Far different was the pomp and circumstance in which the writer of this narrative performed his journey, from the condition in which Goldsmith, four years afterwards, pursued nearly the same route to—

And Hume's motions seem to have partaken of the pomp and regularity of his official station; for, even in these familiar letters to his brother, he is all along the secretary of legation; or when he descends from that height, it is but to mount the chair of the scholar and philosopher. There are no escapades. We never hear that he has taken it in his head to diverge from the regular route to see an old castle or a waterfall. Yet he went with an eye for scenery. The Alpine passes excited his admiration, and his description of the banks of the Rhine will be recognised at this day as very accurate—with one material exception. He says nothing of the feudal fortresses perched like the nests of birds of prey, to which their moral resemblance was at least as close as their physical; and thus one of the greatest historians of his age, passes through a country without appearing to have noticed in their true character, this series of prominent marks of a remarkable chapter in the history of Europe. He speaks of them simply as "palaces"—a word not designative of the character of the buildings, or in any way evincing that their historical position had occurred to his mind. But it must be admitted, that later tourists on the Rhine have amply made up for his silence on these matters.

He does not condescend to mention any one of the fine specimens of Gothic architecture which he must have seen—not even that vast and beautiful fragment the cathedral of Cologne. One wonders whether or not he was at the trouble of inquiring, what was that huge mass which he must have seen towering over the city; and if, straying within its gates, and looking on Albert Durer's painted windows, he had curiosity enough to inspect the reliquary of the tomb of the three kings, containing gems so ancient, that they are conjectured to be older than Christianity, and to have been the ornaments of some Pagan shrine, transferred to and historically associated with the pure creed which displaced the barbarous rites of Paganism. This might have at least formed a curious topic for his Natural History of Religion. But on this as on many other subjects, he would sympathize with La Bruyere when he speaks of "L'ordre Gothique, que la barbarie avoit introduit pour les palais et pour les temples;" and his thorough neglect of both the baronial and ecclesiastical architecture of the middle ages, is characteristic of a mind which could find nothing worthy of admiration, in the time which elapsed between the extinction of ancient classical literature, and the rise of the arts and sciences in modern Europe.

But upon scarcely any subject does Hume converse as a brother travelling into foreign lands might be supposed to address a brother residing at home, and cultivating his ancestral acres. We should expect to find him observing that this river is like the Tweed, or unlike it—larger or smaller; or comparing some range of hills with the Cheviots: but he is general and undomestic in all his remarks, save the one observation that the Rhine is as broad as from his brother's house to the opposite side of the river.

Until he comes to the land of Virgil, where he shows real enthusiasm, the chief object of his interest and observation appears to have been the warlike operations in the midst of which he found himself. The mission must have been attended with the ordinary dangers of a military enterprise. It was undertaken at a time when all Europe was at war, and though decisive battles were not taking place, petty conflicts and surprises were of perpetual occurrence until the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, a few months afterwards, restored repose to the exhausted nations. Yet we find no symptoms of anxiety in the mind of the philosophical actor of the military character. His tone is generally that of a private traveller in a peaceful country, rather than that of a member of an expedition armed for defence, and likely to be called on to defend itself. When he mentions warlike operations, he adopts the tone of a historical critic, and never that of a person who may find his personal safety or comfort compromised by them.

Though he seems to have set out with the too general notion that military affairs are the main object of attention to the man who is desirous of distinction in historical literature, we find already dawning on him the historian's nobler duty as a delineator of the state of society, and an inquirer into the causes of the happiness or misery of the people. And his observations are made with a wide and generous benevolence, strikingly at contrast with those prevailing doctrines of his day, which sought, in the success and happiness of one country, the elements of the misery of another, and made the good fortune of our neighbours a source of lamentation, as indicating calamity to ourselves. His unaffected declaration of pleasure, in finding the Germans so happy and comfortable a people, marks a heart full of genuine kindness and benevolence, and will more than atone for the want of a disposition to range through alpine scenery, or a taste to appreciate the beauties of Gothic architecture.

