The Project Gutenberg eBook of Life and Correspondence of David Hume, Volume II, by John Hill Burton.

Hume to his Brother.

"Dear Brother,—I am now to inform you of another pretty rapid change in my fortune. Lord Hertford, on his arrival in London, found great difficulty of executing his intentions in my favour. The cry is loud against the Scots; and the present ministry are unwilling to support any of our countrymen, lest they bear the reproach of being connected with Lord Bute. For this reason, Lord Hertford departed from his project; which he did the more readily, as he knew I had a great reluctance to the office of secretary for Ireland; which requires a talent for speaking in public, to which I was never accustomed. I must also have kept a kind of open house, and have drunk and caroused with the Irish, a course of living to which I am as little accustomed. The Duke of Bedford, to whom I mentioned these objections, thought them very solid. I think myself, at present, much better provided for, by a pension of £400 a-year for life, which Lord Hertford has procured me. He also writes me, that an apartment is fitting up for me in the castle of Dublin. I shall go thither as soon as I can leave France; which will not be till the end of October or beginning of November, on the arrival of the Duke of Richmond. Meanwhile, I am Chargé des affaires d'Angleterre à la cour de France, which is the title under which you must write to me, if you favour me with a letter.

"Lord Hertford had another additional project for my advantage, in Ireland. The keeper of the black rod is a very genteel office, which yields about £900 during the session. He proposed, as I cannot be present on the opening of the parliament, to give that office to another, who would officiate, and would be content with £300. But I declined this offer; not as unjust, but as savouring of greediness and rapacity.[291:1]

"Please to write all these particulars to Katty, except the last, and seal and send her the enclosed. I am charmed with the accounts I hear of Josey, from all hands. Yours sincerely.

"There was a kind of fray in London, as I am told, upon Lord Hertford's declaring his intentions in my favour. The Princess Amelia said, that she thought the affair might be easily accommodated: why may not Lord Hertford give a bishopric to Mr. Hume?"[292:1]

Writing an account of these transactions to Smith, in nearly the same words, on 5th November, he commences his letter with the observation, "I have been whirled about lately in a strange manner; but, besides that none of the revolutions have ever threatened me much, or been able to give me a moment's anxiety, all has ended very happily, and to my mind." He concludes thus:—

We have now to return to Jean Jacques Rousseau, whom we left, in 1762, seeking protection from the Earl Marischal at Neufchâtel. He finally took up his abode at Motiers Travers, a village on one of the passes of the Jura; where, now that some offensive associations connected with his character and writings have died away, the fame of his genius still lives, and has been no unprofitable commodity to the inhabitants. Here he had a wild rocky district to wander over, where he was not liable to encounter those dangerous impediments which beset the sojourners in the Alps. He had, at the same time, what was more to his purpose, a zealous priesthood and an intolerant populace surrounding him. That the outward manifestations of a morality, odious to his new neighbours, might not be wanting, he sent for his celebrated mistress, Thérèse la Vasseur, with whom he continued openly to live; and that the populace, thus exasperated, might be under no mistake as to the proper person to throw stones at, he adopted the garb of an Armenian.

It is much disputed whether he was really subjected to the attacks of which he afterwards complained; and it is said, that whatever tangible evidence of them was perceptible to other eyes than his own, was the doing of Mademoiselle la Vasseur, to drive him from a neighbourhood which she disliked. It will be found, however, that his story, as reported by Hume in the letters which follow, substantially coincides with the narrative in the "Confessions." This is in some measure a testimony to the sincerity of Rousseau's own conviction, that those hostile efforts were made against him; and indeed it would be useless to question the sincerity of his belief in any thing indicative of the malevolence of his fellow-beings. Having fled from Motiers, he lived for some time on the island of St. Pierre, in the lake of Bienne; and, driven from that asylum, he seems to have hesitated between England and Prussia as a place of refuge. He left the State of Bienne at the date at which his "Confessions" terminate, 29th October, 1765. He proceeded to Strasburg, where, by wearing his Armenian dress in the country where he had been proscribed, he certainly excited a considerable sensation. He appears to have held a sort of levée during his residence in that city, where his daily and hourly proceedings have been recorded with the precision of a court journal.[295:1]

