It is for want of this that when we have made peace at home, we worry and destroy each other at home j that those which have escaped the [perils of] a war are often thrown over, and the blood which remained unspilt by the enemies of our country is too often poured out to satiate the revenge of a countryman and a neighbour. But, alas! we can only bewail thcs-' things without any hope of reforming them; and when two Christians are on the point of sacrificing each other's lives to a private pique, he would be laughed at who should put them in mind of our Saviou'.'s saying, 'By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if you love one another.' It is most certain that the practice of any vice or the com- mission of any moral crime is attended with immediate punish- ment in this life. The infinitely wise providence of God hath joined moral and [physical ?] evil together. Some inward uneasiness of mind, some outward pain of body, severe loss in reputation or fortune, or the like, is visibly annexed to sin, to deter men from the practice of it. This and the [vengeance?] go to [show] the sinner both here an what he is to expect hereafter. How true this is with regard to uncharitableness is partly [seen] from what has been already, of the outward calamities, both public and private, which it is attended with, and it will be more so if we consider the inward uneasiness of those passions which are opposite to charity. H )w painfully docs avarice vex and corrode the soul ! What a knawing [gnawing] anguish breaks the slum- bers and palls all the enjoyments of an envious man. How is it possible that he should eat his bread with pleasure when mor- tified and disappointed at every good event that befalls his neigh- bours. Or can there be any joy, any repose in a mind under the visitation of rage, or that feels the cruel appetite of revenge, or is ever haunted with ill wishes to others or just fears for itself. There is not surely in nature a more wretched stale than that VOL. IV. s s 626 Sermon preached at Leghorn. of a perverse, ill-tempered, uncharitable man; he is always upon the rack; his heart is a perpetual prey to the most restless and tormenting passions. But, on the other hand, can there be any state of mind more happy and delightful than that of the charitable person ? He looks on mankind as his friends, and is therefore so far from being mortified, that he rejoices at their prosperity, and reckons it an addition to his own good fortune. As he wishes no harm to his neighbour, so he hath hopes of being relieved or assisted by them in any exigence. Every act of charity and bene- ficence carries its own reward with it — a sense of pleasing and of being acceptable to men, together with a secret joy flowing from the approbation of a good conscience, besides all which there is a certain peculiar pleasure and [charm] that is the natural result of a kind and generous behaviour. It is not easy to say whether a sweet, mild, and gentle disposition contributes more to the [joy] and satisfaction of our neighbours or to our own private tranquillity and delight, since as the opposite passions rufHe and discompose, so charity and the graces that attend it soothe and rejoice the soul : to be free from anger, envy, and revenge, to be always in good humour, to delight in doing good to mankind, is the height of happiness upon earth, and approaches the nearest to that of the saints in heaven '^. [I come now to the third thing, which was to add some further reflections to persuade you to the offices of charity.] After what has been advanced it may seem needless to [insist] on any further motives in order to persuade you to the practice of a virtue which, as it is the most necessary and substantial part of religion, so it is the most directly calculated for the advantage both of public communities and private men. What possible pretence can you have for not complying with an injunction so ' On the opposite page of the MS. there this scholium, or perhaps intended addition occurs the following observation ; — ' The to his sermon, exactly as it appears with the whole system of rational beings may be corrections. The words in brackets were considered as one family or body politic ; struck out by Bishop Berkeley : — and Providence, intending the good of the ' The whole system of rational beings may whole, hath connected the members together be considered as one society or body politic : by the cords of a man, by the common ties and Providence, intending the [common] of humanity and good nature, and fitted and good of the whole, hath [adjusted] connected adjusted them to each other for their re- the members [one to another] together by ciprocal use and benefit.' the cords of a man, by the common ties N.B. — It may interest some readers to of humanity and good-nature, and fitted and show how careful Bishop Berkeley was in adjusted them [so as to be] to each other regard to his style in writing, by printing for their reciprocal use and benefit.' Servian preached at LecrJiorii. 627 excellent, so easy as this of l(jving one another. Arc you afraid that to fulfil any part of the Christian [virtues] might expose you to contumely in a vicious and ungenerous world ? But what age, what nation is so barbarous as not to honour a man of distinguished charity and benevolence? Are you eagjr to enjoy the good things of this life, or too worldly-minded to be altogether influenced by the distant rccomp.Mises of that which is to come? Tiiis duty has been shown most effectually to promote your present interests in this world? Is there anything rigid and austere in the exercise of virtues which may deter you from the practice [of vice] ? Behold the very acts [commanded] are pleasant and delightful, and what Solomon says of wisdom is also true of charity, 'Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.' How can you think on the baseness of an uncharitable, envious spirit and not despise it? How can you reflect upon the mischief, the anxiety, the torment that it produces, and not abhor it ? How can you be sensible of God's indignation against this vice and yet be guilty of it ? After all, brethren, if against the express repeated command and [injunction of] Almighty God, against the light and [voice] of your own conscience, against future interest and the common [feelings] of humanity we continue to [indulge] piques and hatreds towards [others and] will not, pursuant to the apostle's directions, put away from us all bitterness, and wrath, and clamour, and evil speaking with be assured that our case is desperate. Why should we disguise the truth ? It is fit sinners should know their condition while it is in their power to mend it. I say therefore, again, that the state of such persons is desperate, that they cannot hope for salvation by the holy covenant. For St. John plainly tells us, 'he that hateth his brother is in darkness even until now.' That is, notwithstanding the light of the Gospjl has now shined in the world, yet such a one is in a state of heathenism, which in the Scriptures is named darkness. Again, he that knoweth not God, for God is love. 'If any man saith I love God and hateth his brother, h.- is a liar.' And now to what purpose is it to produce any further testimony? Doth not our Lord Himself tell us in the text, 'By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another?' He therefore that [loveth not] is no disciple of Christ's; he is, in [fact], no S s 2 628 Sei'mon pi^eached at Leghorn. Christian, has no right to expect any share in the sufferings and intercession of Christ Jesus. Nay, I will be bold to say that all the evangelists, the disciples, and our blessed Lord Himself had not so frequently, so expressly, so urgently declared this great truth to us, yet it would have been discovered by the light of nature that an uncharitable person could not be saved. Strife, calumny, revenge, envy, prepare and fit one for [the company] of devils. A spirit with these [passions can be] no company for saints and angels even in heaven itself where [all is] love, joy, peace. You, Christians, seriously consider what has been said. Let it not be an idle dream in your fancies [let it sink down into] your hearts and influence all your actions. ' Put on (as the elect of God, holy and beloved) bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsufi-ering, forbearing one another and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against as Christ forgave you, so also do ye. And above all things, put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness.' So will the good pro- vidence of God protect and bless you during the course of this mortal life, and at the last day you will be owned for true disciples of the kind and merciful Jesus : to whom with thee, O Father, and the Holy Ghost be all glory '". * [It will be observed that towards the even then with difficulty. But in these pas- end of this Sermon a few spaces are left sages a word or two is occasionally entirely blank. This arises from the state of the obliterated. As they can generally be sup- MS., which in this part is very much injured plied by the reader without difficulty, it has (probably by the action of salt water). In been thought better to leave them, than to the conclusion of the Sermon a hrge portion supply them by conjecture.] of it is only legible under a strong light, and SKELETONS OF SERMONS. I. PREACHED AT NEWPORT, JAN. 26, lyaf. IN THE NARRAGANSET COUNTRY, MAY 11, 1729. Luke xvi. 16. The LaiJU and the Prophets avere until John : since that time the kingdom of God is preached. I Cor. I. 2 1. For after that in the nvisdom of God the ivorld by ivisdom kneiu not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that belie've, I. 1. Body and soul: provision for the former in nourishment, de- fence, comfort. 2. Like provision for wellbeing of the soul: from the goodness and wisdom of God ; from the excellency of the soul ; from our natural appetite of happiness eternal ; from the text. 3. Mean and progress of Providence herein. Wisdom or law of God twofold, nature and revelation. II. 1. Light of nature sheweth the being of a God. His worship inward by meditation and imitation j outward by prayer and praise ; also by performing His will, which known from con- science and inward feeling. 2. Great men under natural religion. Authority of revealed re- ligion depends upon it as to the veracity of God and nature of things revealed. 630 Skeletons of Sermons. 3. Being of God : distinction of moral good and evil j rewards and punishments ; foundations, substance, life of all religion j and first to be considered. 4. Vice, indolence, vanity obstructed n. [natural] religion. Some wise men, but wanted authority. Ignorance, brutality, idolatry of the heathen. 5. Revelation: i. to particulars^ Noah, Abraham, Job j 2. to the Jewish nation. III. 1. Things at the worst; God exerts, singles out a despised people without law, leader, or country ; asserts them by force and miracles ; conducts them ; gives them a law ; makes them His peculiar people ; entrusts them with the truth. 2. Jewish law provides against idolatry and corruption of manners ; natural religion comprised in the decalogue ; one God to be worshipped without image basis of the whole. 3. After the golden calf rites instituted ; to prevent idolatry ; to keep from mixing; to typifie; to insinuate mercy; and for other reasons unknown. 4. Jewish law not designed to be perfect ; nor for the whole world, nor to last for ever. 5. Stress on the moral part ; rites, ^c. spoken slightingly of, Ps. 1. I ; Isaiah i. 1 1 ; Jerem. vi. 20 ; Hosea vi. 6 ; Micah vi. 6. 6. Pharisees preferred rites to weightier matters ; Sadducees denied angels, spirits, and life to come ; general expectation of the Jews. 7. Revelation: i. to a family; 2. to a nation; 3. to the whole world. IV. 1. Messiah typified: family, time, place, character foretold; in- troduced by angels, apparitions, voices from heaven, in- spirations; attended by miracles; sight, motion, even life bestowed on the dead. 2. Worship in spirit and in truth : perfect morals ; divine sanction reaching to all men, which wanting in the h[eat]ien] wisdom : in the former, i. e. morals exceeds Judaism [as having] a clearer view of future things ; rites vanish like shadows. Skeleto7is of Sermons. 631 3. Not only outward observance, but inward sanctity; contempt of the world, and life itself. 4. Peace; charity; benevolence; all honest and orderly behaviour ; love of God ; purity of mind. 5. Having opened heaven and the sources of eternal life, Christ inflames us with the hoped immortality; assimilation to the Deity; perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect. 6. Exhortation helps ; encouragements ; rewards ; punishments. 7. Means of reconciliation ; Jewish nation and Christian ; God of pardon, grace. 8. Christ crucified; the leader, way, life, truth; hath all power in heaven and earth; proved by miracles; raising others and Himself; send us the Holy Ghost. II. PREACHED AT NEWPORT, MARCH 2, 172!;. Rom. VIII. 13. If ye live after the flesh, ye shall die: but if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live. 1. Animal and rational; brute and angel; senses, appetites, passions — their ends and uses ; guilt, why not in beasts. Opposition, war; Rom. viii. 6, Gal. v. 17; lapsed state. Grace, spirit, new man, old man ; £ph. iv. 22 ; danger from not subduing the carnal brutal animal pait or flesh, works of the flesh, what; Gal. v. 19. 2. Fasting conducive to subdue the flesh, shewn from natural causes; 2 Cor. iv. 16; shewn from eflfccts in describing life spi- ritual and lives of carnal men. Fortune, reputation, health, pleasure; public evils from carnal men. 3. Examples: Moses' fast in the mount forty days and nights fitted him to receive the law from God by speech of the Holy One ; Elijah supported by one cake and cruse of water, in strength whereof he lived forty days and forty nights, and after saw God 632 Skeletons of Sermons. in Horeb; Dan. i. 17, 'God gave them knowledge and skill in all learning and wisdom ; and Daniel had understanding in all visions and dreams.' 