It will be seen that Hume had intended to continue his journal, but no farther trace of it has been found. The results of the mission have not been generally noticed by historians. Its objects were of a subordinate nature, and the occasion for attending to them was obviated by the completion of the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle on 7th October.

Meanwhile, of Hume's residence in Turin, we have some notices by an able observer, Lord Charlemont, the celebrated Irish political leader, who, then in his twentieth year, was following the practice of the higher aristocracy of his age, and endeavouring to enlarge his mind by foreign travel. In the following probably exaggerated description it will be seen that he was far mistaken in his estimate of Hume's age.

"With this extraordinary man I was intimately acquainted. He had kindly distinguished me from among a number of young men, who were then at the academy, and appeared so warmly attached to me, that it was apparent he not only intended to honour me with his friendship, but to bestow on me what was, in his opinion, the first of all favours and benefits, by making me his convert and disciple.

"Nature, I believe, never formed any man more unlike his real character than David Hume. The powers of physiognomy were baffled by his countenance; neither could the most skilful in that science, pretend to discover the smallest trace of the faculties of his mind, in the unmeaning features of his visage. His face was broad and fat, his mouth wide, and without any other expression than that of imbecility. His eyes vacant and spiritless, and the corpulence of his whole person, was far better fitted to communicate the idea of a turtle-eating alderman, than of a refined philosopher. His speech in English was rendered ridiculous by the broadest Scotch accent, and his French was, if possible, still more laughable; so that wisdom most certainly never disguised herself before in so uncouth a garb. Though now near fifty years old, he was healthy and strong; but his health and strength, far from being advantageous to his figure, instead of manly comeliness, had only the appearance of rusticity. His wearing an uniform added greatly to his natural awkwardness, for he wore it like a grocer of the trained bands. Sinclair was a lieutenant-general, and was sent to the courts of Vienna and Turin, as a military envoy, to see that their quota of troops was furnished by the Austrians and Piedmontese. It was therefore thought necessary that his secretary should appear to be an officer, and Hume was accordingly disguised in scarlet."[271:1]

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER VII.

1748-1751. Æt. 37-40.

Early in the year 1748, and while he was on his way to Turin, Hume's "Philosophical Essays concerning Human Understanding,"[272:1] which he afterwards styled "Inquiry concerning Human Understanding," were published anonymously in London. The preparation of this work had probably afforded him a much larger share of genuine pleasure, than either the excitement of travelling, or the observation of the natural scenery, the works of art, and the men and manners among which he moved. In the tone of a true philosophical enthusiast, he says in the first section of the work, "Were there no advantage to be reaped from these studies beyond the gratification of an innocent curiosity, yet ought not even this to be despised, as being an accession to those few safe and harmless pleasures which are bestowed on the human race. The sweetest and most inoffensive path of life leads through the avenues of science and learning; and whoever can either remove any obstructions in this way, or open up any new prospect, ought so far to be esteemed a benefactor to mankind. And though these researches may appear painful and fatiguing, it is with some minds as with some bodies, which being endowed with vigorous and florid health, require severe exercise, and reap a pleasure from what, to the generality of mankind, may seem burdensome and laborious."

On the publication of this work, he says in his "own life,"—"I had always entertained a notion, that my want of success in publishing the 'Treatise of Human Nature,' had proceeded more from the manner than the matter, and that I had been guilty of a very usual indiscretion, in going to the press too early. I, therefore, cast the first part of that work anew in the 'Inquiry concerning Human Understanding,' which was published while I was at Turin. But this piece was at first little more successful than the 'Treatise of Human Nature.' On my return from Italy, I had the mortification to find all England in a ferment, on account of Dr. Middleton's 'Free Inquiry,'[273:1] while my performance was entirely overlooked and neglected."