It was here that he received Hume's letter, agreeing to aid him in finding an asylum in England. The negotiation between them had been brought to a conclusion by Madame de Verdelin, who had spent some time with Rousseau at Motiers, and persuaded him to take advantage of the impression which the Earl Marischal and Madame de Boufflers had made in his favour.[295:2]

Hume's heart was farther softened by a letter, full of miseries, which Rousseau had written to M. Clairaut. "I must own," says Hume, "I felt on this occasion an emotion of pity, mixed with indignation, to think a man of letters of such eminent merit, should be reduced, in spite of the simplicity of his manner of living, to such extreme indigence; and that this unhappy state should be rendered more intolerable by sickness, by the approach of old age, and the implacable rage of persecution." He was inclined even to sympathize with Rousseau's petulant rejection of proferred kindness; conceiving "that a noble pride, even though carried to excess, merited some indulgence in a man of genius, who, borne up by a sense of his own superiority, and a love of independence, should have braved the storms of fortune and the insults of mankind."[296:1]

Leaving Strasburg, the wanderer proceeded to Paris, where he went about in his Armenian dress; was mobbed and stared at to his heart's content, wrote to his friends, complaining with bitter eloquence that people would allow him neither solitude nor rest, shut himself up, and went forth again to the world. Before he could have ventured to appear so publicly, in the capital where a writ had been issued for the seizure of his person, he must have received very strong assurances of protection. The arrêt of the Parliament, however, was not recalled; and his friends must have felt somewhat provoked by his pertinacious courtship of popular notice, accompanied by the pretence of a desire to avoid it, by adopting only what was simple and natural—by wearing, for instance, so simple a dress as the fur cap, caaftan, and vest of an Armenian, in the streets of Paris! Hume, who seems really to have had faith in his modesty, must still have felt it awkward that the representative of Britain should be closely allied with a person so conducting himself; and was anxious, whenever the state of public business might permit him, to see his charge safely across the Channel. It was thought, in the meantime, expedient to find for Rousseau an asylum within the privileged area of the Temple, of which his friend, the Prince of Conti, was Grand Prior. We must now allow Hume himself to describe his new companion, and their intercourse.

Hume to Dr. Blair.

"I must, however, be in London very soon, in order to give an account of my commission; to thank the King for his goodness to me, and to settle the celebrated Rousseau, who has rejected invitations from half of the kings and princes of Europe, in order to put himself under my protection. He has been at Paris about twelve days; and lives in an apartment prepared for him by the Prince of Conti, which, he says, gives him uneasiness, by reason of its magnificence. As he was outlawed by the Parliament, it behoved him to have the King's passport, which was at first offered him under a feigned name; but his friends refused it, because they knew that he would not submit even to that falsehood. You have heard that he was banished from Neufchâtel by preachers, who excited the mob to stone him.

"He told me that a trap was laid for him, with as much art as ever was employed against a fox or a polecat. In the night-time a great enormous stone was suspended above the door, in such a manner, that on opening it in the morning, the stone must have fallen and have crushed him to death.[297:1] A man passing by early, perceived it, and called in to him at the window to be on his guard. He also told me, that last spring, when he went about the mountains amusing himself with botany, he came to a village at some distance from his own: a woman met him, who, surprised at his Armenian dress—for he wears, and is resolved to wear that habit during life—asked him what he was, and what was his name. On hearing it she exclaimed, 'Are you that impious rascal, Rousseau? Had I known it, I should have waited for you at the end of the wood, with a pistol, in order to blow out your brains.' He added, that all the women in Switzerland were in the same disposition, because the preachers had told them that he had wrote books to prove that women had no souls. He then turned to Madame de Boufflers, who was present, and said,—Is it not strange that I, who have wrote so much to decry the morals and conduct of the Parisian ladies, should yet be beloved by them; while the Swiss women, whom I have so much extolled, would willingly cut my throat? 'We are fond of you,' replied she, 'because we know that, however you might rail, you are at bottom fond of us to distraction. But the Swiss women hate you, because they are conscious that they have not merit to deserve your attention.'