4. Instance of mercy to fasters, as in Ninive; of indignation for the contrary, as in the Israelites who longed after the fleshpots in Egypt. 5. Examples out of the New Testament : S. John Baptist and Christ Himself. 6. Precepts in New Testament : ' This kind goeth not,' &c. ; 'When ye fast,' 6cc., Matt. vi. 16 j fasts at certain times. 7. What sort a Christian fast should be : not to destroy health, not for ostentation, not in form, but from degree as well as kind \ not to merit, much less to establish a bank of merits j habitual temperance; fast from all sin; curb lust, tongue, anger, every passion, each whereof inebriates and obfuscates no less than drink or meat ; cut off right hand, pluck out, &c. 8. Recapitulation : 3 motives, viz. — I. Temple of God, i Cor. iii. 16. II. Race-horse, 'so strive that ye may obtain,' i Cor. ix. 24; crown, things temporal with things eternal compared. III. Wrestle with principalities, Sec; Christian armour, Eph. vi. 11. III. PREACHED AT NEWPORT, FIRST SUNDAY IN JULY, 1729. Rom. XIV. 17. For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink, but righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. I- I. Context : Meat and drink imply all rites and ceremonies, a. Division into essentials and circumstantials in religion. 3. Circumstantials of less value, (i) from the nature of things ; (2) from their being left undefined ; (3) from the concession of our Church, which is foully misrepresented. 4. Duty in these matters, (i) because of decency and edification; (2) because of lawful authority; (3) because of peace and union. Skeletons of Sermons. 633 II. 1. Worship in spirit and truth, righteousness in deed, in word, in thought j not limited to buying and selling (Rom. xiii. 7). 2. Easier understood than practised j appeal to conscience. 3. Christ's summary rule — 'all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so [toj them , for this is the law and the prophets.' 4. Reasons for practice: fiom equity (Mai. ii. 10) • the knave may triumph, but, etc. (Ezek. xxii. 1). III. 1. Christian peace twofold, (1) peace of mind inward; (2) outward peace, i.e. charity and union with other men (Phil. ii. i, 2; I Cor. i. 10; Rom. xv. 1). 2. The sum of religion : the distinguishing badge of Christians. 3. Sad that religion which requires us to love should become the cause of our hating one another. But it is not religion, it is, etc. 4. Were men modest, were men charitable, were men sincere. Objection of lukewarmness. 5. Discern between persons and opinions, proportion our zeal to the merit of things. 6. Elias-like zeal not the spirit of Christians. Charity described (i Cor. xiii). nil. 1. Joy in the Holy Spirit not sullen, sour, morose, joyless, but rejoicing. 2. Not with insolent, tumultuous, profane joy, but calm, serene, perpetual. Sinners, infidels, etc. have cause to be sad. 3. Causes of joy: protection of God (Ps. x.), forgiveness of sin (Ps. ciii. 2, 3, 9), aid of the Holy Spirit, adoption, inheritance in the heavens. 4. Since we have so great things in view, let us overlook petty differences; let us look up to God our common Father; let us bear one another's infirmities; instead of quarrelling about those things wherein we differ, let us practise those things wherein we agree. (1) The Lord is my light and my salvation, etc. 634 Skeletons of Sermons. (2) Be at peace among yourselves, etc. (3) The way of the wicked is as darkness, they know not at what, etc. (4) The hope of the righteous, etc. IV. PREACHED AT NEWPORT, AUGUST 3, 1729. I Tim. hi. 16. Without contro'versy great ii the mystery of godliness ; God ivas manifest in the flesh. St. John i. 14. Ihe Lord luas made flesh, and diuelt among us. I. The divinity of our Saviour a fundamental article of the Christian faith. We believe in him, pray to him, depend upon him here and hereafter. Omniscience, etc. Denied of late years. Mystery what. State clear up, show the proofs, answer objections, consider use and importance of the doctrine. II. Concerning the soul and body of Christ there is no con- troversy, but about the personal union of the divinity with the manhood. Some sort of union with the Godhead in prophets, apostles, all true Christians, all men; but with men. Christians, inspired persons, Christ in different degrees. The latter also in kind contradistinct as personal. This explained, and shown not re- pugnant to natural reason. III. Shown to be in fact from express words in Scripture terming Christ God: [^'The was God,' John i. i; ^ My Lord and my God,' said Thomas to the Saviour.] From attributions of omni- 1 All within brackets was on the opposite side of the MS. to the sketch of the Sermon. -H. J. R. Skeletons of Sen/ ions. 635 potence : ['By him all things consist,' Col. i. 1 7 i 'Upholding all things by the word of his power,' Heb. i. 3j 'Whatsoever things the Father doth, these also doeth the Son likewise,' John V. 19, 21.] Omnipresence: [John xiv. 23, 'Christ saith if a man love him that the Father and he will come,' etc. j Matthew xviii. 20 j xxviii. 20.] Omniscience: ['Now are we sure that thou knowest all things,' John xvi. 30 j xxi. 17.] From the history and circumstances of his birth, life, and resurrection, prophecies, miracles, apparition of angels. From his works : [Pardoning sins, giving grace, sending the Holy Spirit, judging the world, distributing rewards and punishments, dooming to final perdition, or crowning with life and immortality.] From the worship paid to him : ' All men are commanded to honour the Son even as they honour the Father,^ John v. 23. [Baptism : ' In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.' Apostles' benediction : ' The grace of our Lord,' etc. Doxology. St. Peter ascribes to him 'praise and dominion for ever and ever;' and again, 'to him be glory,' etc.; 'through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever,' Heb. xiii. 21 ; and in the Apocal. v. 13, 'and every creature which is in heaven,' etc.] IV. Objection from Scripture: ['The Son can do nothing of him- self,' etc., John v. 13; ' I seek not mine own will, but the will of the Father who hath sent me,' ih.-^ 'I have not spoken of myself, but the Father who hath sent me,' etc. ; ' to sit on my right hand is not mine to give,' etc. ; ' of that hour knoweth no man, not the angels, nor the Son, but the Father,' . He prayeth, is afflicted, tempted, distressed.] Answered by acknowledging Christ to be man as well as God, whence contradictorys are predicated of his different natures. V. Objection from reason, from the meanness of his figure and appearance. Answered by showing wherein true greatness and glory consists — more in miracles and sanctity, infinitely more than in pomp and worldly grandeur. VI. Objection second from reason, i.e. from substance, pcisonality, etc. 636 Skeletons of Sertnons. [The seed of the woman shall break the serpent^s head in the dales of Adam. To Abraham : ' In thee shall all the families of the earth be blessed.' By Jacob : ' Shiloh to whom the gathering of the people.' Balaam: 'There shall come a star out of Jacob, and a sceptre shall rise out of Israel.' Types: paschal lamb, all sacrifices. From Samuel to Malachi : Luke x. 24 — ' Many prophets have desired,' etc. Hence motives to obedience, faith, hope, joy. [This doctrine or mystery ; what not intended to produce j what it hath acciden- tally produced. Simile of the sun and weak eyes j mind dim'd with folly or inflamed with pride- rescue from despair j a hopeless case cutts of all endeavour, etc. Favour extended ; door opened ; citizens; endeavours accepted.] V. PREACHED AT NEWPORT, THE FIRST SUNDAY IN SEPTEMBER, 1729. Heb. XII. 22, 23. But ye are come unto mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn, ^.vhich are ivritten in heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect. 1. Body, city, kingdom; Church formed in the original creation of intelligent beings, which necessarily formed for society with one another and orderly submission to the will of God : defection of angels and men : our business to recover this pristine state : ist Church on earth founded on the light of nature and traditions from Noah ; 2nd Church of the Jews abolishing idolatry, contain- ing the principles of moral duty with shadows and figures of things to come ; Segullah^ always subsisting ; 3rd Church the Christian. 2. Jewish the religion of legal justice. Christian of saving grace ; grace from the beginning'^; method of admission into this society; * {SeguUah = HpJD Peculium, ' a peculiar treasure,' Exod. xix. 5.] ' Prophetic view of Christ, faith in God, sacrifices. Skcleto)is of Ser^nons. 637 [* both Jews and Gentiles are fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God/ Ephes. ii. 19; the Church of the living God • the pillar and ground of truth ; built by Christ upon a rock • against which the gates of hell shall never prevail •] ' names written in heaven/ Luke x. 2c j blotted out of the book of life j faith and repentance inward, baptism outward; by nature unholy, by rege- neration holy; in ist state lust, appetite, sense, passion, in a word the flesh; in 2nd new life of the spirit, purifying, sanctifying, ennobling our natures. 3. Requisites to continuance in the Church of Christ : inward, the love of God and our neighbour, which comprehend the sum of all duty, the bond and cement ; outward, the reception of the Holy Sacramicnt. 4. Regular government necessary to every society upon earth : 12 patriarchs and 12 4)v\apxat, so 12 Apostles; 70 in the San- hedrin, so 70 disciples appointed by our Lord ; [' He gave some, apostles ; and some, prophets ; and some, evangelists ; and some, pastors and teachers ; for the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ/ Eph. iv. 11, 12;] at first, indeed, illiterate men and mechanics were pastors, but then they were inspired and miraculously gifted, Ephes. iv. 11, 12; bishops, priests, and deacons; 'The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it,' Ps. [Ixviii. 11.] 5. Rights and privileges pertaining to this society; adopted into the divine family, sons of God, heirs of salvation ; not slaves, but subjects; in every society rights and dues; ['Li this city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God/ Heb. xi. 10;] God hath right to our obedience, and we right to his promises; we are obliged to live towards God as servants, subjects, children; towards one another as brethren. 6. Church invisible and visible ; many of the visible Church not of the invisible; can we think that such and such, &c. ? 7. Church not confined to this spot of earth; text; angels original citizens, we aliens naturalized; [« Very excellent things are spoken of thee, thou city of God/ Ps. ;] unity of the Church, because governed by one Head, quickened and sanctified by the same Spirit, whereof all partake, whence a communion of saints; [our Saviour saith, ' There shall be one fold, and one shepherd/ S. John X. 16.] 638 Skeletons of Sermons. 8. Recapitulation; Baptism and the Eucharist ; punctual in lower forms for small views; spiritual things not perceived by carnal men ; palace and dungeon ; how eager to get in, how cautious of being turned out. Ephes. iv. 1-6. VI. PREACHED AT NEWPORT IN RHODE ISLAND, THE FIRST SUNDAY IN OCTOBER, 1729. Acts n. 38. Repent^ and be baptized every one of you. I. 1. Baptism by water a sign both by nature and appointment; a badge also by which Christians are distinguished. 2. Seal of God's promises — remission, justification, adoption. God binds himself by free promise of grace on his part, on our part we become entitled to these promises, to the ordinances and the grace conferred by them. 3. New life and regeneration, Rom. vi. 3, 4, 7. *He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved,' Mark xvi. 16. ' Except a man be born again of water and of the Spirit he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.' II. 1. Men of notoriously wicked lives and of scandalous professions anciently excluded; now [no?] doubt touching children and slaves; children of believers may, for — 10. 'to you and your children are the promises made,' Acts ii. 39, &c. ; ' your children are holy,' i Cor. vii. 14; circumcision. 2. Objection that belief is required ; ans. by parallel ; he that will not labour, neither shall he eat, now infants are not hereby excluded from eating. — 2. Believers may be termed believers, Christ calling them so, Matth. xviii. 6 — 3. Strictly speaking, it is not faith, but the application of Christ's righteousness Skeletons of Sermons. 639 that justifieth, and this may, if God please, be applied other- wise than by faith, v. q. by his sanctifying Spirit. 3. 2d objection : that no mention is made of infants being bap- tized in Scripture; but neither is mention made there of women receiving the eucharist, — besides, it is said, several persons and all their household were baptized. III. 1. Our Saviour commandeth his disciples to go and baptize all nations. The Eunuch of Ethiopia. 2. I. ob. Christianity maketh no alteration in civil rights, servants in the New Testament signifying slaves, v.q. Onesimus ; hence objection from loss of property answered. 3. 2d. ob. That baptism makes slaves worse. Resp. This proceeds from an infidel mind ; contrary shewn ; what they charge on baptism to be charged on their own unchristian life and neglect of instruction. 4. Duty in masters to instruct and baptize their families, but negligent of their own baptism. IV. Baptism of adults deferred anciently either for instruction or emen- dation of the Church, but wrongly by themselves deferred. 1 reason, 1°. through supine negligence. What so nearly concerns as our own soul ? what so valuable as the kingdom of heaven ? If you were sick, in captivity, or encumbered with debt, and you were assured that by an easy method, as washing, 6cc., would you say you had not leisure to be heard, &:c. ? But these diseases, this servitude, these debts, are of infinitely more consequence as respecting our eternal state. Should any enemy debar you, how would you rail! why then will you be that enemy yourself? 