He now desired that the "Treatise of Human Nature" should be treated as a work blotted out of literature, and that the "Inquiry" should be substituted in its place. In the subsequent editions of the latter work, he complained that this had not been complied with; that the world still looked at those forbidden volumes of which he had dictated the suppression. "Henceforth," he says, "the author desires that the following pieces may alone be regarded as containing his philosophical principles and sentiments;" and he became eloquent on the uncandidness of bringing before the world as the sentiments of any author, a work written almost in boyhood, and printed at the threshold of manhood. But it was all in vain: he had to learn that the world takes possession of all that has passed through the gates of the printing press, and that neither the command of despotic authority, nor the solicitations of repentant authorship can reclaim it, if it be matter of sterling value. The bold and original speculations of the "Treatise" have been, and to all appearance ever will be, part of the intellectual property of man; great theories have been built upon them, which must be thrown down before we can raze the foundation. That he repented of having published the work, and desired to retract its extreme doctrines, is part of the mental biography of Hume; but it is impossible, at his command, to detach this book from general literature, or to read it without remembering who was its author.

But, indeed, there were pretty cogent reasons why the philosophical world, and Hume's opponents in particular, should not lose sight of his early work. In the Inquiry, he did not revoke the fundamental doctrines of his first work. The elements of all thought and knowledge he still found to be in impressions and ideas. But he did not on this occasion carry out his principles with the same reckless hardihood that had distinguished the Treatise; and thus he neither on the one side gave so distinct and striking a view of his system, nor on the other afforded so strong a hold to his adversaries. This hold they were resolved not to lose; and therefore they retained the original bond, and would not accept of the offered substitute.

Of those views which are more fully developed in the Inquiry than in the early work, one of the most important is the attempt to establish the doctrine of necessity, and to refute that of free will in relation to the springs of human action. To those who adopted the vulgar notion of Hume's theory of cause and effect, that it left the phenomena of nature without a ruling principle, the attempt to show that the human mind was bound by necessary laws appeared to be a startling inconsistency—a sort of reversal of the poet's idea,

It appeared to remove the chains of necessity from inanimate nature, and rivet them on the will.

But there is a decided principle of connexion between the two doctrines: whether or not it be a principle that will bear scrutiny, is another question. The two systems are identified with each other, simply by the annihilation of the notion of power both in the material and in the immaterial world. As we cannot find in physical causes any power to produce their effect, so when a man moves his arm to strike, or his tongue to reprimand, we have no notion of any power being exercised; but we have an impression that certain impulses are followed, and we can no more suppose that it was at the choice of the individual whether, when these impulses or motives existed, they should or should not be obeyed, than that when the phenomenon called in the material world the cause, made its appearance, there could be any doubt of its being followed by the effect. The inference from this was, that human actions are as much the objects of inductive philosophy as the operations of nature; that they are equally regular, effect following cause as much in the operations of the passions as in those of the elements. Of the application of the theory to his historical observation of events, the following passage is a vivid enunciation:—

How very clearly we find these principles practically illustrated in his History! A disinclination to believe in the narratives of great and remarkable deeds proceeding from peculiar impulses: a propensity, when the evidence adduced in their favour cannot be rebutted, to treat these peculiarities rather as diseases of the mind, than as the operation of noble aspirations: a levelling disposition to find all men pretty much upon a par, and none in a marked manner better or worse than their neighbours: an inclination to doubt all authorities which tended to prove that the British people had any fundamental liberties not possessed by the French and other European nations. Such are the practical fruits of this necessitarian philosophy.

It was on this occasion that Hume promulgated those opinions upon miracles, which we have found him afraid to make public even in that work of which he afterwards regretted the bold and rash character. No part of his writings gave more offence to serious and devout thinkers; but the offence was in the manner of the promulgation, not the matter of the opinions. To understand how this occurred, let us cast a glance for a moment at two opposite classes of religious thinkers, into which a large portion of the Christian world is divided, and find with which, if with either, Hume's opinions coincide.