"On leaving Neufchâtel, he took shelter in a little island about half a league in circumference, in the midst of a lake near Berne. There lived in it only one German peasant, with his wife and sister. The council of Berne, frightened for his neighbourhood, on account of his democratic more than his religious principles, ordered him immediately to withdraw from their state. He wrote the letter of which I send you a copy, as it is very curious. The council, in answer, reiterated their orders for him to begone. He then applied to me. I have made an agreement with a French gardener in Fulham for boarding him. We set out together in a few days.

"It is impossible to express or imagine the enthusiasm of this nation in his favour. As I am supposed to have him in my custody, all the world, especially the great ladies, tease me to be introduced to him. I have had rouleaus thrust into my hand, with earnest applications that I would prevail on him to accept of them. I am persuaded that, were I to open here a subscription with his consent, I should receive £50,000 in a fortnight. The second day after his arrival, he slipped out early in the morning to take a walk in the Luxembourg gardens. The thing was known soon after. I am strongly solicited to prevail on him to take another walk, and then to give warning to my friends. Were the public to be informed, he could not fail to have many thousand spectators. People may talk of ancient Greece as they please; but no nation was ever so fond of genius as this, and no person ever so much engaged their attention as Rousseau. Voltaire and every body else are quite eclipsed by him.

"I am sensible that my connexions with him add to my importance at present. Even his maid La Vasseur, who is very homely and very awkward, is more talked of than the Princess of Morocco or the Countess of Egmont, on account of her fidelity and attachment towards him. His very dog, who is no better than a collie, has a name and reputation in the world. As to my intercourse with him, I find him mild, and gentle, and modest, and good humoured; and he has more the behaviour of a man of the world, than any of the learned here, except M. de Buffon; who, in his figure, and air, and deportment, answers your idea of a marechal of France, rather than that of a philosopher. M. Rousseau is of a small stature, and would rather be ugly, had he not the finest physiognomy in the world: I mean the most expressive countenance. His modesty seems not to be good manners, but ignorance of his own excellence. As he writes, and speaks, and acts, from the impulse of genius, more than from the use of his ordinary faculties, it is very likely that he forgets its force whenever it is laid asleep. I am well assured that at times he believes he has inspirations from an immediate communication with the Divinity. He falls sometimes into ecstasies, which retain him in the same posture for hours together. Does not this example solve the difficulty of Socrates' genius, and of his ecstasies? I think Rousseau in many things very much resembles Socrates. The philosopher of Geneva seems only to have more genius than he of Athens, who never wrote any thing, and less sociableness and temper. Both of them were of very amorous complexions; but a comparison in this particular, turns out much to the advantage of my friend. I call him such, for I hear, from all hands, that his judgment and affections are as strongly biassed in my favour as mine are in his. I shall much regret leaving him in England; but even if a pardon could be procured for him here, he is resolved, as he tells me, never to return; because he never will again be in the power of any man. I wish he may live unmolested in England. I dread the bigotry and barbarism which prevail there.

"When he came to Paris, he seemed resolved to stay till the 6th or 7th of next month. But at present the concourse about him gives him so much uneasiness that he expresses the utmost impatience to be gone. Many people here will have it that this solitary humour is all affectation, in order to be more sought after; but I am sure that it is natural and unsurmountable:[301:1] I know that two very agreeable ladies breaking in upon him, discomposed him so much that he was not able to eat his dinner afterwards. He is short-sighted; and I have often observed, that while he was conversing with me in the utmost good-humour, (for he is naturally gay,) if he heard the door open, the greatest agony appeared on his countenance, from the apprehension of a visit; and his distress did not leave him, unless the person was a particular friend. His Armenian dress is not affectation. He has had an infirmity from his infancy, which makes breeches inconvenient for him; and he told me, that when he was chased into the mountains of Switzerland, he took up this new dress, as it seemed indifferent what habit he there wore. I could fill a volume with curious anecdotes regarding him, as I live in the same society which he frequented while in Paris. But I must not exhaust your patience. My kind compliments to Ferguson, Robertson, and all the brethren. I am," &c.