8. 2 reas. Despondency. Rcsp. ' Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound,' Rom. v. 30. 3 reas. Heresy of Novatian. St. Peter, and whole tenour of tlie New Testament and Old. 4 reas. Wrong notion of a covenant which they apprehend would 640 Skehtoiis of Sermons. entrap them; herein 1°. mistake from the nature of the cove- nant, which imposeth no new obligations ; were believing men free before baptism, something might be said for defer- ring it, but 'woe to thee, Bsthsaida,' &c., but 'Sodom,' ^c... Matt. X. 14, 15. 2". impiety in mistrusting our blessed Lord, who invites, saying, ' Come to me all that labour and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you ; ' also, he saith his yoke is easy, and his burden light. 3'\ the greatest folly and blindness to our loss, it being a covenant on our part entirely advan- tageous, a privilege, an offer of grace and pardon and in- valuable rights. Titus iii. 4, 5. 5 reas. An unwillingness to forsake sin, a cunning design of living to the world and dying to God ; this is to say, I will wallow in vice and sin, cheat, purloin, indulge in gluttony and drunken- ness, and deny nothing that my appetite leads to; the first- fruits, flower, prime to the devil, the fag-end, when faculty for good and evil is gone, to God. 'Thinkest thou that 1 am such a one as thyself? '' Ps. ; but 'God is not mocked,' Gal. Our Saviour's parable of those who came late in the day to work, not designed to encourage delay in believers, but to give comfort to those who had late means of information. But how know you it is not late now ? who hath given you a lease of life? who assured you that you shall live to be old, that you shall not die suddenly, that you shall not die to-morrow, or even this very day? can you think that God, whom you never hearkened to, will hearken to your first call ? When the fever is got into your head, when you can neither bend a knee nor lift an eye to heaven, when you cannot frame a prayer yourself or join with others. Suppose baptism con- ferred then and grace given, you have the talent without the time or opportunity to produce fruit or profit thereby. All things are ready ; God now calls, but the devil causeth delay ; to-day for me, to-morrow for the Lord. He is too cunning to suggest a resolution against ever doing what you know should be done, but stealing the present he stealeth day after day, till &:c. Be enrolled on earth in due time, that you may be written in the book of life that is in heaven. \ Skeletons of Sermons. (y\ i VII. PREACHED AT NEWPORT, FIRST SUNDAY IN AUGUST, 1730. Matt. xxii. 37, 38. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God ivith all thy heart, and ivith all thy soul, and iv'tth all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. In arts and sciences certain fundamental truths; in factions and divisions of men a chief tenet or principle; in religion, difference and degrees in principles; what is the chief? our Saviour answers in my text. Love various: i. of sensible objects; 2. of inferiors and depen- dants; 3. of friendship between equals; 4. love of gratitude and respect to benefactors and superiors; 5. love of virtue and excel- lence, i.e. objects of the understanding. Two last the love of God : image of God strongly to be im- pressed for imitation ; ever mindful of his benefits, numerous, great, constant. We shew love to superiors and benefactors by consulting their honour, i. e. by performing their will, and endeavouring that others should perform it. ['This is the love of God, that we keep his commandments,' i John v. 3.] Will of God known, i. by considering his attributes; 2. by con- science and instinct; 3. by the preaching of Christ and apostles. [' Their sound went into all the earth, and their words unto the end of the world.'] Hence, i«*. charity, i. e. candour, gentleness, compassion, congra- tulation, wishing and promoting their welfare. a". Temperance, contrivance of appetites and passions, limits, objects, mortification, rule the end and tendency. 3". Resignation ; [' The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord,' Job ;] good with thanks, bad with patience, both mistaken ; strong passions, weak judg- ments; wealth and power in themselves indifferent, good or bad as used ; rather thankful than anxious for more. 4°. Worship in spirit and in tmth; holy, as he is holy; not lip- worship, not will-worship, but inward and evangelical. Our interest in this, imperfect creatures, blind and backward, VOL. IV. T t 642 Skeletons of Sermotis. actions civil and motions natural, all by lawj thus actions moral and religious by rule, i.e. will of God; will follows understanding; ignorant and impotent; ['There is a way that seemeth right unto man, but the end thereof are the ways of death,' Prov. ;] anguish and remorse; [' Woe unto him that striveth with his maker,' Isaiah xlv. 9 ;] conforming gives happiness, public and private. Mind the end and will of God; not enslaved by lust; faculties not impaired ; masters not servants to passions, bending them to the will of God ; our freedom and perfection. To this single point all religion, virtue, happiness; misery from transgressing, happiness from conforming to rule; but no rule so right, &c. ; agreeable harmony ; not disturbed, not disappointed, not engaged, not worried, but calm, &c. ; living up to nature ; nothing so natural to man as an orderly life, regulated by the will of God ; proper sphere ; dislocated ; duty and interest joined in the love of God. VIII. PREACHED AT NEWPORT, MAY 11 ^ S. Luke xxii. 19. This do in remembrance of me, I Cor. XI. 26, As often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do sheiv the Lord's death till he come. Christ's institution observed constantly in the Church ; this sufficient to modest and humble Christians. But observed only by few, &c. ; therefore treat of the uses of this sacrament, the requi- sites to it, and the objections against receiving it. ist use to signify and to seal; bread and wine apt emblems, and why : 2. to keep up a memory : 3. to increase faith, love of God, joy, thankfulness : 4. to quicken our obedience by repentance and resolutions : 5. to distinguish Christians from other men : 6. to sement them together: 7. meet there should be certain solemn ' No year ; probably 1730. See No. I. Skeletons of Sermons. 643 times for certain duties, to prevent growing into neglect. [' To every thing there is a season and a time for every purpose under the sun.'] Wrong apprehensions about the Eucharist in Papists not con- sidering the circumcision is called the covenant, lamb the pass- over, cup the new testament; their folly too gross : — in enthusiasts or mistaken men, who reject it as not spiritual ; but why pray ? why preach? why build houses of worship? because these are signs or means of grace or things spiritual. The like to be said of the Eucharist. Practice of primitive Christians, than whom none wiser or better now. Inspiration of the apostles and first disciples known by mira- cles. (Acts ii. 15, 17, 18, and iii.) No inspiration to be admitted for such without them ; much less for pretence thereof to reject institutions of Christ and His apostles. Wrong apprehensions in other men of our own communion, who avoid the Eucharist. Ground hereof the fear of incurring wrath by abuse; this founded principally on S. Paul's threat to the Corinthians, 1 Cor. xi. 29 with 21. If fear of abuse prevail, why baptized ? why hear a sermon ? why read the Scriptures ? Things required in the communicants : Faith, i Tim. i. 15 ; re- pentance, James iv. 8; charity, 1 Cor. x. 16, 17. Christians with- out these exposed to wrath, although they forbear the sacrament, the neglect whereof an additional guilt. Ps. cxvi. 12, 13, 14. IX. PREACHED AT NEWPORT. [NO DATE.] I Cor. XV, 20, ^ut noiv is Christ risen fro77i the dead, and become the Jirstfruits of them that slept. I Cor. XV. 55. O death, ^inhere is thy sting ? grave, avhere is thy "victory ? 2 Tim. I. lo. Who abolished death, and brought life and immortality to light by the Gospel. 1. To consider the ways of men, one would think them never to die ; [Psalms, ' The inward thought of the rich, that their houses T t 2 644 Skeletons of Sermons. shall continue for ever, and their dwelling-places to all genera- tions;'] to consider how made within, what accidents without; strange should live so long; no need of reason to prove death, experience frequent; [Peter, 'AH flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass.'] 1. Uncertainty of time ; brevity certain ; case not hopeless of a resurrection ; many hints from nature in changes analogous thereto ; night and day, winter and spring, fruits, plants, insects, production of animals. 3. Argument from instinct, and natural appetite of immortality ; reflection on the growth and perfection of the soul, whence designed for higher purposes; this world a punishment or a school, the former philosophers, the latter Christians. 4. Job^ and Balaam'^ before the Jews; [uncertainty of ancients in expressions^;] of these David, EzekieH, Solomon, and Daniel ^ [1 Job xix. 25, ' I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth : and though after my skin worms destroy this my body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.' 2 ' Let me die the death of the righteous, and may my latter end be like his.' •* Job xiv. 7, 10, ' There is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease . . but man dieth, and wasteth away : yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he ?' * Eccles. xii. 7, ' The dust shall return to the earth, and the spirit to God who gave it.' ^ Dan. xii. 2, ' Many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt.'] 5. Life and immortality brought to light by the gospel ; Jewish twilight ; resurrection of Christ proof, as confirmation, as ex- ample. 6. Christ, predicts and institutes, voluntary ; Jews place guard ; soldiers' tale; Providence in the guard; appeared often, to several, in the day, submits to trials of sense, walks, talks, eats and drinks; disciples could not be deceived ; ascension ; 3000 converts. 7. Consider the impossibility of deceiving others : with cunning ? none; with authority? none; with eloquence and learning? none; no means. 8. No motives, punishments, &c. for declaring it, no temporal advantage; nor fame, nor interest, nor prejudices answered by it. Skeletons of Sermons. 645 9. Cowardly before, new and high courage j dispersed when alive; die for him now he is dead^ expected a temporal prince. JO. End, goodness, innocence, truth. II. Prophecies, miracles, resurrection, ascension; destruction, dispersion of Jews; wonderful spread of the gospel; like light to Britain and India and Aethiopia. X. PREACHED AT NEWPORT. [NO DATE.] PS. XV. I, 3. Lord^ who shall abide in thy tabernacle ? nvho shall divell in thy holy hill ? He that backbiteth not luith his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbour, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour. 1. Frequency; little honour, great guilt; [James i. 26, 'If any man among you seem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, hut deceiveth his own hearty that man's religion is vain;'] text. 4 points: i. what it is contrary to; 2. whence it springs; 3. what effects; 4. counsels for shunning it, in the close exhortation against it. 2. Contrary to charity, i Cor. xiii. 4, 5, 6 ; taking things in the worst sense mark of hatred ; eagerness to tell mark of pleasure which shews hatred. 3. Contrary to justice; not doing as we would be done by; [S.James iv. 12, 'Who art thou that judgest another?'] Judges obliged to inform themselves. Good and evil moral depends on unseen springs. Not to draw a general character from a single instance. Life, goods, and reputation, 3 great possessions ; in the two first wrong evident. 4. Sign of want of merit ; readiness to suspect others, token of inward guilt. 5. Sign of malignant nature ; like to God and to the devil by different qualities. Spider and toad unlike to the bee. Pride and ill-will sources of detraction. 6. Evil effects, viz. loss of reputation, inferring many losses, 646 Skeletons of Sermons. e. g. of comfort, esteem, interest, friendship, &c. ; ill-will among neighbours; bad example to others; manner how reports spread in an instant. 7. Evil effects to ourselves ; retaliation ; hatred ; contempt ; loss of time; no advantage; no sensual or reasonable pleasure; no esteem. [Prov. x. 18, 'He that uttereth slander is a fool.'] This damns more souls than murder or robbery. 8. Counsel to cherish charity towards others. [Titus iii. 2, 'Speak evil of no man;' and S. James iv. 11, 'Speak not evil one of another.'] To look narrowly into ourselves ; talk ; to examine whether we have not the same, or as bad, or even worse ; beam in our own eye ; great use in examining ours, none in others. 9. Pharisee and publican; severe to ourselves, candid to others; all criminals at the same bar; inditing our neighbour, we swell our own indictment. 'Judge not, that you be not judged,' &c., Matt. vii. I, 2 ; Rom. xiv. 4. XI. PREACHED AT NEWPORT. [NO DATE.] James iv. ii. Speak not ei'il one of another. a Vices, like weeds, different in different countries; national vice familiar; intemperate lust in Italy, drinking in Germany; tares wherever there is good seed; though not sensual, not less deadly ; e. g. detraction : would not steal 6 d.^ but rob a man of his reputation ; they who have no relish for wine have itching ears for scandal; this vice often observed in sober people; praise and blame natural justice; where we know a man lives in habitual sin unrepented, we may prevent hypocrites from doing evil ; but to judge without enquiry, to shew a facility in believing and a readiness to report evil of one's neighbour; frequency, little horror, great guilt ; ext. 4 points; not contrary to; whence it springs; what effects; arguments and exhortation against it. S/ci'/cions oj ScDfious. 