If we suppose a man, impressed with a feeling of devotion and reverence for a Superior Being, who, seeing in the order of the world and all its movements, the omnipotent, all-wise, and all-merciful guidance of a divine Providence, believes that the Great Being will give to his creatures no revelation that is not in accordance with the merciful harmony of all his ways; and thus devoutly and submissively receives the word of God as promulgated in the Bible; attempts to make it the rule of his actions and opinions; receives with deference the views of those whom the same power that authorized it, has permitted to be the human instruments of its promulgation and explanation; tries to understand what it is within the power of his limited faculties to comprehend; but, implicitly believing that in the shadows of those mysteries which he is unable to penetrate, there lie operations as completely part of one great regular plan, as merciful, as beneficent, and as wise as the outward and comprehensible acts of Providence; who thus never for one moment allows his mind to doubt, where it is unable to comprehend or explain—such a man finds none of his sentiments in the writings of Hume, for he is at once told there that reason and revelation are two disconnected things, that each must act alone, and that the one derives no aid from the other.

But take one who believes that religion is too sacred to be in any way allied with so poor and miserable a thing as erring human reason; who feels that it is not in himself to merit any of the boundless mercies of the atonement; and that to endeavour by his actions, or the direction of his thoughts, to be made a participator in them, is but setting blind reason to lead the blind appetites and desires; who feels that by no act of his own, the true light of the Christian religion has been lighted within him as by a miracle; who has been adopted by a sudden change in his spiritual nature into the family of the faithful—then there is nothing in all Hume's philosophy to militate against the religion of such a man, but rather many arguments in its favour, both implied and expressed.

Since this is the case, it may be asked, why, if one party in religion attacked the opinions of Hume, another did not defend them? why, if Beattie and Warburton couched the lance, Whitefield and John Erskine did not come forward as his champions? In the first place, it was only those who united reason and revelation as going hand in hand and aiding each other, that looked at books of philosophy with an eye to their influence on religion, and such works formed a department of literature in which the advocates of "eternal decrees" would not expect to find much to suit their purpose. But, in the second place, this class of religious thinkers are all, except the few who are hypocrites, devout and serious people, and Hume's method of treating these subjects was not such as they could feel a sympathy with. A want of proper deference for devotional feeling, is a defect that runs through all his works—a constitutional organic defect it might be termed. There is no ribaldry, but at the same time there are no expressions of decent reverence; while this religious party knew from the manner in which their predecessors in the same doctrines were historically treated by Hume, that if there were any coincidence in abstract opinions, there was very little in common between their sympathies and his.

In this same section on miracles, there are repeated protests against the reader assuming that the writer is arguing against the Christian faith. Against some Catholic miracles, which were asserted to be proved by testimony as strong as that which attested the miracles of our Saviour, he says, "As if the testimony of man could ever be put in the balance with that of God himself, who conducted the pen of the inspired writers!" and again, "Our most holy religion is founded on faith, not on reason; and it is a sure method of exposing it to put it to such a trial as it is by no means fitted to endure." These protests however were made briefly and coldly, and in such a manner as made people feel, that if Hume believed in the doctrines they announced, he certainly had not his heart in them. Hence, although, since the origin of rationalism, evangelical Christians have frequently had recourse to the arguments of Hume, there was long in that quarter a not unnatural reluctance to appeal to them.