"Paris, 28th Dec. 1765."

"P.S.—Be not surprised that I am going to say in my postscript, the direct contrary to what I said in my letter. There are four days of interval between my writing the one and the other; and on this subject of my future abode, I have not these four months risen and gone to bed in the same mind. When I meet with proofs of regard and affection from those I love and esteem here, I swear to myself that I shall never quit this place. An hour after, it occurs to me that I have then for ever renounced my native country and all my ancient friends, and I start with affright. I never yet left any place but with regret: judge what it is natural for me to feel on leaving Paris, and so many amiable people with whom I am intimately connected, while it is in my power to pass my life in the midst of them. Were I not indispensably obliged to go to London, I know that it would be impossible for me to leave this place. But it is very probable that being once there, and fairly escaped from the cave of Circe, I may reconcile myself again to the abode of Ithaca. I left Edinburgh with great reluctance. To return to it, after having tripled my revenue in less than three years, can be no hardship. I must, therefore, fairly warn you to remove from my house at Whitsunday. I have taken a house at Paris; but I will have one also in Edinburgh, and shall deliberate in London which of them I shall occupy. I shall not go to Ireland. The arrival of the Duke of Richmond was late; and this engagement with M. Rousseau protracts my return so long, that it will not be worth while to go to Dublin. Lord Hertford has been so good as to excuse me. You have heard of the great fortune of Trail, who is, I believe, your acquaintance, and a very honest fellow. Nothing is so agreeable to an irresolute man, says the Cardinal de Retz, as a measure which dispenses him from taking an immediate resolution. I am exactly in the case. I hope your resigning my house will be no hardship to you."[303:1]

Hume, Rousseau, and M. de Luze of Geneva, a friend of the fugitive, left France early in January 1766. We have no account of their arrival, except Rousseau's statement in a letter to Malesherbes, that whenever he set foot on the land of liberty, he leaped on his illustrious friend's neck, embraced him without uttering a word, and covered his face with kisses and tears; a ceremony with which Hume would probably have dispensed, in the presence of "the barbarians who inhabit the banks of the Thames." The first notice of their sojourn in Britain, is in a bulletin by Hume to Madame de Boufflers, dated London, 19th January, 1766. He says,—

My companion is very amiable, always polite, gay often, commonly sociable. He does not know himself when he thinks he is made for entire solitude. I exhorted him on the road to write his memoirs. He told me, that he had already done it with an intention of publishing them.

At present, says he, it may be affirmed, that nobody knows me perfectly, any more than himself; but I shall describe myself in such plain colours, that henceforth every one may boast that he knows himself, and Jean Jacques Rousseau. I believe, that he intends seriously to draw his own picture in its true colours: but I believe, at the same time, that nobody knows himself less. For instance, even with regard to his health, a point in which few people can be mistaken, he is very fanciful. He imagines himself very infirm. He is one of the most robust men I have ever known. He passed ten hours in the night-time, above deck, during the most severe weather, when all the seamen were almost frozen to death, and he caught no harm. He says that his infirmity always increases upon a journey; yet was it almost imperceptible on the road from Paris to London.

His wearing the Armenian dress is a pure whim; which, however, he is resolved never to abandon. He has an excellent warm heart; and, in conversation, kindles often to a degree of heat which looks like inspiration. I love him much, and hope that I have some share in his affections.

I find that we shall have many ways of settling him to his satisfaction; and as he is learning the English very fast,[304:1] he will afterwards be able to choose for himself. There is a gentleman of the name of Townsend, a man of four or five thousand a-year, who lives very privately, within fifteen miles of London, and is a great admirer of our philosopher, as is also his wife. He has desired him to live with him, and offers to take any board he pleases. M. Rousseau was much pleased with this proposal, and is inclined to accept of it. The only difficulty is, that he insists positively on his gouvernante's sitting at table,—a proposal which is not to be made to Mr. and Mrs. Townsend.