647 Contrary to charity : j Cor. xiii. 4, 3, 6, [' Charity sufl-c-rcth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; is not easily provoked, thinkcth no evil; rcjoiccth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;'] taking things in the worst sense mark of hatred. Contrary to justice : not doing as we would be done by ; S. James iv. 12, ['Who art thou that judgcst another?'] Judges obliged to inform themselves ; moral good and evil depends on unseen springs; life, goods, and reputation 3 chief possessions, wrong in the two first evident. Springs from want of merit: readiness to suspect others, token of inward guilt. He that cannot rise would depress. Springs from malignant nature: like to God and the devil by different qualities; spider, toad, and bee; pride and ill-will sources of detraction. Evil effects to others: loss of reputation inferring many losses, e.g. of comfort, esteem, interest, friendship; ill-will among neigh- bours; bad example to others; [how reports spread in an instant]. Evil effects to ourselves : retaliation, hatred, contempt, loss of time, no advantage, no pleasure sensual or rational, jProv. x. 18, ' He that uttereth slander is a fool.'] This damns more souls than murder or robbery. Counsel to cherish charity towards others : [Titus iii. 2, 'Speak evil of no man;'] to look narrowly into ourselves; to examine whether we have not the same or as bad or even worse; beam in our own eye; great use in examining ourselves, little in our neighbours; severe to ourselves, candid to others; revcrs." of the Pharisee; all criminals at the same bar; judge not, that you be not judged. Let a man examine hims:*lf, enough to tire, not to s:itisfy, if pleased with others' defects, &c. ; mark of repi obation, because contrary to mark of Christ's disciples ; because it makes men likest to Satan; he is by etymology an enemy to mankind; he is by office father of lies; he tempts men to sensuality, but he is in his own nature malicious and malignant; pride and ill-nature two vices most severely rebuked by our Saviour. All deviations sinful, but those upon dry purpose more so; malignity of spirit like an ulcer in the nobler parts, less visible but more, &c. ; age cures sensual vices, this grows with age; [James i. 26, ' If any man among you seem to be religious, and 648 Skeletons of Sermons, bridleth not his tongue, that man's religion is vain j' form of god- liness, &c.] ; more to be guarded against because less scandalous ; imposing on others and even on themselves as religion and a zeal for God's sei-vice, when it really proceeds only from ill-will to man, and is no part of our duty to God, but directly contrary to it. [Ps. XV. I, 3, * Lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle ? who shall dwell in thy holy hill ? he that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour.'] XII. PREACHED AT NEWPORT. [NO DATE.] Luke ii. 14. Glory to God in the highest y and on earth peace, good-nvill toivards men. 1. First creation and second: ['when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy']. Messiah pre- destinated from the beginning. Adam^, Abraham'?, Jacob', Ba- laam 4, David, Isaiah, Daniel, &c. types. Isaiah ix. 6. First long foretold ; anniversary advent celebrated. [Devotion, respect, meditation], three points in the text. [^ The seed of the woman that should bruise the serpent's head. - ' In thee shall all the families of the earth be blessed.' ■* Shiloh, to whom the gathering of the people should be. ^ ' I shall see him, but not now : I shall behold him, but not nigh : there shall come a Star out of Jacob, and a Sceptre shall rise out of Israel.'] 2. Kingdom of darkness and of light : lust and brutality and ignorance ; knowledge, truth, faith, virtue, grace. Magnify, thank, praise, worship, not as Pagans, nor as Jews, but in spirit and truth. [Glory be to God, as excellent praised, as good beloved, as powerful adored. He is not proud of our praise, or fond of our worship; but &c.] 3. Charity, love, forgiveness, peace, doing good, mark and dis- tinction, life, soul, substance of our religion. Eph. iv. 31 ; 1 Cor. iii 3, 4. Beatitudes ; herein goodness of God. Skeletons of Scrmo)is. 649 4. Good-will from sin to holiness, death to life, enmity to re- conciliation. I John iv. 9, 10 j Isai. liii. 4, 5, 6. No cloud, whirl- wind, fire, tScc, but &c. Frost and darkness before the sun. Jews under the law saved by the same means. Faint light. 2 Pet. i. 19. [5. Phil. ii. 6, 7. God rendered more visible, not more present, by incarnation. Light of the sun unpolluted. Believe what is revealed, content therewith.] 6. How is God glorified when sin abounds ? Resp. It less abounds; glorified one way in the righteous, another in the wicked. How is peace upon earth? Resp. Among true Christians, and all are exhorted to be so : [wars not from religion, but from avarice and ambition and revenge; religion only pretext.] How doth goodwill appear to men, since they abuse the gospel ? Resp. Good- will in the oflFer, not in the use ; God gracious, though man be wicked. That our nature, which was polluted, might be sanctified, infirm strengthened, estranged reconciled, doomed to hell admitted into heaven. Adam's curse reversed between sentence and exe- cution before. Shall angels, stars, inanimate nature, and not man ? Our Blessed Lord comes to wash, redeem, adopt ; but man will not be washed, will not &c. What more pitiful and prepos- terous than that we should reject the tender mercies of the Lord, renounce our adoption, forfeit our inheritance in that blessed region where Christ — whence — whither, &c. VISITATION CHARGE. Since the duty of my station and the received custom require me, at this my first visitation, to propose to you whatever I shall think conducive to the better discharge of the important trust committed to your care, I shall desire your attention for a few minutes. You all know, and indeed it is but too visible that we live in an age wherein many are neither propitious to our order nor to the religion we profess — scoffers, walking after their own lusts, which St. Peter foretold should come in these last days. It behoves, therefore, clergymen to behave with more than common vigilance. Zeal, and discretion, if they would either preserve the love and reverence of their friends, or disarm the censure of their enemies. Thus much concerning all clergymen in general, as such. But those of the Established Church in this kingdom have need of double diligence in their callings, and an extraordinary circum- spection in their behaviour, as we live among men of a different communion, abounding in numbers, obstinate in their prejudices, backward to acknowledge any merits, and ready to remark any defects in those who differ from them. And this circumstance should make us not only more cautious how we behave among such neighbours, but likewise more diligent and active in their conversion. Though it is to be feared that clergymen too often look on Papistry within their parishes as having no relation to them, nor being at all entitled to any share of their pains or concern. But if they are not so properly and immediately part of our flock as those of our own communion, they are nevertheless to be con- sidered as members of the Catholic Church, very corrupt, indeed, and unsound, yet professing faith in the same Saviour. And this gives them some relation to us more than mere infidels and heathen. But supposing them to be no better than infidels or i Visitation Charge. 651 heathen, will any man say that it is not the duty of Christ's ministers to convert infidels and preach the Gospel to heathen ? Had such a maxim prevailed in the primitive times, how could Christianity have been propagated throughout the world ? True it is that, as the education of Protestants is for the most part more liberal and ingenuous than that of Roman Catholics, so those of our communion are more ready to argue and more apt to judge for themselves than they. Protestants, I say, are neither so blind nor so enslaved as their adversaries \ who are made to believe that every the least doubt in religious matters is crimi- nal, or even the giving ear to anything that can be said against their preconceived opinions. And, indeed, herein consists the chief skill and management of their priests to keep their flocks both blind and deaf. For could they be but once brought to open their eyes and reason upon the points in controversy, the business of their conversion would be more than half done. The main point, therefore, is to bring them to reason and argue ; in order to which it should seem the right way to begin with a proper behaviour. We should be towards them charitable, gentle, obliging, returning good for evil, showing and having a true concern for their interest, not always inveighing against their absurdities and impieties. At least we ought not to begin with taxing them as fools and villains, but rather treat of the general doctrines of morality and religion wherein all Christians agree, in order to obtain their good opinion, and so make way for the points controverted between us, which will then be handled with greater advantage. I say we must first win upon their affections, and so having procured a favourable hearing, then apply to their reason. If we judge of other men's tempers by our own, we shall conceive it ex- pedient that we should seem to think the best of their personal qualities, their integrity, and love of truth ; use the greatest can- ciour ourselves, make all possible concessions, appeal to their own reason, and make them judges of our tenets and the arguments by which we support them. It is a remarkable difference between them and us, that they find their principal account in addressing to the passions of men, we in applying to their reason • they to the meanest capacities, we to the most distinguished and improved. In fact, if we 652 Visitation Charge. consider the proselytes on both sides, we shall find the converts to the Church of Rome to be mostly women and uneducated people j whereas the converts from Popery are those of the best sense and education among them. Were there many of this sort, it should seem less difficult for us to make proselytes. But even as it is, there is still a difference between them. And we may presume the better sort will be more easily wrought onj nothing being more sure than that ignorance is ever attended with the most obstinate prejudice, men making up for want of light by abundance of heat. And if the better sort were once converted, the natural inclination of following their chiefs would soon facilitate the con- version of others. One would imagine it might not be impossible to prevail with reasonable men of the Church of Rome to come into our religious assemblies, if it were only for curiosity ; and this might take off much of their prejudice and aversion, by letting them see what our worship is, although they should not be prevailed upon to join in it. And yet, all things considered, what should hinder a professed Papist from hearing a sermon, or even joining occasionally in the ordinary offices of our Church ? The difference is that in our liturgy divers prayers and hymns are omitted which are to be found in theirs. But then, what is retained even they themselves ap- prove of; since we innovated nothing, having only weeded out and thrown away those superstitions that grew up in the dark and ignorant ages of the Church. May we not therefore argue with the Papists thus : — There is nothing in our worship which you can- not assent to, therefore you may conform to us; but there are many things in yours that we can by no means allow, therefore you must not expect that we can join in your assemblies. It were needless to furnish you with arguments against such adversaries. The only difficulty lies in bringing them into the field. True it is that prejudices early imbibed and sunk deep in the mind are not immediately got rid of; but it is as true that in every human creature there is a ray of common sense, an original light of reason and nature which the worst and most bigoted education, although it may impair, can never quite ex- tinguish. There is no man who considers seriously but must see that whatever flatters men in their sins, whatever encourages cruelty and persecution, whatever implies a manifest contradiction, I Visitation Charge. 