It is perhaps one of the most remarkable warnings against hasty judgments on the effects of efforts of subtle reasoning, that, according to later scientific discoveries, no two things are in more perfect unison than Hume's theory of belief in miracles, and the belief that miracles, according to the common acceptation of the term, have actually taken place. The leading principle of this theory is, in conformity with its author's law of cause and effect, that where our experience has taught us that two things follow each other as cause and effect by an unvarying sequence, if we hear of an instance in which this has not been the case, we ought to doubt the truth of the narrative. In other words, if we are told of some circumstance having taken place out of the usual order of nature, we ought not to believe it; because the circumstance of the narrator having been deceived, or of his designedly telling a falsehood, is more probable than an event contradictory to all previous authenticated experience. It is a rule for marking the boundary and proper application of the inductive system, and one that is highly serviceable to science. But, in applying it to use, we must not be led away by the narrow application, in common conversation, of the word experience. There is the experience of the common workman, and there is the experience of the philosopher. There is that observation of phenomena which makes a ditcher know that the difficulty of pulling out a loosened stone with a mattock indicates it to be so many inches thick; and that observation, fully as sure, which shows the geologist that the stratum of the Pennsylvanian grauwacke is upwards of a hundred miles thick. The experience and observation of the husbandman teach him, that when the opposite hill is distinct to his view, the intervening atmosphere is not charged with vapour; but observation, not less satisfactory, shows the astronomer that Jupiter and the Moon have around them no atmosphere such as that by which our planet is enveloped. Now there is nothing more fully founded on experimental observation than the fact, that there was a time when the present order of the world was not in existence. That there have been convulsions, such as, did we now hear of their contemporary occurrence, instead of attesting their past existence through the sure course of observation and induction, we would at once maintain to be impossible. To this then, and this only, comes the theory of miracles, that at the present day, and for a great many years back, the accounts that are given of circumstances having taken place out of the general order of nature, are to be discredited, because between the two things to be believed, the falsehood of the narrative is more likely than the truth of the occurrence. But the very means by which we arrive at this conclusion bring us to another, that there was a time to which the rules taken from present observation of the course of nature did not apply.[283:1]

That in history, in science, in the conduct of every-day life, and particularly in the formation of the minds of the young, this rule of belief is of the highest practical utility, few will doubt. The parish clergyman, who assists in throwing discredit on all the superstitious stories of spectres, witchcrafts, and demoniacal possessions with which his neighbourhood may be afflicted, is but an active promulgator of the doctrine. It was a narrow view that Campbell adopted when he said, that if we heard of a ferry boat, which had long crossed the stream in safety, having sunk, we would give credit to the testimony concerning it.[284:1] Our experience teaches us that ferry boats are made of perishable materials, liable to be submerged; and thus, in this case, there is no balance of incredibility against the narrator. To have tried Campbell's practical faith in Hume's theory, he should have had before him a person professing to have become aware of the sinking of the boat, by some unprecedented means of perception, called a magnetic influence, in the absence of a more distinct name; while it is shown that the same person had an opportunity of being informed, through the organs of hearing, of the circumstance which had taken place. It would then be seen, whether that sagacious philosopher would have given the sanction of his belief to a phenomenon contrary to all previous experience—the ascertainment of an external event, without the aid of the senses; or would have acceded to the too commonly illustrated phenomenon, that human beings are capable of falsehood and folly.

It is much to be regretted that Hume employed the word miracles in the title of this inquiry. He thus employed a term which had been applied to sacred subjects, and raised a natural prejudice against reasonings, applicable to contemporary events, and to the rules of ordinary historical belief. He might have found some other title—such as, "The Principles of Belief in Human Testimony," which would have more satisfactorily explained the nature of the inquiry.

But it is not improbable that the odium thus occasioned first introduced Hume's philosophical works to controversial notoriety. Though disappointed by the silence of the public immediately on his arrival from abroad, he has soon to tell us in his "own life,"—"Meanwhile, my bookseller, A. Millar, informed me, that my former publications (all but the unfortunate Treatise) were beginning to be the subject of conversation; that the sale of them was gradually increasing, and that new editions were demanded. Answers by reverends and right reverends came out two and three in a year;[285:1] and I found, by Warburton's railing, that the books were beginning to be esteemed in good company."[285:2]

It was in the "Inquiry concerning the Human Understanding," that Hume promulgated the theory of association, which called forth so much admiration of its simplicity, beauty, and truth. "To me," he says, "there appear to be only three principles of connexion among ideas, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity in time or place, and Cause or Effect.