This woman forms the chief encumbrance to his settlement. M. de Luze, our companion, says, that she passes for wicked and quarrelsome, and tattling; and is thought to be the chief cause of his quitting Neufchâtel. He himself owns her to be so dull, that she never knows in what year of the Lord she is, nor in what month of the year, nor in what day of the month or week; and that she can never learn the different value of the pieces of money in any country. Yet she governs him as absolutely as a nurse does a child. In her absence his dog has acquired that ascendant. His affection for that creature is beyond all expression or conception.

I have as yet scarce seen any body except Mr. Conway and Lady Aylesbury.[305:1] Both of them told me, they would visit Jean Jacques, if I thought their company would not be disagreeable. I encouraged them to show him that mark of distinction.[305:2] Here I must also tell you of a good action which I did; not but that it is better to conceal our good actions. But I consider not my seeking your approbation as an effect of vanity: your suffrage is to me something like the satisfaction of my own conscience. While we were at Calais, I asked him whether, in case the King of England thought proper to gratify him with a pension, he would accept of it. I told him, that the case was widely different from that of the King of Prussia; and I endeavoured to point out to him the difference, particularly in this circumstance, that a gratuity from the King of England could never in the least endanger his independence. He replied: "But would it not be using ill the King of Prussia, to whom I have since been much obliged? However, on this head (added he,) in case the offer be made me, I shall consult my father;" meaning Lord Marischal.[306:1] I told this story to General Conway, who seemed to embrace with zeal the notion of giving him a pension, as honourable both to the king and nation. I shall suggest the same idea to other men in power whom I may meet with, and I do not despair of succeeding.

P. S.—Since I wrote the above, I have received your obliging letter, directed to Calais. M. Rousseau says, the letter of the King of Prussia is a forgery; and he suspects it to come from M. de Voltaire.[306:2]

The project of Mr. Townsend, to my great mortification, has totally vanished, on account of Mademoiselle Le Vasseur. Send all his letters under my cover.[307:1]

Hume writes again on the 12th, to state that he has succeeded in obtaining the promise of a pension from the king: "You know," he says, "that our sovereign is extremely prudent and decent, and careful not to give offence. For which reason, he requires that this act of generosity may be an entire secret." He states, that this information must be kept to herself and the Prince of Conti: and she in her answer, admires Hume's generous and delicate conduct, and promises to keep the secret. In his postscript Hume announces the important fact, that Mademoiselle le Vasseur had arrived, and had found a companion to whom such a rag of celebrity was no small acquisition.

Hume to his Brother.

"London, 2d February, 1766.

"As you know that I never left any place without regret, you may imagine that I did not leave Paris altogether willingly, after having been so long accustomed to it. I do not find this new scene near so much to my taste; and I shall be long ere I am reconciled to it. Perhaps Edinburgh may please me better; I promise myself at least some satisfaction in my nephews, of whom I hear a very good account; and it is surely more suitable to one of my years to seek a retreat in my native country, than to pass the dregs of life among the great, and among people who, though they seem to have a friendship for me, are still strangers. I accustom myself, therefore, to this idea without reluctance; and since I have crossed the seas, I find my regret for the good company I left behind me, less pungent and uneasy. . . . .