653 whatever savours of fraud and imposture, can be no part of the wisdom from above, can never come from God. When, therefore, you can bring one of these adversaries to consider attentively and argue calmly on the points that divide us, you will soon find his own reason on your side. But although you who have the care of souls were ever so capable and ever so willing to bring the strayed sheep into the flock, to enlighten and convince your adversaries, yet it may perhaps still be said, that there is an insuperable difficulty in coming at them, that they are so many deaf adders that stop their ears and hear not the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely. This, I grant, is a great difficulty, but do not think it an insuperable one. Opportunities may be found, and sometimes offer of themselves, if they are not overlooked or neglected. The work, I own, might be more easily done if Papists could be brought to seek instruction and attend your sermons. But even where this cannot be hoped for, may not something be done by conversation? Occasional discourse, I say, that imperceptibly glides from one subject to another, may be so conducted by a prudent person to those topics he hath a mind to treat of, as if they naturally arose from what went before, or came by accident in the way. We may observe that, whenever the inclination is strongly set towards a thing or bent on any purpose, handles for attaining it do now and then present themselves which might otherwise never be thought of. The Protestant friends and Protestant relations of Roman Catholics may furnish occasions of your meeting and conversing with those whom you may perhaps think you cannot so properly visit at their own houses ; though it were to be wished that good neighbourhood and the friendly commerce of life was not inter- rupted by difference in religion. It is certain that the very same doctrine which a man would never read in a book or hear in a sermon, may sometimes be insinuated in free conversation : that a subject, which, if proposed at once might shock, being intro- duced by degrees might take: that what comes as it were from chance is often admitted, while that which looks like design is guarded against: and that he who will not seek instruction may nevertheless receive it. And even in those cases where you are utterly excluded from 654 Visitation Charge. any immediate intercourse with your Popish parishioners, if the more religious laymen of your parish were sufficiently instructed in the chief points of the Popish controversy, I apprehend it might often lie in their way to give a helping hand toward the con- version of Papists; who, although they will not submit to be taught, may yet condescend to teach, to inform those that shall appear inquisitive, to resolve a doubt modestly proposed ; and may by such means be drawn into an argument before they are aware ; of it. Neighbourhood gives opportunities, and dependence gives an influence ; all which opportunities and influence might, one would think, produce something, especially if managed and im- proved with skill. There is, doubtless, an indiscreet, warm, overbearing manner; jf and in the hands of those who have it the best arguments are ^ weak, and the best cause will suffer. There is, on the other hand, a gentle, prudent, and obliging way which would be an advantage to the worst, a way that softens the heart and prepares it for con- viction. Would you in earnest make proselytes, follow St. Paul's example, and in his sense ' become all things to all men,' that you may gain some. Adopt as much as you conscientiously can of their ways of thinking; suit yourselves to their capacities and their characters; put yourselves in their places, and then consider how you should like to be dealt with, and what would offend you. If your intention is rather to gain a proselyte than to triumph over him, you must manage his passions, and skilfully touch his preju- dices. To convince men, you must not begin with shocking, angering, or shaming them. I do not mean that you should favour their prejudices, or pal- liate their absurdities; on the contrary, when you have once obtained a favourable hearing, when you have prepossessed them with an opinion of your own candour, when, by a skilful appli- cation of 'precept upon precept, line upon line, here a little and there a little' (to use the prophet's language), you have in some measure made them sensible of errors and wrong principles, — you may then proceed to set the wickedness of their practices and the absurdities of their superstitions in the strongest light, and paint them in their true colours. 1 told you before that it was not my design to furnish you with arguments against the Church of Rome, which 1 conceive you are I Visitation Chari^c. 655 already sufficiently provided with. All 1 intended w;is to give you some general directions about the use and application of them. Before I quit this subject I must recommend it to your care to acquaint yourselves vi'ith the state of Popery, and diligently to v^^atch over its progress or decrease. In order to which it is highly expedient that you inform yourselves annually of the numbers of Papists within your respective parishes. Your own discretion will show you the easiest way for doing this. One thing 1 will ven- ture to say, that it is not impossible to be done, and I am sure it ought to be done. I believe you are not ignorant that some measures have been formerly taken in several parts of the kingdom, I mean by itinerant preachers in the Irish tongue, which failed of the desired eftect j other measures are also now set on foot by charity schools, which it is hoped may have better success. But neither the miscarriage of the one, nor the hopes of the other, should prevent every one of you from setting his hand to the plough, as opportunity serves. The Protestant preachers in the Irish tongue failed of success for want of audiences ; and this was without remedy. But that which did not do in one time or place may, perhaps, succeed better in another. At least, I wish it were tried, if any amongst you are sufficient masters of the language. As for the Protestant schools, I have nothing particular to say, more than recommend to your perusal what hath been already published on that subject. But all methods, I fear, will be ineffectual if the clergy do not co-operate and exert thems^^ves with due zeal and diligence for compassing so desirable an end ; which, if it were once set about with the same earnest and hearty endeavours that the Popish clergy show in their missions, we should, I doubt not, in a little time see a different face of things, considering the great advantages that you possess over your adversaries, having such superiority of edu- cation, such protection from the laws, such encouragement and countenance from the government: in a word, every reasonable help and motive is on our side, as well as the truth of our cause. And yet, as things are, little is done ; which must undoubtedly be owing, not so much to the difficulty of the work, as to the remissness of thos2 who ought to do it. In the beginning of the Reformation many proselytes were made by Protestant divines. Was there then less prejudice on one side, or more ability on the 656 Visitation Charge. other? Nothing of this, but only a greater measure of zeal and diligence in the Reformers. It must, without doubt, to any in- different observer seem a little unaccountable that in a country where the true religion hath been so long established, there should yet remain so great a majority involved in blindness and super- stition. This, I say, will hardly be accounted for if the clergy are supposed with due care and pains to discharge their duty. An habitual or a prevailing neglect may perhaps still incline some to think that this is no part of their duty. Others may be apt to conclude that where there is no penalty appointed by the law of the land, there is no obligation. But surely it must be very wrong and very strange for a Christian pastor to measure his duty by the rule either of law or of custom. There is a rule of con- science and a rule of Scripture, and by these rules it is evidently the duty of parochial clergy to labour the conversion of those who are infected with idolatry or superstition within their several parishes. But, besides all this, there is an express canon directing all ministers to confer with the Popish recusants within their parishes, in order to reclaim them from their errors. Rather than treat in general of the pastoral care, I have chosen to dwell on this particular branch, which seems less attended to. I have endeavoured to show you that it is really a branch of your duty, that it is a duty not impossible to be executed, and what methods seem to me most likely to succeed, which, if diligently put in practice, cannot, I think, be altogether without effect. But if nothing else should ensue, you, my brethren, will at least have the satisfaction of being conscious that it was not for want of using your best endeavours. It is impossible, indeed, minutely to prescribe what should be done, how much, and in what manner. That must be left to every man's conscience and discretion. But, in conclusion, I recommend it to you all, both in the discharge of this duty, and in every other part of your conduct, to have constantly before your eyes that most excellent and extensive precept of our Blessed Saviour: 'Be ye wise as serpents and innocent as doves.' Out of Bishop Butler's Letter : — ' However, one must not so far despair of religion as to neglect one's proper part with regard to it; and they who take care to perform it faithfully, have the comfort that all will finally end well for themselves, whatever becomes of this mad world.' ADDRESS ON CONFIRMATION. {A^o date.) It is fit that you who are b: ought hither to be confirmed should, in the first place, be made acquainted with the nature and reason of this institution; in order to which you must understand that there is a twofold kingdom of Jesus Christ. For first, as he is the eternal Son of God, he is lord and sovereign of all things. And in this large sense the whole world or universe may be said to compose the kingdom of Christ. But secondly, besides this large and general sense, the kingdom of Christ is also taken in a more narrow sense, as it signifies his Church. The Christian Church, I say, is in a peculiar sense his kingdom, being a society of persons, not only subject to his power, but also con- forming themselves to his will, living according to his precepts, and thereby entitled to the promises of his gospel. This peculiar kingdom or Church of Christ hath great and peculiar privileges. While the rest of the world is estranged from God and liable to the sentence of eternal death, the Church is reconciled to God through Christ, is justified by faith in him, redeemed by his sufferings, and sanctified by his Spirit ; no hunger subject to death, sin, or the devil, but made children of God and heirs of eternal life. This happy state is called the state of grace, wherein those who were by nature children of wrath are become objects of the divine favour. The conditions of your admission into this state are faith and repentance, and the outward sign and seal thereof is baptism. Christ reconciles us to God and takes us under his protection ^ but then it is in virtue of a covenant, and a covenant requires something to be done on both sides. If much is promised on the part of God, somewhat is to be promised and performed on ours also. If you hope for the divine blessings, you must not be V^OL. IV. u u 658 Address on Conjirmation. unmindful of the promises to the performance whereof those blessings were annexed. And forasmuch as such promises were made in your name by your godfathers and godmothers at a time when you were unable to make them yourselves, or to understand the force and meaning of them, it is fit that, now you are grown up, you should take them upon yourselves. And though your assent hath been often implied and declared by the repetitions of creeds and catechisms, yet it is highly expedient for the more full, open, and solemn declaration thereof that you do in the face of the Church renew your baptismal vow, and manifest your entire assent to all that which your sureties had before promised in your name and on your behalf. This declaration will most solemnly engage you to the per- formance of three things : first, that you shall renounce the devil and all his works, the pride of life, and the sinful lusts of the flesh ; secondly, that you shall believe all the articles of the Christian faith, which are summed up in the Apostles' Creed j and in the third place, that you shall conform your lives to the will and commandments of Almighty God. All those things which your sureties have undertaken for you, and which the faith you have hitherto professed doth already oblige you to perform, doth the present public deliberate renewal of your vow, at this time and place in your own proper persons, after a more especial manner bind upon your consciences. And that you may be the better enabled to discharge these obligations, you must pray to God for the assistance of his grace and Holy Spirit. 1 have thought it fit to insist on these particulars, not only for the instruction of those who present themselves to be confirmed, but also for the sake of all who hear me, to the end that all such who having before received confirmation, might nevertheless not have hitherto reflected duly thereon, being made sensible of the great concern and importance of the engagements they have entered into, may seriously think of fulfilling them for the future, which God of his infinite mercy grant. INDEX. A. Abbott, Sight and Touch, 398 «. Abstract ideas, 33. Addison, 55, 59, 89, 224. vEtna, 587 ; Borellus on, ib. jEtna and Vesuvius, 589. Alciphron, written in Rhode Island, 167 ; describes Rhode Islandscenery, 168; published, 195; argument less abstract than in his earlier writings, 196; occasioned a polemical criti- cism by Bishop Browne, 199 ; misses the moral depth of Pascal, ib. ; com- pared with Butler's Analogy, 200; criticised, 202, cf. n. ; New Theory of Vision appended to, 203 ; at- tacked by Warburton, Hoadly, Lord Hervey, in Uhlii Sylloge, 202 ; by Bishop Browne, 222; third edition of, 342. Amberley, Lady, her description of Whitehall, 166 n. America, Berkeley's verses on, 103. Analogy, what ? according to Bishop Browne, 199; according to Bishop Butler, 200. Analyst, first hints of the, 210; an argumentum ad hominem, 225 ; mathematics defective, 226; com- mended by the Bishop of London, 238 ; the controversy it occasioned, 239. rmei^ov, ro, 366 «. Arbitrariness in natural law, 467. Arbuthnot, Dr., 55, 60, 88 «., '89, 208 ; mentions Berkeley, 72; letter to, from Berkeley, 78. Archdall, Rev. Mervyn, 329, cf.ri. Archetypal ideas, 375, 378, 382 n. Archetypes, ideas of sense are, 461. Archetypes of ideas of sense, 176. U u Archimedes, 451. Architecture, Berkeley's skill in, i53«. Ariano, 564. Aristotle, his four causes, 366 «. ; common sensibles, 396 n., 447 n. Arnold, Jonathan, of Westhaven, 245. Arpae, 537. Ascoli, 563. Ashe, Dr. St. George, ordains Ber- keley, 47 ; died, 85 ; at Cloyne, 230. Ashe, St. George, Berkeley's pupil, 56, 73, 85 «• Association of ideas, 402, 403, 484. Atterbury, Berkeley introduced to, 59, 89, cf. n. Aufidus, river, 561. Augustine, 74. Augustus, mausoleum of, visited, 528. Avellino, 567. B. Bacon and Berkeley, 43, 407. Baglini on the eflccts of the tarantula, 544 "• Baldwin, Provost, 84, 100. Bank, plan for a national, 248. Barberini palace, visited, 523. Bari, 544. Barletta, 542. Baronius, 500 n. Barrow, Dr., 425, 437, 479, 487, 495, 497- Barton, Richard, on fire philosophy, 295 n. Bathurst, Lord, 106, 208, 250. Baxter, Andrew, attacks Berkeley's theory of matter, 222, cf. «. Baylc, arguments against matter, 421. Beardsley, Life of Dr. S. Johnson, 1 7 4 «. Beattie, Dr. James, 153 n.; upon Berkeley, 367 «. 