"That these principles serve to connect ideas, will not, I believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leads our thoughts to the original [Resemblance.] The mention of one apartment in a building, naturally introduces an inquiry or discourse concerning the others [Contiguity:] and if we think on a wound, we can scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which follows it [Cause and Effect.]"[286:1]

In connexion with this theory a curious charge has been brought forward by Coleridge, who says, "In consulting the excellent commentary of St. Thomas Aquinas, on the Parva Naturalia of Aristotle, I was struck at once with its close resemblance to Hume's essay on association. The main thoughts were the same in both. The order of the thoughts was the same, and even the illustrations differed only by Hume's occasional substitution of more modern examples. I mentioned the circumstance to several of my literary acquaintances, who admitted the closeness of the resemblance, and that it seemed too great to be explained by mere coincidence; but they thought it improbable that Hume should have held the pages of the angelic doctor worth turning over. But some time after, Mr. Payne of the King's Mews, showed Sir James Mackintosh some odd volumes of St. Thomas Aquinas, partly perhaps from having heard that Sir James, (then Mr. Mackintosh,) had in his lectures passed a high encomium on this canonized philosopher, but chiefly from the fact that the volumes had belonged to Mr. Hume, and had here and there marginal marks and notes of reference in his own handwriting. Among these volumes was that which contains the Parva Naturalia, in the old Latin version, swathed and swaddled in the commentary aforementioned."

On this, Sir James Macintosh says, that "the manuscript of a part of Aquinas, which I bought many years ago, (on the faith of a bookseller's catalogue,) as being written by Mr. Hume, was not a copy of the commentary on the Parva Naturalia, but of Aquinas's own Secunda Secundæ; and that, on examination, it proves not to be the handwriting of Mr. Hume, and to contain nothing written by him."[287:1] So much for the external evidence of plagiarism.

With regard to the internal evidence, the passage of Aquinas particularly referred to, which will be found below,[287:2] refers to memory not imagination; to the recall of images in the relation to each other in which they have once had a place in the mind, not to the formation of new associations, or aggregates of ideas there; nor will it bring the theories to an identity, that, according to Hume's doctrine, nothing can be recalled in the mind unless its elements have already been deposited there in the form of ideas, because the observations of Aquinas apply altogether to the reminiscence of aggregate objects. But the classification is different: for Hume's embodies cause and effect, but not contrariety; while that of Aquinas has contrariety, but not cause and effect. In a division into three elements, this discrepancy is material; and, without entering on any lengthened reasoning, it may simply be observed, that the merit of Hume's classification is, that it is exhaustive, and neither contains any superfluous element, nor omits any principle under which an act of association can be classed.

But it is remarkable that Coleridge should have failed to keep in view, in his zeal to discover some curious thing to reward him for his researches among the fathers, that the classification is not that of Aquinas, but of Aristotle, and is contained in the very work on which the passage in Aquinas is one of the many commentaries.[288:1]

The "Essays Moral and Political," had, though it is not mentioned by Hume in his "own life," been so well received, that a second edition appeared in 1742, the same year in which the second volume of the original edition was published. A third edition was published in London in 1748,[289:1] of which Hume, comparing them with his neglected contemporaneous publication of the Inquiry, says that they "met not with a much better reception."

Two essays, which had appeared in the previous editions, were omitted in the third. One of these, "Of Essay Writing," was evidently written at the time when the author had the design of publishing his work periodically,[289:2] and was meant as a prospectus or announcement to the readers, of the method in which he proposed to address them in his periodical papers. The other was a "Character of Sir Robert Walpole;" a curious attempt to take an impartial estimate of a man who, at the time of the first publication, had been longer in office, and was surrounded by a more numerous and powerful band of enemies, than any previous British statesman. But between the two publications the enemies had triumphed; and the statesman of forty years had been driven into retirement, where death speedily relieved him from a scene of inaction, which might have been repose to others, but was to him an insupportable solitude. Party rage had consequently changed its direction, and that air of solemn deliberation which, while the statesman was moving between the admiration of his friends and the hatred of his enemies, had an appearance of resolute stoical impartiality, might have appeared strained and affected, if the essay had been republished in 1748.