"You will have heard by this time, that I have brought over with me the famous Rousseau, the most singular man, surely, in the world. He applied to me last summer to take him under my protection in England, as he called it; but in the meanwhile, he was chased out of Switzerland, and came to Strasburg, with an intention of going to the King of Prussia, who pressed him earnestly to live with him. At Strasburg my letter reached him, making him an offer of all my services; upon which he turned short, and having obtained the King of France's passport, came and joined me at Paris. I have lived with him ever since. He is a very modest, mild, well-bred, gentle-spirited, and warm-hearted man, as ever I knew in my life. He is also to appearance very sociable. I never saw a man who seems better calculated for good company, nor who seems to take more pleasure in it. Yet is he absolutely determined to retire and board himself in a farmer's house among the mountains of Wales, for the sake of solitude. He has refused a pension from the King of Prussia, and presents from hundreds. I have been offered great sums for him, if I could have prevailed on him to accept of them. Yet, till within these three months, he was in absolute beggary. He has now about £70 a-year?[309:1] which he has acquired by a bargain for his works. It is incredible the enthusiasm for him in Paris, and the curiosity in London. I prevailed on him to go to the play-house in order to see Garrick, who placed him in a box opposite the king and queen. I observed their majesties to look at him more than at the players.[309:2] I should desire no better fortune than to have the privilege of showing him to all I please. The hereditary prince paid him a visit a few days ago; and I imagine the Duke of York called on him one evening when he was abroad. I love him much, and shall separate from him with much regret."[310:1]

"You have seen in the newspapers enow of particulars concerning my pupil, who has now left me and retired to Chiswick. He is impatient to get into the mountains of Wales. He is a very agreeable amiable man, but a great humorist.[310:2] The philosophers of Paris foretold to me that I could not conduct him to Calais without a quarrel; but I think I could live with him all my life in mutual friendship and esteem. I am very sorry that the matter is not likely to be put to a trial! I believe one great source of our concord is, that neither he nor I are disputatious, which is not the case with any of them. They are also displeased with him because they think he overabounds in religion; and it is indeed remarkable, that the philosopher of this age who has been most persecuted, is by far the most devout. I do not comprehend such philosophers as are invested with the sacerdotal character. I am, dear doctor, yours usque ad aras."[310:3]

The first attempt to find a settlement for Rousseau, was with the French gardener at Fulham, already alluded to. The arrangement proposed by Hume was, that the gardener was to receive from fifty to sixty pounds a-year, as the consideration for boarding Rousseau and Mademoiselle, but that he was only to draw twenty-five pounds from Rousseau, from whom he was to keep the arrangement secret.[311:1] Rousseau rejected this arrangement with disgust; and various other efforts to find him a suitable home were equally unsuccessful. Hume, who, as Rousseau himself tells Madame de Boufflers, was more anxious about his welfare than he was himself, appears to have spent week after week, in the vain pursuit of a resting place for the wanderer—no sooner framing a hopeful scheme than it was contemptuously rejected. It does not appear, however, that the inquiries were conducted precisely in the sphere in which Rousseau liked to act. It is clear that he had not come to Britain to negotiate with farmers at Chiswick, or French gardeners at Fulham. He undoubtedly expected much more distinguished titles to be mixed up with his arrangements; and we find that it was not till a rich man's well kept country mansion was put at his disposal, that he deigned to be for a moment satisfied. A letter to Blair, contains a very full narrative of the subsequent proceedings.

Hume to Dr. Blair.[312:1]

Lisle Street, Leicester Fields,
25th March, 1766.

Dear Doctor,—I had asked M. Rousseau the question you propose to me: He answered, that the story of his "Héloise" had some general and distant resemblance to reality; such as was sufficient to warm his imagination and assist his invention: but that all the chief circumstances were fictitious. I have heard in France, that he had been employed to teach music to a young lady, a boarder in a convent at Lyons; and that the master and scholar fell mutually in love with each other; but the affair was not attended with any consequences. I think this work his masterpiece; though he himself told me, that he valued most his Contrat Social ; which is as preposterous a judgment as that of Milton, who preferred the Paradise Regained to all his other performances.

This man, the most singular of all human beings, has at last left me; and I have very little hopes of ever being able, for the future, to enjoy much of his company, though he says, that if I settle either in London or Edinburgh, he will take a journey on foot every year to visit me. Mr. Davenport, a gentleman of £5000 or £6000 a-year, in the north of England, and a man of great humanity and of a good understanding, has taken the charge of him. He has a house called Wooton, in the Peake of Derby, situated amidst mountains and rocks and streams and forests, which pleases the wild imagination and solitary humour of Rousseau; and as the master seldom inhabited it, and only kept there a plain table for some servants, he offered me to give it up to my friend. I accepted, on condition that he would take from him £30 a-year of board for himself and his gouvernante, which he was so good-natured as to agree to. Rousseau has about £80 a-year, which he has acquired by contracts with his booksellers, and by a liferent annuity of £25 a-year, which he accepted from Lord Marischal. This is the only man who has yet been able to make him accept of money.