2 66o INDEX. Belfast, 5. Beneventum, 538. Bennet, Bishop, describes Cloyne in a letter to Dr. Parr, 231, cf. «. Benson, Martin, Bishop of Gloucester, meets Berkeley in Italy, 85 ; inti- mate with Seeker, 90; prebendary of Durham, 208 ; made Bishop of Gloucester, 235 n., 280 w. ; his death, 338; his character, 339 «. ; ordained Whitefield, ib. Berkeley, Bishop, birth and ancestry, 1, 2 ; brothers, 9; entered school, 2, 11; entered Trinity College, 2, 15 ; traditions about, 5 ; introduced by Swift to Lord Berkeley, 6, cf. «., 54; Commonplace Book, see Com- monplace Book ; his early studies, 20, 36 ; college companions, 21 ; ex- periments on hanging, 22; eccentric at college, ib. ; made scholar, 2 3 ; made fellow,;^.; memberof a college society, ib. ; psychological theory of physical points, 28 ; his dualism, 29 ; resolves substance, cause, time, and space into perception and being perceived, 32; early practical aim of his speculations, 34 ; first writings mathematical, 35 ; tendency to what is uncommon, 36 ; ordained deacon, 47 ; preaches in Trinity College Chapel, 48 ; reported to be a Jacob- ite, 49, 72; in ethics a theological utilitarian, 49 ; his paper on alli- ances in war, 50 n. ; sub-lecturer in Trinity College, 51 ; junior dean, ib. ; tutor in Trinity College, 52; his pupils, /^. ; books borrowed from college library by, 52 «. ; his emoluments in Trinity College, 53; appears at the Court of Queen Anne, 54 ; writes essays for Steele in the Guardian, 57 ; becomes in- timate with Pope, 59 ; introduced to Atterbury, ib. ; has a discussion with Dr. Clarke, ib. ; introduced to Lord Peterborough, 63 ; accom- panies him to Italy, 64 ; leave of absence from Queen, 65 ; present at a disputation in the Sorbonne, 66 ; proposes to visit INIalebranche, 67 ; crosses Mont Cenis, ib. ; ad- venture at Leghorn, 70 ; returns to London, 72; presented to Prince and Princess of Wales, ib. ; travels with Mr. St. George Ashe, 73 ; said to have visited Cairo, 77 ; at Rome, 78; paper to Royal Society on eruption of Mount Vesuvius, ib. ; visited the Grotto del Cane, 84 ; collected materials for a natural history of Sicily, ib. ; made Senior Fellow, ib. ; returns to London, 87 ; studies social economy, ib. ; be- comes chaplain of Lord Lieutenant, 91 ; made D.D., 94 ; nominated lec- turer on Divinity, ib. ; nominated Dean of Dromore, ib. ; nominated Hebrew lecturer, 95 ; sources of income in 1722, 95«. ; nominated to the living of Ardtrea and Arboe, 1 00 ; Dean of Derry, ib. ; his Ame- rican scheme, 103; introduced to Sir R. Walpole, 107 ; obtains the patent for his college, ib. ; plan for the endowment of his college, ib. ; troubled with the Vanhomrigh le- gacy, no; rambles in England, 115; his hopes of an endowment for his college, 123; anxious to visit Dublin privately, 141; his marriage, 150; his wife's family, ib. ; departure for America, 152; tries to persuade Prior and Blackwell to accompany him, 153 ; skill in architecture, 153;?.; arrival at Newport, in Rhode Island, 154; visited the native In- dians, 161 ; prefers Rhode Island to Bermuda, 163 ; birth of first child, ib.; farm of Whitehall, 164; life in Rhode Island, 166 ; his alcove, Rhode Island, 167 ; founded a Philosophical Society in Newport, 169; correspondence with Bernon, 169 «.; disappointments about the Bermuda scheme, 173; correspond- ence with Dr. S. Johnson, 177, 179; his principles adopted and defended by Jonathan Edwards, 182; a slave owner, 187; death of his daughter Lucia, 188; sets sail from Boston for England, 189 ; arrives in London, 191 ; preaches at the anniversary meeting of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, ib. ; founded scholarships in Yale College, 192-3; donations of books to Yale and Harvard Colleges, 195 «. ; questions about social condition of Ireland, 205 ; nominated Dean of Down, 209 ; nomination withdrawn, ib. ; nomi- nated Bishop of Cloyne, ib. ; de- sires rather deanery of Dromore, INDEX. 661 212; ill of gout, 213, 216; writes to Johnson about Alciphron, 222 ; mathematical controversies, 225 ; his space compared with Kant's, 226 «,, 488 «. ; consecrated Bishop of Cloyne, ih. ; his studies at Cioync, 229; publishes the Querist anony- mously, 242 ; proposes to admit Roman Catholics to Trinity Col- lege, 243 ; Discourse to Magistrates and Men in Authority, 247 ; scheme for a national bank, 248 ; attends Parliament at Dublin, 252; speech in House of Lords, 253 ; blasters, ib. ; labours during the famine and epidemic, 262 ; experiments upon tar-water, 263, 292, 298, 300; medical studies, 265 : upon Roman Catholic theology, 269-80 ; hospi- talities at Cloyne, 282 «. ; musical parties at Cloyne, 284, 289; at- tempts to revive office of rural dean, 288 ; ill health, 290, 292 ; offered bishopric of Clogher, 302 ; the primacy, 303 ; fondness for fine arts, 309; Oxford scheme, 311; speculations in meteorology and natural history, 311, 314, 316; spe- culations about earthquakes, 318; appeal to the Roman Catholic clergy, 301, 320; education of his children at Cloyne, 325 ; gave medals to Trinity College for Greek and Latin, 329, 330 «. ; removes to Oxford, 334, 336; w'ishes to resign his bishopric, 334 ; converts a child into a giant, 335 ;/. ; life at Oxford, 337 ; publishes his Miscellany, 342 ; David Hume, 343: his death, 344, cf. n. ; his will, 345 ; buried in Christ Church Chapel, ib. ; his epitaph, 347 ; his character, ib. ; pictures of, 348 «. ; his scholarship, 350 ; a dis- cernible iniity in his life, 362 ; in- augurated the second era in modern philosophy, 362, 368, 369; his new question, 364 ; how understood by Hume, 366 ; how understood by the Scotch psychologists, 367 n. ; his use of idea, 369, cf. «. ; mere sensation as impossible as matter, 371 ; explanation of physical sub- stantiality and causality, 375 ; ap- plication of his principles to physical sciences, 376 ; confuses sensible things and fancies of imagination, 379; his immediate perception com- pared with that of Reid, Hamilton, and Mansel, 383, 385, 386, cf. «., 387, 390; his mediate perception, 392 ; his theory of visual language, 393-402 ; his ultimate universal conceptions, 402 ; recognises ne- cessary relations, 405 ; mind the only possible power, 408 ; influence on Hume and Kant, 409; sensible universe a constant miracle, 409 n. ; compared with Hume and Kant, 408-15 ; his speculation as a whole, 415, 416; Description of the Cave of Dunmore, 503; Tour in Italy, 512, cf. «. ; his Sermons, 598 ; Visi- tation Charge, 650 ; Address on Confirmation, 657. Berkeley, Mrs. Anne, her family, 150 ; a Mystic, 151, 164. Berkeley, Mrs. Eliza, authoress of pre- face to INIonck Berkeley's poems, 359' cf. w. Berkeley, Capt. George, 312, cf. «. Berkeley, Rev. George, born, 208 ; matriculated in Christ Church, 335; writes to Bishop Seeker, 354 ; to Dr. S. Johnson, ib.; vicar of Bray, 356; marries, 359; prebendary of Canterbury, 360; D.D., ib. Berkeley, George Monck, 360 ; pre- face to his poems, 6, 8, 9 «., 109;;., 150 n., 207 «., 255;/., 262 «., 280 /;., 301 «., 3io«., 325 «., 350 «. Berkeley, Henry, born, 163; referred to, 354 ;/., 336. Berkeley, John, born, 237, ct. /;. Berkeley, Julia, born, 259, cf. ;;. Berkeley, Lucia, buried in Rhode Island, 188. Berkeley, Sir Maurice, 7, cf. «. Berkeley, Ralph, 3, 9, 325 «. Berkeley, Richard, 151. Berkeley, Dr. Robert, 9, 280, 281, cf. ;/. ; his wife dies, 319, 335. Berkeley, Rowland, 9, 325 ;;. Berkeley, Sar.ih, born, 262. Berkeley, Thomas, 9. Berkeley, William, father of the Bishop, I, 5; his parentage, 5-7; his family, 8, cf. «., 9 ; his wife, aunt to Gen. Wolfe, 8 ; chanjjes of residence, 8, cf. «. Berkeley, William (son), born, 247, cf. 12. ; died, 3.' 5. Berkeley, William(brother), 122, 538. Berkeley, Rev. William, curate of Midleton, 281 ;/., 282 w. 662 INDEX. Berkeley, name, how spelt, 2 «. Berkeley of Stratton, Lord, 6, 7, 54, 55, 61. Berkeley papers, ix, 23, 50 «., 159 «., 170 «., 235 «., 238 n., 244, 250 «., 255 «., 256 «., 269, 286 «., 331 «., 340 «., 353 «. Berkeleys, untitled, in Ireland, 8. Berkeleys of Dysert, 3, cf. «., 5, 7. Berkeleys of Skark, 7. Bermuda scheme, Berkeley's, de- scribed in a letter from Swift to Lord Carteret, 102 ; its origin in Berkeley's mind, 103 ; his Pro- posal, 104 ; reasons for choosing Bermuda, ib. ; subscriptions for, 107 ; endowment sought out of the pvirchase money of St. Christo- pher's, 108, 125; charter procured, 108; Bishop of London Visitor of the College, and Secretary for the Colonies Chancellor, ib. ; charter passes the seal, 112; allusions to, in the correspondence of the ♦^ime, 1 1 8-1 19, 141 ; majority in the House of Commons for, 125; King's warrant for the grant, 138; retarded by death of George L, 141 ; charter renewed by George IL, 146 ; en- dowment withheld, 170; Berkeley begins to despair, 183 ; why opposed by Walpole, 185. Bermudas or Summer Islands, 105 ; Shakespeare on the, ib. ; Waller on the, 105 «. Berrington, Simon, author of Gau- dentio di Lucca, 252, cf. n. Beseglia, 542. Billy, Jean de, 500, cf. «. Blackwell, Principal, of Aberdeen, 84«., 153; his pupils, 153 «.; upon Berkeley, 153 «., 327 «. Blampignon, Abbe, 74 n. Blasters, Society of, 254, 255, 256. Blind, the born blind cannot imagine space as we do, 424. Bodies exist in a twofold way, 489. BoHngbroke, Lord, 65, 71, 208, 250 ; letter to Swift, 118; on Alciphron, 202. Bol1.on, Archbishop of Cashel, conse- crates Berkeley, 228. Bonaventura Cavalieri, 496, cf. n. Borghese villa, visited, 515. Borghese palace, visited, 520. Bossuet, IT] n. Bouillet,John,a French physician, 265. Boyle, Earl of Burlington and Cork, 91. Browne, Dr. Jemmet, 284,cf. «., 340. Browne, Dr. John, 13 «. Browne, Dr. Peter, Bishop of Cork 56, 234, cf. n. ; Provost of Trinity College, 1 7 ; pamphlets against drinking of healths, 18 ; argument against Toland, 199; criticises Al- ciphron, 199, 222, cf. tt. ; his theory of analogy, 199 ; his body exhumed, 234 «. Bruce, Rev. Jonathan, 259. Brundisi, 547, 548, cf. n. Burlington, Lord, 102, 104. Burnaby, Rev. Andrew, describes Whitehall, 165 n, Burnet, Bishop, 522 «. Burthogge, Dr. Richard, dimly antici- pates Berkeley and Kant, 44. Butler, Archer, on Berkeley and the logic of physics, 407. Butler, Dr. Joseph, Bishop of Durham, 109, 208; correspondence with Dr. Samuel Clarke, 60; in London, 90; analogy, 200, 236, cf. «. ; his death, 338, cf. n. Calais, 66. Calvin, John, Berkeley upon, 160. Campbell, Principal George, 153 n. Canusium, 540. Capitol, visited, 521. Carnot, 226. Caroline, Queen, 208 ; fond of meta- physics, 109; gets Berkeley nomi- nated Dean of Down, 209 ; her death, 256. Carr, Dr. Charles, 228. Carteret, Lord, 77 ; letter of Swift to, 102, cf. «. ; patron of Francis Hutcheson, 104 n. Cartesian theory of colours, 489. Cartesians, 421. Castlemartyr, 230. Castle Mary, 230. Caulfield, Richard, 234 n. Causality, its meaning, 365, 366 n. ; physical, in variableness of succes- sion, 375, 407. Causality, objectivity based on, 491. Causation, De Motu an essay on, 85. Cause, its various meanings and con- sequent ambiguity, 180, 465; distin- guished from occasion, 430, 456. INDEX. 66s Cave of Cloyne, 232, cf. «. Cave of Dunmore, 503, cf. «. ; called Dearc-Fearna, 504 n. Certainty, how reached, 453, 454. Cestius, sepulchre of, visited, 515. Chandler's Life of Dr. Samuel John- son, 174 n. Charge, Visitation, 650. Chemical composition, 446. Chesterfield, Earl of, 301, 307, cf. «., 309. Cheyne, Dr. George, 425. Chubb, Thomas, 250. Clarke, Dr. Samuel, 89, 109, 208 ; receives a copy of the Principles, 45 ; criticism of Berkeley's prin- ciples, 46 ; deification of space, 47 ; meets Berkeley, 59 ; his discourses, 60 ; brought in contact with Butler, Clarke and Collier, 63. Clarke and Leibnitz, 109. Clayton, Dr. Robert, Bishop of Cork, 148, cf. «., 149, 171,184,208,234; Essay on Spirit, 324. Cloyne, Berkeley nominated bishop of, 209 ; Berkeley consecrated bishop of, 228; Berkeley's life at, 229; village and diocese described, ii. ; described by Bishop Bennet, 231, cf. n. ; traditions of Berkeley at, 233. Coghill, Dr., 217. Coit, Dr., 168 «. Colden, Cadwallader, 327 n. Coleridge, 501. College studies of Berkeley, 3 1 sqq. College in Bermuda ; see Bermuda. Collier, Arthur, Clavis Universalis, 62 ; his coincidence with Berkeley, ii>. ; his letter to Clarke, 63. Collins, Anthony, Discourse on Free- thinking, 58; ridiculed by Swift, ib. ; attacks Archbishop King, ib. Colour and resistance, 394. Commonplace Book, Berkeley's, throws light upon his early life, 10, 488, 502 ; college life reflected in, 27, 419 «; mathematical observa- tions in, 28 ; first appearance of his new principle, 29 ; extracts from, 30 sqq.; names of philosophers mentioned in, 35 ; contains jottings for the Essay on Vision and the Principles of Human Knowledge, 44 ; quoted, 379, 387 n. ; described, 419 «• Common sense, 455. Conceivable things, classified, 484. Confirmation, Address on, 657. Connallan, Mr., 3 «. Connor, Chancellorship of, desired by Berkeley, 209. Consciousness, continuity of, 389 «. ; used as equivalent to external and internal perception, 438 ; potential, 481. Conterini, a college companion of Berkeley, 22, cf. h. Conybeare, Bishop, 338. Cork, city of, 230. Corner, ' Elder,' describes Berkeley at Rhode Island, 164. Cox, Rev. Marmaduke, 219, cf. n. Cox, Sir Richard, 265. Creed, INIr., of Cloyne, 233 «. Crousaz, J. P. de 86. Crowe, Bishop, 233. Cumpean field, 588. Custom, Hume's theory of, 369, 403, 408, 410. Cutler, Dr. Timothy, 163, 185, 186. D. D'Alcmbert, 226. Dalton, Richard, 151, 153, 266, 280 n. Daniel, Richard, made Dean of Down, 209 «. Darwin, 377. Deans, rural, 287, 288. Death, Berkeley on, 181 ; of Berkeley, 344- De Quincey on the death of Male- branche, 73 «. Des Cartes, 20, 45, 74, 178, 362, 565, 384, 458, 459, 460, 461, 510; his cogito ergo sum, 454. Desire, not will, 440, 441. DeVrics, 467. Dialogues between Hylas and Philo- nous, a popular exposition of the Principles, 61 ; dedicated to Lord Berkeley of Stmtton, ib. ; made converts, 62 ; mentioned in Acta Eruditorum, ib. Diocletian's baths, visited, 524. Discourse to Magistrates and Men in Authority, 247; its occasion, 253 ; its efiects, 254, cf. «. Distance, what it is to sec, 396; can it be touched? 