To this third edition three essays were added, "Of National Characters," "Of the Original Contract," and "Of Passive Obedience." The first of these contains some very curious incidental notices of ancient morals and habits, so adapted to modern colloquial language and habits, as to make the descriptions as clear to the unlearned as to the learned; as, for example, the following notices of the drinking practices of the ancients:—

"The ancient Greeks, though born in a warm climate, seem to have been much addicted to the bottle; nor were their parties of pleasure any thing but matches of drinking among men, who passed their time altogether apart from the fair. Yet when Alexander led the Greeks into Persia, a still more southern climate, they multiplied their debauches of this kind, in imitation of the Persian manners.[290:1] So honourable was the character of a drunkard among the Persians, that Cyrus the younger, soliciting the sober Lacedemonians for succour against his brother Artaxerxes, claims it chiefly on account of his superior endowments, as more valorous, more bountiful, and a better drinker.[290:2] Darius Hystaspes made it be inscribed on his tomb-stone, among his other virtues and princely qualities, that no one could bear a greater quantity of liquor."

The other two essays, though bearing on subjects which have now almost dropped out of political discussion, "The Original Contract," and "Passive Obedience," trod close on the heels of the long conflict in which Milton, Salmasius, Hobbes, Sidney, Locke, and Filmer, had been partakers; and while the din of arms was far from being exhausted, they professed to hold the balance equally between the combatants, or, more properly speaking, to examine philosophically the merits of the theory of each party, without taking up the angry arguments of either. They are, in truth, but a farther adaptation to politics of those utilitarian theories which Hume had previously applied both to private morals and to government. And the principle they promulgate is, that the citizen's allegiance to the laws and constitution of his country, has its proper foundation neither in an acknowledgment of the divine right of any governor, nor in a contract with him by which both parties are bound, but in the moral duty of respecting internal peace and order, and of avoiding outbreaks which may plunge the people into anarchy and misery, to gratify the pride or baser passions of turbulent individuals.

It must have been on his return on this occasion, that Hume rejoined the family circle at Ninewells, bereaved of the parent whose devotion to his training and education he has so affectionately commemorated. "I went down," he says, "in 1749, and lived two years with my brother at his country house, for my mother was now dead."[291:1] In a letter, which will have to be afterwards referred to, by Dr. Black, to Adam Smith, written when Hume was on his death-bed, and in relation to his final illness, there is the remark, "His mother," he says, "had precisely the same constitution with himself, and died of this very disorder."

On this subject, the American traveller, Silliman, gave currency to a foolish and improbable story, which he puts in the following shape:—

"It seems that Hume received a religious education from his mother, and early in life was the subject of strong and hopeful religious impressions; but, as he approached manhood, they were effaced, and confirmed infidelity succeeded. Maternal partiality, however alarmed at first, came at length to look with less and less pain upon this declension, and filial love and reverence seem to have been absorbed in the pride of philosophical scepticism; for Hume now applied himself with unwearied, and unhappily with successful efforts, to sap the foundation of his mother's faith. Having succeeded in this dreadful work, he went abroad into foreign countries; and as he was returning, an express met him in London, with a letter from his mother, informing him that she was in a deep decline, and could not long survive: she said, she found herself without any support in her distress; that he had taken away that source of comfort, upon which, in all cases of affliction, she used to rely, and that now she found her mind sinking into despair. She did not doubt but her son would afford her some substitute for her religion; and she conjured him to hasten to her, or at least to send her a letter, containing such consolations as philosophy can afford to a dying mortal. Hume was overwhelmed with anguish on receiving this letter, and hastened to Scotland, travelling day and night; but before he arrived his mother expired. No permanent impression seems, however, to have been made on his mind by this most trying event; and whatever remorse he might have felt at the moment, he soon relapsed into his wonted obduracy of heart."