He was desperately resolved to rush into this solitude, notwithstanding all my remonstrances; and I foresee, that he will be unhappy in that situation, as he has indeed been always in all situations. He will be entirely without occupation, without company, and almost without amusement of any kind. He has read very little during the course of his life, and has now totally renounced all reading: He has seen very little; and has no manner of curiosity to see or remark: He has reflected, properly speaking, and studied very little; and has not indeed much knowledge: He has only felt, during the whole course of his life; and in this respect, his sensibility rises to a pitch beyond what I have seen any example of: but it still gives him a more acute feeling of pain than of pleasure. He is like a man who were stript not only of his clothes, but of his skin, and turned out in that situation to combat with the rude and boisterous elements, such as perpetually disturb this lower world. I shall give you a remarkable instance of his turn of character in this respect: It passed in my room, the evening before his departure.

He had resolved to set out with his gouvernante in a post-chaise; but Davenport, willing to cheat him and save him some money, told him that he had found a retour chaise for the place, which he might have for a trifle, and that luckily it set out the very day in which Rousseau intended to depart. His purpose was to hire a chaise, and make him believe this story. He succeeded at first, but Rousseau afterwards ruminating on the circumstances, began to entertain a suspicion of the trick. He communicated his doubts to me, complaining that he was treated like a child; that though he was poor, he chose rather to conform himself to his circumstances, than live like a beggar on alms; and that he was very unhappy in not speaking the language familiarly, so as to guard himself against these impositions. I told him that I was ignorant of the matter, and knew nothing more of it, than I was told by Mr. Davenport, but if he pleased I should make inquiry about it. "Never tell me that," replied he, "if this be really a contrivance of Davenport's, you are acquainted with it, and consenting to it; and you could not possibly have done me a greater displeasure." Upon which he sat down very sullen and silent; and all my attempts were in vain to revive the conversation, and to turn it on other subjects; he still answered me very drily and coldly. At last, after passing near an hour in this ill-humour, he rose up and took a turn about the room. But judge of my surprise, when he sat down suddenly on my knee, threw his hands about my neck, kissed me with the greatest warmth, and bedewing all my face with tears, exclaimed, "Is it possible you can ever forgive me, my dear friend? After all the testimonies of affection I have received from you, I reward you at last with this folly and ill behaviour: but I have notwithstanding a heart worthy of your friendship; I love you, I esteem you, and not an instance of your kindness is thrown away upon me." I hope you have not so bad an opinion of me as to think I was not melted on this occasion; I assure you I kissed him and embraced him twenty times, with a plentiful effusion of tears. I think no scene of my life was ever more affecting.[315:1]

I now understand perfectly his aversion to company; which appears so surprising in a man well qualified for the entertainment of company, and which the greater part of the world takes for affectation. He has frequent and long fits of the spleen, from the state of his mind or body, call it which you please; and from his extreme sensibility of temper, during that disposition, company is a torment to him. When his spirits and health and good humour return, his fancy affords him so much and such agreeable occupation, that to call him off from it gives him uneasiness; and even the writing of books, he tells me, as it limits and restrains his fancy to one subject, is not an agreeable entertainment. He never will write any more; and never should have wrote at all, could he have slept a-nights. But he lies awake commonly; and to keep himself from tiring, he usually composed something, which he wrote down when he arose. He assures me, that he composes very slowly, and with great labour and difficulty.