400; is the meaning of certain visually given phenomena, 401 ; visible and tangible hetero- 664 INDEX. geneous, 470; not immediately per- ceived, 481. Dorset, Earl of, 209. Dromore, Berkeley's connection with deanery of, 94. Dualism, Berkeley's, 29. Dublin in a.d. 1700, 15. Dublin Journal, Faulkner's, 264. Dunmore, Cave of, 503, cf. n. Duration, 468. Dysert Castle, birthplace of Berkeley, 3,5- E. Edinburgh Metaphysical Society, dis- cusses Berkeley's philosophy, 224. Education, Jesuits and, 534. Edwards, Jonathan, a pupil of John- son, 182 ; defends the Berkeleian principle, 182, cf. «. ; a slave owner, 187 n.\ distinction between fancies and real things, 381 ; on our idea of space, 405 n. Error, in the will, 461. Esquihne, Mount, visited, 526. fTfpOf, TO, 366 «. Euler, 226. Euston, Lord, 284, cf. w. Evans of Miltown, Colonel, 259. Existence, ancient philosophers igno- rant of what is, 31 ; is percipi or percipere, velle or agere, 422; what is its meaning, 429; no idea of, 447. Extension, visible, 395, 419 ; tangible, 395; resolvable into points, 421; does not exist apart from sense qualities, 422 ; visible, 423 ; coloured, 429 ; a mode of some sensible quality, 451 ; dependent on perception, 467, cf. n. ; a sensation or phenomenon, 468 ; mathematical propositions about, true in a double sense, 471 ; is continuity of solid, 472; tangible, the object of geometry, 474 ; con- sists of homogeneal thoughts co- existing without mixture, 478; a distinct co-existence of minima. 490. F. Faith, its function, 439, cf. n. Falkland, Viscount, 279. Fardelia, 472, cf. «. Farnese palace, visited, 517. Ferrier, Prof., seems to misconceive a doctrine of Berkeley, 466 «. Ficinus, Marcilius, 500, cf. «. Fire philosophy in Siris, 295 ; in Richard Barton, 295 n. Fricento, 565. Flaxley, Berkeley at, 115. Fleury, Cardinal, 282, cf. n. Foot, Dr., 509. Forster, Dr. Nicholas, 150, 228; pre- sents Berkeley for ordination, 47. Forster, John, Berkeley's father-in- law, 150. Foulis, edition of Plato, 327 «. France, condition of, in last years of Lewis XIV., 68. Freind, Dr. John, 60. Freind, Dr. Robert, 60, 82 n. Garth, Dr., 224. Gaudentio di Lucca, The Adventures of, ascribed to Berkeley, 251 ; edi- tions of, 251 «. ; real authorship, 252, cf. n. Gay, the poet, 60, 88 n. ; writes about Berkeley, 202 ; his death, 208. Genera and species not abstract ideas, 436. General ideas, no abstract. 420. Gentleman's IMagazine, denies that Berkeley was chaplain to Duke of Grafton, 92 ; on Berkeley in Rhode Island, 166 «. Gervais, Dean, 21, 259, cf. «., 261, 281 ; see Letters. Giannoni's History of Naples, 271, cf. n. Gibbon, Edmund, 340, cf. «. Gibson, Bishop of London, 186, cf. «., 208, 235 «., 236 «. ; favours the Bermuda scheme, 1 1 1 ; thanks Ber- keley for the Analyst, 238; jee Letters. Gilman, Mr., of Yale College, 176. Giovanessa, 542. Grafton, Duke of, 100. Graves, Rev. James, 503 «. Gravina, 559. Grey, Dr. Zachary, 163. Gualtieri, Cardinal, 514. Guardian, essays of Berkeley in the, 57- Guilt, defined, 181. H. Hall, Dr. John, Vice-Provost of Trinity College, 18. INDEX. 665 Halley, Dr., 223, 224. Hamilton, John, Dean of Droniore, 10 1 n. Hamilton, Sir W., 404 «., 409 n. ; on immediate perception, 383 ; on sensation and perception, 396 n. ; law of conditioned, 493 n. Hardwicke, Lord Chancellor, 251. Harley, Earl of Oxford, 119. Hartley, 343. Harvard College, donation of books from Berkeley, 195 «. Hazard, Rowland G., 158 n. Hegel, 413, 414; doctrine of space, 368 n. Helsham, Dr., 219. Hervey, Lord, 202. Hinton, Dr., i, 2, i 3. Historical Register, account of Ber- keley's departure for America, 152. Hoadly, Bishop, 109, 202, 208, 212. Hobart, Rev. Noah, 162. Hobbes, Thomas, of Malmesbury, 363, 459. 460, 462, 463. Hodges, Dr., Provost of Oriel, 341, cf. n. Hodgson, Shadworth H., on space, 488 n. Honeyman, Rev. James, of Newport, 155, 159- Home, Bishop, 338, cf. n. ; 360. Hume, his physical causality anti- cipated by Berkeley, 43, 425 «. ; referred to, 45, 362, 367, 368, 378, 408, 410, cf. «., 412; his writings, 343 ; thought Berkeley's method sceptical, 366, cf. n. Hutcheson, Archibald, 138, cf. n. Hutcheson, Francis, 104 n. Huxley, 377. Huygenius, 505. I. Idea, defined, 421 «., 422, 445, cf. n. ; gives intuitive not symbolical know- ledge, 485 «., 486. Idea, of sense, constituents of real things, 32; abstract, 33; their ar- chetypes, 176; how used in Siris, 296 ; no general, 420 ; of sense how archetypes, 461. Idea, and sensation, 498. Identity, doctrine of, 448. Identity, exists only in persons, 480. Imokilly, barony of, described, 230, 246. Inductive methods, 574 «., 407. Infinitesimals, 421. Inistiogue Records, 3 «., 7. Instinct, Berkeley on, 406 «. Intellect, pure, unintelligible, 460. Ireland, social condition of, engages the attention of Berkeley, 205, 242 ; famine and epidemic in 1732, 261, 266. Ischia, 575; government, 576-577; clergy, 578 ; customs, 579-582 ; har- bour, 583 ; baths, 585-587. Italy, Journal of aTour in, 82; Journal described, 5 1 2 «. J- James, Sir John, 151, 153, 246, 266; his intention of joining the Roman Catholic communion, 269; Berkeley dissuades him, ib. ; dies, 280, cf. n. Jekyll, Sir Joseph, 171 n. Jerome of Prague, 275. Jewell's Defence of the Reformation, 275. Johnson, Bishop, 233. Johnson, Dr. Samuel (of England), his criticism of Berkeley, 368 n. Johnson, Dr. Samuel, of Stratford, says that the scenes in Alciphron are copied from Rhode Island, 167; visits Berkeley in Rhode Island, 174 ; visited England, and saw Pope, ib.\ adopted Berkeley's phi- losophy, ih. ; Dr. Chandler's Life of, 174 n.\ his F-lementa Philoso- phica, 175 n.\ letter of Berkeley to, on archetypes, space, and the passivity of the soul, 177; letter of Berkeley to, on change, cause, and the first mover, 179 ; Jonathan Edwards a pupil of, 182 ; made D.D. of Oxford, 321 n.\ President of King's College, New York, 322 «. ; his sons, 323, cf. n. ; correspond- ence with Berkeley, 327; corre- spondence with Lieut. -(iov. Colden about Berkeley's philosophy, 327 n. ; published his Elementa Philo- sophica, 543, 355; see Letters. Jones, Sir W., on Hindoo Philosophy, 375 "• Jurin, Dr., 239. K. Kant, Immanuel, referred to, 17A /;. ; 343, 408 w., 409; his regulative 666 INDEX, ideas, 177 «. ; on Berkeley, 368; doctrine of space, 368 «., 402 w. ; antinomies, 493 n. Kant and Hume, 412. Keill, Dr. John, 493, cf. «., 494, 497, cf. n. Kennet, Basil, chaplain at Leghorn, 69, 276. Kilcrin, reputed birth-place of Ber- keley, I, 3, 4, cf. «. Kilkenny, 14, 506. Kilkenny School, i, 2, 11, cf. «., 12, 229. King, Archbishop, endowed a Divinity Lecture in Trinity College, 17; a theologian, 21, loi. King, Lord, 1 1 1 n. Knowledge, 454. Lagrange, 226. Language, all visible phenomena an interpretable, 33; abuses of, 435. Lecce, Corpus Christi day, 549 ; li- braries and churches, 550-551. Leghorn, Sermons preached at, 605. Leibnitz, 363 ; on distinction between dream life and waking life, 380 ; differential calculus, 495. Leslie, Dr. Charles, 209, cf. n. Letters : — Benson, Bishop, to Berkeley, on the probability that the Bermuda en- dowment will be withheld, 170; about a House of Lords case with regard to tithes, 237 ; on deaths of Lord Chancellor and Primate, 250; on Queen Caro- line's death, &c., 256; on rural deans, 287 ; on prevailing cor- ruption of morals, 332. Berkeley to Rev. Mervyn Arch- dall, 329. — to Benson, on death of his son William Berkeley, 325. — to IMr. Clap, President of Yale College, 324, 327. — to Mr. Dalton, on his marriage, 266. — to Colonel Thomas Evans, 259. — to Dean Gervais, 260 ; advises him to drink tar- water, 281 ; on musical parties at Cloyne, 284, 288; congratulatory, on deanery of Tuam, 289 ; on politics, 290, 304, 311 ; on the gout, 303, 333. Berkeley to Sir Thomas Hanmer, on tar- water, 298. — to Sir John James, describing Cloyne, 246; on Mr. Dalton's marriage, 268 ; dissuading him from joining the Roman Catholic communion, 269. — to Dr. S. Johnson, on arche- types of our ideas, space, and the passivity of the soul, 177 ; on change, cause, and the first mover, 179 ; announcing departure from America, 188; about books for Yale College, 221 ; about attacks on by Bishop Browne and Andrew Baxter, 222; about intercourse with dissenters, 241 ; about Ame- rican missions and Yale College, 245 ; speaking of ill-health, 258 ; about Colleges of Yale and New York, 321, 326. — to Robert Nelson, describing his life as chaplain to the Lord- Lieutenant, 93. — to Pope, complimenting him on the Rape of the Lock, 70 ; on his translation of the Iliad, 72 ; describing neighbourhood of Naples, 82 ; on interview with Abbe Salvini, 84. — to Thomas Prior, account of journey to Paris, 66 ; account of journey across Mont Cenis, 67 ; account of condition of France, 69 ; about the Bemiuda scheme, no, III, 112, 113-118, 123, 125, 127, 138, 142, 145, 146, 163, 183; about troubles arising from the Vanhomrigh legacy, no, in, 112, 113-118, 120, 121, 126, 129, 130, 131, 133, 135, 136, 142, 144, 162, 172, 204, 206, 209 ; about the business of the deanery of Derry, 124, 125, 128, 129, 130, 133, 135, 148, 172, 204, 206; denies re- port of his marriage, 134 ; about securing a house in Dublin where he can have strict privacy, 143, 144, 148, 149; about death of George L, 145 ; announcing his marriage, and his companions to America, 151; describing New- port, 160; prefers Rhode Island to Bermuda, 163 ; picture of life in Rhode Island, 173; proposes to settle in Ireland, 204, 210, 21 1 ; about making dissenters justices INDEX. 667 of the peace in Ireland, 204; about a list of Papists and Pro- testants in Ireland, 205, 206, 207 ; desire to get Chancellorship of Connor, 209 ; first hint of Ana- lyst, 210; about bishopric of Cloyne, 211, 212, 213, 214, 216, 219, 220, 227 ; about the Querist, 247, 307; describes industry at Cloyne, 248, 308 ; describes use of rosin in epidemics, 263, 264; experiments on tar- water, 263, 298, 300; upon distress in Ire- land, 265, 266; on politics, 285; on soldiers' clothing, 306 ; Earl of Chesterfield, 307 ; specula- tions in meteorology, 311, 314; about the primacy, 310, 312. 313, 315 ; speculations in natural his- tory, 316; describing thunder- storm at Cloyne, 320, cf.w.; about an edition of Plato by Foulis of Glasgow, 327. Berkeley to Smibert describing Cloyne, 240. — to Wolfe, 267. Berkeley, George (the son), to Archbishop Seeker, 354. Browne, Bishop Jemmet, to Ber- keley, 340. Forster, Bishop, to Berkeley, on Berkeley's speech in Parliament, 255- Gibson, Bishop, to Berkeley, thank- ing him for the Analyst, 238 ; upon attempt to repeal the cor- poration and test oaths, 244. Grey, Dr., to Dr.T. Cutler, describ- ingBerkeley at Rhode Island, 163. Mornington, Lord, to Mrs. Ber- keley, 353 «. Pope to Berkeley, 89. Seeker, Archbishop, to Berkeley, 235; to Mrs. Berkeley on her husband's death, 352. Swift to Lord Carteret, describing the Bermuda scheme, 102, Lewis, Sir G. Cornewall, 252 «. Locke, his Essay introduced into Trinity College, 20 ; his influence on Berkeley, 34 ; treatises on go- vernment, 48 ; on abstract ideas, 177 ; does not rightly distinguish will from desire, 440 : his maxim, 457; referred to, 45, 363, 384, 406, 429, 432, 433, 434, 436, 437, 444, 446, 449, 450, 451, 452 «,, 454, 457, 458, 460, 461, 462, 465, 472, 473) 475, 479j 480, 487, 491, 494, 498. Locke and Malebranche, 74. Xoyw., the, or inward light, 274 n. Loyola, 521. Lyons, 67. M. Maclaurin, Colin, engaged in the Analyst controversy, 240. McSparran, Rev. Dr., 161, cf. «., 162. Madden, Dr. Samuel, 21, 150, cf. «. ; edits the Querist, 242 ; founds the Dublin Society, 243, cf. n. Magnitude, 476. Magrath, the Irish giant, 335 n. Malebranche, Berkeley proposes to visit, 67; story of death of, 73; referred to, 30, 176 »?., 324 «., 363, 384, 421, 435, 459, 461, 467, 484, 486, 488, 490. Malebranche and Berkeley, 74. Mansel, Dean, 383. Markham, Archbishop, 338, cf. n. Martin, Dr., 2 n. Martin, Murdoch, explored Western Islands, 66, cf. «., 506. Masham, Lady, 55. Massy, M., 86. Mathematical necessity, 397 n. Mathematical studies of Berkeley, 36, 210. Mathematicians, Berkeley's attack upon the, 224 ; an argumentum ad hominem, 225. Matter, unperceivable and unperceiv- ing, 364, 365- Maury, M. Alfred, 86. Mead, Dr., 82 n. Midleton, 230. Mill, Mr. J. S., 388 n. Mind, bodies exist independently of our, 428; a congeries of percep- tions, 438; always thinks, 444; neither volition nor idea, 464. Minima visibilia and tangibilia, 395. Minimum visibile, 471, 483. Miscellany, Berkeley's, 342, cf. «. Mola, 546. Molyneux, Samuel, 56 ; Berkeley's pupil, 52 ; presents Berkeley to the Princess of Wales, 72. Molyneux, William, 19, 416 «., 469. Monastic life, 276. Monte Sarki, 537. 668 INDEX. Moon, problem of the horizontal, 476, 492. Morality, two great principles of, 430. Morality, demonstration in, 449. More, Dr., 491. Morgan, Thomas, M.D., 265 n. Motion, not distinct from the thing movable, 424; visible and tangible, 469. Motu, De, an essay on Power and Causation, 85; an application of the Principle to sensible changes and causation, ib. ; prepared at Lyons, 86 ; may have been pre- sented to the Royal Academy of Paris, ib. Mountnay, Baron, 304, cf. n. N. Naples, Berkeley at, 81, 82, 84, 535 n. ; Rome to, 568; its customs, 571- 574- Narragansett, 155, 159, 161, 162; Ser- mons preached in, 629. Natura naturans, is God, 180. Necessity, mathematical, 397 n. Nelson, Robert, Berkeley addresses a letter to, 93, cf. n. Newhaven College, 179. Newport, Berkeley lands at, 154 ; de- scribed, 155; religious equality in, 157 ; Berkeley's house at, 165 ; scenery described in Alciphron, 168; philosophical society of, 169; sermons preached at, 629. Newton, Sir Isaac, referred to, 20, 226, 420, 441, 469, 497, 498; doc- trine of space, 177 ; method in natural philosophy, 179; theory of aether, 295 n. Noetica, by Dr. S. Johnson, 175 «. Nore, river, 4. Norris, John, the Malebranchian, 20. Norris, Sir John, 291. Number, 476. O. Objectivity, what, 395 ; based on causality, 491. Oglethorpe, General, 67, cf. «., 186 n. Oxford, the scene of an ideal life, 277 «. Oxford Commemoration, 207. Oxford scheme, Berkeley's, 311, 334. Palliser, William, 21. Paradise Lost, translation by the Abbe Salvini, 71 «. Paris, Abbe, 275. Parnell, the poet, 56, 60. Parr, Dr., 231. Particulars, knowledge is not of, merely, 446. Pascal, his Deus absconditus, 199, 416. Pasquilino, retained to teach Ber- keley's children music, 310 n. Passive Obedience, Discourse on, pub- lished, 48 ; occasioned by Locke's treatises on government, ib. ; advo- cates high Tory principles, ib. ; con- tains Berkeley's moral philosophy, 49 ; gave rise to the report that Berkeley was a Jacobite, ib. ; hin- ders his advancement, 50. Pembroke, Earl of, 91, cf. n. Perception, 596 ; Berkeley's imme- diate, of extended sensible reality, 383 ; immediate, is adequate, 483. Perception and volition, 444. Person, not an idea, 432. Personality, 371-373. Persons only exist, 469. Peterborough, Lord, Berkeley intro- duced to, 63; appointed ambassa- dor to the King of Sicily, 64 ; makes Berkeley his chaplain and secretary, ib. ; commemorated by Pope, 64 «. ; referred to by Berkeley, 69 ; re- called, 71. Petitio principii, in the common theory of matter, 370. Phenomena, how used in Siris, 296. Platner, observations on the born blind, 404. Plato, 176 «., 366 «,, 376; proposed edition of, by Foulis of Glasgow, 327 n. Pliny, on earthquakes, 319. Plotinus, 276, cf. «. Pococke, Bishop, 288 n. Pomfret, Earl of, 141. Pooley, Bishop, 230. Pope, 55 ; a friend of Berkeley, 59, 89 ; on Lords Bathurst and Bur- lington, 9 1 ; on the Bermuda scheme, 119 ; publishes Essay on Man, 208 ; mentioned in a letter from Seeker to Berkeley, 236 ; his enthusiam for Berkeley, 349 n. Positivism, 362, 368, 411. INDEX 669 Power, De Motu an essay on, 85. Power and volition, 450 Practical aim, early, of Berkeley's speculations, 34. Principle, Berkeley's new, 29, 30, 31. Principles of Human Knowledge, Treatise concerning the, an assault on scholastic abstractions, 40 ; de- velopes the theory latent in the Essay on Vision, ib. ; only first part published, 42 ; anticipates the Go- pernican point of view of Kant, 43-44 ; theory of physical causality, 43 ; a challenge to the philosophical world, 45 ; copies sent to Clarke and Whiston, ib. Prior, IMatthew, 67, cf. «., 89. Prior, Thomas, at school with Ber- keley, II ; founder of Dublin Society, 1 1 «., 242 ; college com- panion of Berkeley, 2 1 ; helps Ber- keley in business dilliculties, 109 ; his List of Absentees, 1S3 w. ; in Dublin when Berkeley was conse- crated Bishop of Cloyne, 228; ex- periments with tar-water, 293 ; his Authentic Narrative of thesuccessof tar-water, 309 ; death, 329; monu- ment to, 330, 331 «. ; epitaph by Berkeley, 331 «. ; bust of, ib. Protagoras, 376. Qualities of matter, primary, 434. Qj_ierist, 242; edited by Dr. Madden, ib.-, Mackintosh on the, 243 «. ; third part published, 247 ; advises a national bank, 249. R. Rabbe, the Abbe, 86. Ramsay, the Chevalier, 324 w. Rankenian Club, 224 n. Raphson, Ralph, 177, 462, cf. ;/., 491. Rawdon, Sir John, 67, 265. Real things and chimeras, 427, 449. Reality, its meaning, 365, 492. Reid, Dr. Thomas, 343, cf. «., 388; immediate perception, 383 ; his relation to Berkeley, 385, cf. n. Resistance and colour, 394. Rhode Island, Berkeley meant to go to, on his way to Bernuida, 155 ; its society, 158; Berkeley wishes to found his college at, 163 ; pic- tures of its scenery in Alciphron, 16S. Roman Catholic clergy and Berkeley, 321. Roman Catholic theology, Berkeley's views upon, 269 sqq. Roman Catholics of Cloyne, Letter to the, 301. Roman College, visited, 534. Roman literature, modern, 518. Rome, its environs visited, ,-,30 sqq. ; the theatre visited, 535. Rome to Naples, 568. Rose, Archdeacon, memoir of Dr. George Berkeley, Prebendary of Canterbury, 356 ; on Berkeley's sermons, 595. Rosin, used in epidemics, 263; adver- tised in Faulkner's Dublin Journal, 264. Rostellan, 230. Rugge, Henry, 214. Ruin of Great Britain, Essay towards preventing the, 88. Rundle, Bishop of Derry, 235 n. S. Salaries in Trinity College, 53 n. Salvini, Abbe, translates Milton's Paradise Lost, 7 1 . Scaliger, 498. Scepticism, refuted by Berkeley's principle, 31. Scott, Sir Walter, on the correspond- ence between Swift and Mrs. Van- homrigh, 99. Scriblerus Club, 57. Scriblerus Club and the Bermuda scheme, 106. Seeker, Archbishop of Canterbury, friendship for Berkeley, 90 ; college friend of Bishop Butler, ib. ; at Durham, 171 ; made Y).Y)., 207 «, ; rector of St. James's, Westminster, 208 ; Bishop of Bristol, 235 ; made Bishop of Oxford, 250, cf. w. ; at Cuddesden when Berkeley at Oxford, 538-339; hissistermarriod to Bishop Benson, 339 ;/. ; sympathy with Ber- keley's family, 352; translatcil to Lambeth, 552 n. See, what it is to, 399. Sensations, what are, 370, 571 ; mere, impossible, 37 i ; actual, intermittent, 373 ; dilVerent from sensible things, ib.\ signs of other sensations, 374 ; 670 INDEX. substantiality in material world is co-existence of, 375. Sensations, invariableness of, devejopes space, 407. Sensations and ideas, 498. Sense ideas, are real things, 32. Sense-realism of Berkeley, 386. Senses, not to be despised, 434. Sensibles, common, 396 n. Sergeant, John, 463, cf. n. Sermons, preached in Trinity College Chapel, 598 ; preached at Leghorn, 605 ; skeletons of, preached at Newport and in the Narragansett country, 629. Shakespeare, quoted, 105. Sherlock, Dr., Bishop of Bangor, 89, 109; shows Alciphron to Queen Caroline, 208. Sibbald, Sir Robert, 506, cf. n. Sicily, Berkeley in, 84. Simon, James, 309, cf. n., 315. Simon, T. Collyns, 409 n. Siris, 293; popularity, 294; to be compared with earlier works, ib. ; Berkeley's philosophy developed in, 296; w^as Berkeley's last word in speculation, 297 ; French transla- tion of, 330. Skelton, Rev. Philip, criticises Alci- phron, 199 n. Smalridge, Bishop, 62, 102. Smibert, Mr., the artist, 132, cf. n., 142; accompanies Berkeley to America, 151, 153; settled in America, 189, cf. «. ; his portrait of Berkeley in Yale College, 189. Smith, Adam, 340, cf. «. Space, 177 ; derived from universalized sense impressions, 401 ; developed from invariableness of sensations, 407 ; material, what, 422 ; imagined by the born blind, 424 ; eternity and infinity of, 449 ; Kant's doctrine of, 488 «.; Hodgson's doctrine oi,ib. Speech, is metaphorical, 479. Spenser, quoted, 4. Spinoza, 324 «., 363, 462, 464. Society, a college, founded by Berke- ley, 23. Society of Edinburgh, Royal, 224 «. Society in Edinburgh, a metaphysical, discusses Berkeley's principles, 224. Solidity, 472, 475. Sommers, Sir George, 105. Soul, is passive as well as active, 177 ; complex, 477. South Sea scheme, made Berkeley turn his attention to social economy, 87 ; effects of on the morality of the people, ib. ; undertook the respon- sibility of the national debt, 87 ; referred to, 242. St. Canice, cathedral of, 506 n. St. Colman, cathedral of, 230. St. Peter's, visited, 519, 525. Stearne, Dr. John, 329, cf. «. Steele, Sir Richard, edits the Guar- dian, 57, 208. Stevenson, Prof., of Edinburgh, 224. Stewart, Dugald, on Baxter, 222 ; on the early influence of Berkeley in Scotland, 224. Stillingfleet, Bishop, 431 «., 449, 450. Stirling, Dr. Hutchison, 388 «., 408 «. Stock, Bishop, Berkeley's biographer, 4, M "; 59> 72 «., 99, cf- "; 150, 208, 224, 228, 262 «., 337 «., 338, 344 n., 347 n. Stopford, Bishop, at Cloyne, 252 «. Substance, not removed by Berkeley's principles, 31, 431; physical, what is.' 431 «.; Locke on, 440, cf. w. ; discussed, 450. Substantiality in material world, co- existence of sensations, or pheno- mena, 375. Succession, 468, 471. Swift, introduces Berkeley to Lord Berkeley of Stratton, 6, 54 ; at Kilkenny school, i3,cf.«.; at Trinity College, 1 7 ; introduces Berkeley at Queen Anne's court, 54 ; made Dean of St. Patrick's, 55 ; extracts from diary to Stella, ib. ; introduces Berkeley to Lord Peterborough, 63; writes to Lord Carteret about Berkeley, 77 ; verses on South Sea scheme, 88«. ; friend of Lord Pembroke, 91 ; writes to Gay about Berkeley, 95; his connection with Mrs. Vanhomrigh, 96 ; writes to Lord Carteret about Berkeley's Bermuda scheme, 102 ; letter from Bolingbroke, 118; Gulliver's Tra- vels, 119; revisits England, ib.; letter from Gay to, 202 ; quits Eng- land for ever, 208 ; at St. Patrick's when Berkeley consecrated, 229; his patriotism, 243; intercourse with Berkeley at Cloyne, 243 «. ; death, 304 n. ; on Berkeley's theory of matter, 368 «. Sydenham, Dr., 303. INDEX 67, Synge, Dr. Edward, Bishop of Cloyne, &c., 21, 146, 147, 209, 212, 214, 215, 219, 220, 227. T. Talbot, Charles, Lord Chancellor, 138, cf. «., 217, cf. «., 250, cf. n. Talbot, Miss, 359, cf. n. Tarantula spider and dance, 82, 5 1 3 k., 541, 544, 545, 552-553, 555, 556, 560. Tar-water, used in the epidemic of 1739, 262; Berkeley had seen it used in America, ib. ; experiments with, 263, 293; Dean Gervais advised to drink, 282 ; Berkeley thinks it a panacea, 292 ; interest it excited, 294, cf. «., 309, cf. «. ; verses on drinking, 297, 299 ; Prior's tract upon, 309, 322 ; Berke- ley's correspondence about, 323. Tarentum, 554, 555, cf. «. ; environs visited, 556-558. Terracina to Rome, 592. Thing, meaning of the term, 449. Tighe, Mr., History of Kilkenny, 3, 4. Time, a succession of ideas consti- tute, 177; measured by flow of ideas, 439 ; referred to, 468. Toland, criticised by Bishop Browne, 199. Townshend, Lord, 108. Trani, 542. Tribunal of the Eletti, 573. Trinity College, i, 2, 16; salaries in, 5 3 «. ; Archbishop King's Lecture- ship, 94 «. ; Hebrew Lectureship, 95 n. ; three junior fellows of, induced to accompany Berkeley to America, 104; Berkeley proposes to throw it open to Roman Catholics, 243 ; Berkeley gave medals for Greek and Latin to, 329, 330 n. Trinity College Chapel, sermon preached in, 598. Truth, three kinds of, 446. Tuam, wardenship of, 214. Turin, 67. U. Ueberweg, charges Berkeley with a petitio principii, 370 «. Uhlius, Sylloge, 202 n. v\t], 366 n. Unity not a simple idea, 435, 472. Updike, Colonel, an intimate friend of Berkeley, 1 59 w. ; member of the Philosophical Society of Newport, 169. Updike, Ludovick, heard Berkeley preach, 159. Updike, Wilkins, his History of the Episcopal Church in Narragansett, 154 ; description of Berkeley's arrival at Newport, id. ; account of Berkeley in Trinity Church, 159; account of Rhode Island society, ib. «. ; Berkeley's farm, 164 «. ; on Berkeley's verses on America, 168 «., 245 «. Ursini, Cardinal, his library, 538. Utilitarianism, theological, Berkeley's, 49. V. Vanhomrigh, Mrs., 57 ; Berkeley and Swift dine with, 60, 96 ; died in 1723, 96; her connection with Swift, 96, 97 «. ; bequeathed her property to Bishop Berkeley and Dr. Marshall, 97 ; her will, ib. ; her correspondence with Swift, 99 ; her legacy occasion of business troubles to Berkeley, no, in, 112, 113— 118, 119, 120, 121, 126, 129, 130-131, 133, 135, 136, 141. Vatican, Berkeley examines the MSS. in the, 78. Vatican gallery, visited, 512. Venosa, 561. Verses on America, Berkeley's, 103. Verses on drinking tar- water, 297, 299. Vesuvius, eruptions of, described, 78, 588. Vesuvius and iEtna, 589. Vindication of Theory of Vision, 203, Vision, Essay towards a New Theory of, 36 ; applies the Berkeleian prin- ciple to sight, not to touch, 37 ; has been misinterpreted, ib. ; its chief qusetion, ib. ; its theory of the uni- versal and divine language of the senses, 38 ; second edition in year of publication, 40. Visitation Charge, 650. Visual language, 393. Volition, comes gradually into the mind, 442. Volition and perception, 444. Volition and power, 450. Voltaire, on Berkeley, 368 «. Vulgar, Berkeley on the side of, 420. 6/2 IN DE X. W Wainwright, Baron, 210, 214, 215, 218, 228, 237. Wallace, Rev. Dr., 224. Waller, Battle of the Summer Islands, 105 n. Wallis, Dr., 428, 463. Walpole, Sir Robert, promises an endowinent for the Bermuda Col- lege, 108 ; occasions failure of the Bermuda scheme, 186; referred to, 1 19» 139) 284, cf. «. Walton, engaged in the Analyst con- troversy, 240. Warburton, Dr., 202 ; on Baxter, 222. Ward, Rev. Dr., of Derry, 123, 129, 134. Warton, quoted, 106. Wetherby, Dr., 210. W^histon, on Berkeley, 45. Whitcombe, Archbishop, 341, cf. ti. Whitehall, Berkeley's farm and house, 164, 165, cf. «., 166. Wilkes, John, 327 n. Will, is it acted on by uneasiness, 421; the soul is, 428 ; is not desire, 440, 441 ; is power, 442 ; no idea of, 445 ; is puiTis actus, 462. Wise, Dr. Thomas, 283 «. Wolfe, Mr., 266. Wolfe, General, 336, 337 «. ; on Ber- keley's death, 337 «. Woodward, Dr., on stalactites, 511, cf. n. Worcester, Bishop of, 440 n. Word to the Wise, A, 320. Yale College, Johnson graduated at, 174; possesses portrait of Berkeley by Smibert, 189; scholarships in, founded by Berkeley, 192, 194 «. ; deed of conveyance, 193 «. ; dona- tion of books to, 194, cf. n., 207, 221; referred to, 163, 176, 192, 245, 323, 324, cf. «., 326, 327, cf. «. / This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 1 M'^^ JAN 7 mea MAY 6 1936 BENEV,'.'T. JAN 281963 HAV 2 5 1936 ROOBOOl^^O^ fm 2 6 ^^^^ ^M.as^^'^ MH 2 6 ^9'*^ ^ JUN 14 1965 4 4-9 to- PM APR 15 ^9^^' ^ IRTDCS-lfflO JUL 211954 1 APR 1 6 1973 Tfii JAN] /^(^J? m FormL-9-15»i-7,'31 / PLEAS5 DO NOT REMOVE THIS BOOK GARD^ -^tilBRARY^a ^(f/OJIWDJO^^ University Research Library - o J» 1- r i w m < o 's - -- CO' CO -•■J 4>. > c -1 X o 9 IK ^* -'♦'-♦'*; .