He is naturally very modest, and even ignorant of his own superiority. His fire, which frequently rises in conversation, is gentle and temperate; he is never in the least arrogant and domineering, and is, indeed, one of the best bred men I ever knew. I shall give you such an instance of his modesty as must necessarily be sincere. When we were on the road, I recommended to him the learning of English, without which, I told him, he would never enjoy entire liberty, nor be fully independent, and at his own disposal. He was sensible I was in the right, and said, that he heard there were two English translations of his "Emile, or Treatise on Education;" he would get them as soon as he arrived in London; and as he knew the subject, he would have no other trouble, than to learn or guess the words: this would save him some pains in consulting the dictionary; and as he improved, it would amuse him to compare the translations and judge which was the best. Accordingly, soon after our arrival, I procured him the books, but he returned them in a few days, saying that they could be of no use to him. "What is the matter?" replied I. "I cannot endure them," said he, "they are my own work; and ever since I delivered my books to the press, I never could open them, or read a page of them without disgust." "That is strange," said I, "I wonder the good reception they have met with from the world has not put you more in conceit with them." "Why," said he, "if I were to count suffrages, there are perhaps more against them than for them." "But," rejoined I, "it is impossible but the style, and eloquence, and ornaments must please you." "To tell the truth," said he, "I am not displeased with myself in that particular: but I still dread, that my writings are good for nothing at the bottom, and that all my theories are full of extravagance. Je crains toujours que je pèche par le fond, et que tous mes systèmes ne sont que des extravagances." You see that this is judging of himself with the utmost severity, and censuring his writings on the side where they are most exposed to criticism. No feigned modesty is ever capable of this courage. I never heard —— reproach himself with the ——: nobody ever heard you express any remorse, for having put Ossian on the same footing with Homer!

Have I tired you, or will you have any more anecdotes of this singular personage? I think I hear you desire me to go on. He attempted once to justify to me the moral of his New Heloisa, which, he knew, was blamed, as instructing young people in the art of gratifying their passions, under the cover of virtue, and noble refined sentiments. "You may observe," said he "that my Julia is faithful to her husband's bed, though she is seduced from her duty during her single state; but this last circumstance can be of no consequence in France, where all the young ladies are shut up in convents, and have it not in their power to transgress: it might, indeed, have a bad effect in a Protestant country." But notwithstanding this reflection, he told me, that he has wrote a continuation of his "Emilius," which may soon be published. He there attempts to show the effect of his plan of education, by representing Emilius in all the most trying situations, and still extricating himself with courage and virtue. Among the rest, he discovers that Sophia, the amiable, the virtuous, the estimable Sophia, is unfaithful to his bed, which fatal accident he bears with a manly superior spirit. "In this work," added he, "I have endeavoured to represent Sophia in such a light that she will appear equally amiable, equally virtuous, and equally estimable, as if she had no such frailty." "You take a pleasure, I see," said I, "to combat with difficulties in all your works." "Yes," said he, "I hate marvellous and supernatural events in novels. The only thing that can give pleasure in such performances is to place the personages in situations difficult and singular." Thus, you see, nothing remains for him but to write a book for the instruction of widows! unless perhaps he imagines that they can learn their lesson without instruction. Adieu, dear doctor; you say that you sometimes read my letters to our common friends; but you must read this only to the initiated.[317:1]

Almost the only other matter which appears conspicuously in Hume's correspondence during his intercourse with Rousseau, is the death of a dear friend, often mentioned in his previous letters—Dr. Jardine. He was a man of strong judgment, and much sarcastic wit; but his articles in The Edinburgh Review of 1755, are almost the only specimens of his ability which he has left to posterity. He was born in Dumfries-shire on 3d January, 1716, and he was minister of the Tron Church parish when he died. The death was sudden; and Hume, overlooking the calamitous consequences of such events to surviving relatives, and in harmony with the opinions he had expressed on death in a still more appalling form, seems to have considered its suddenness as fortunate. He thus writes to Blair, on 5th June.

"I cannot begin my letter without lamenting most sincerely the death of our friend Dr. Jardine. I do not aggravate it by the circumstance of its being sudden, for that is very desirable. But surely we shall ever regret the loss of a very pleasant companion, and of a very friendly honest man. It makes a blank which you must all feel, and which I in particular will sensibly feel, when I come amongst you. I need not ask you whether the miscreants of the opposite party do not rejoice, for I take it for granted they do."[318:1]