25th January, 1759.

I am nearly printed out, and shall be sure to send you a copy by the stage-coach, or some other conveyance. I beg of you to make remarks as you go along. It would have been much better had we communicated before printing, which was always my desire, and was most suitable to the friendship which always did, and I hope always will, subsist between us. I speak this chiefly on my own account. For though I had the perusal of your sheets before I printed, I was not able to derive sufficient benefits from them, or indeed to make any alteration by their assistance. There still remain, I fear, many errors, of which you could have convinced me, if we had canvassed the matter in conversation. Perhaps I might also have been sometimes no less fortunate with you. Particularly I could almost undertake to convince you, that the Earl of Murray's conduct with the Duke of Norfolk was no way dishonourable. . . .

Dr. Blair tells me that Prince Edward is reading you, and is charmed. I hear the same of the Princess and Prince of Wales. But what will really give you pleasure, I lent my copy to Elliot during the holidays, who thinks it one of the finest performances he ever read; and though he expected much, he finds more. He remarked, however, (which is also my opinion,) that in the beginning, before your pen was sufficiently accustomed to the historic style, you employed too many digressions and reflections. This was also somewhat my own case, which I have corrected in my new edition.

Millar was proposing to publish me about the middle of March; but I shall communicate to him your desire, even though I think it entirely groundless, as you will likewise think, after you have read my volume. He has very needlessly delayed your publication till the 1st of February, at the desire of the Edinburgh booksellers, who could no way be affected by a publication in London. I was exceedingly sorry not to be able to comply with your desire, when you expressed your wish that I should not write this period. I could not write downward. For when you find occasion, by new discoveries, to correct your opinion with regard to facts which passed in Queen Elizabeth's days, who, that has not the best opportunities of informing himself, could venture to relate any recent transactions? I must, therefore, have abandoned altogether this scheme of the English history, in which I had proceeded so far, if I had not acted as I did. You will see what light and force this History of the Tudors bestows on that of the Stuarts. Had I been prudent, I should have begun with it. I care not to boast, but I will venture to say, that I have now effectually stopped the mouths of all those villanous Whigs who railed at me.

You are so kind as to ask me about my coming down. I can yet answer nothing. I have the strangest reluctance to change places. I lived several years happy with my brother at Ninewells; and had not his marriage changed a little the state of the family, I believe I should have lived and died there. I used every expedient to evade this journey to London; yet it is now uncertain whether I shall ever leave it. I have had some invitations, and some intentions, of taking a trip to Paris; but I believe it will be safer for me not to go thither, for I might probably settle there for life. No one was ever endowed with so great a portion of the vis inertiae. But as I live here very privately, and avoid as much as possible (and it is easily possible) all connexion with the great, I believe I should be better in Edinburgh. . . . .

London, 8th February, 1759.

. . . . As to the "Age of Leo the Tenth," it was Warton himself who intended to write it; but he has not wrote it, and probably never will. If I understand your hint, I should conjecture, that you had some thoughts of taking up the subject. But how can you acquire knowledge of the great works of sculpture, architecture, and painting, by which that age was chiefly distinguished? Are you versed in all the anecdotes of the Italian literature? These questions I heard proposed in a company of literati, when I inquired concerning this design of Warton. They applied their remarks to that gentleman, who yet, they say, has travelled. I wish they do not, all of them, fall more fully on you. However, you must not be idle. May I venture to suggest to you the Ancient History, particularly that of Greece? I think Rollin's success might encourage you; nor need you be in the least intimidated by his merit. That author has no other merit but a certain facility and sweetness of narration; but has loaded his work with silly puerilities. . . . .

I forgot to tell you, that two days ago I was in the House of Commons, where an English gentleman came to me, and told me that he had lately sent to a grocer's shop for a pound of raisins, which he received wrapped up in a paper that he showed me. How would you have turned pale at the sight! It was a leaf of your History, and the very character of Queen Elizabeth, which you had laboured so finely, little thinking it would so soon come to so disgraceful an end. I happened a little after to see Millar, and told him the story; consulting him, to be sure, on the fate of his new boasted historian, of whom he was so fond. But the story proves more serious than I apprehended: for he told Strahan, who thence suspects villany among his apprentices and journeymen; and has sent me very earnestly to know the gentleman's name, that he may find out the grocer, and trace the matter to the bottom. In vain did I remonstrate that this was sooner or later the fate of all authors, serius, ocyus, sors exitura. He will not be satisfied; and begs me to keep my jokes for another occasion. But that I am resolved not to do; and, therefore, being repulsed by his passion and seriousness, I direct them against you.

Next week I am published; and then I expect a constant comparison will be made between Dr. Robertson and Mr. Hume. I shall tell you in a few weeks which of these heroes is likely to prevail. Meanwhile, I can inform both of them for their comforts, that their combat is not likely to make half so much noise as that between Broughton and the one-eyed coachman. Vanitas vanitatum, atque omnia vanitas. I shall still except, however, the friendship and good opinion of worthy men. I am, &c.

London, 12th March, 1759.

My Dear Sir,—I believe I mentioned to you a French gentleman, Monsieur Helvetius, whose book, "De l'Esprit," was making a great noise in Europe. He is a very fine genius, and has the character of a very worthy man. My name is mentioned several times in his work with marks of esteem; and he has made me an offer, if I would translate his work into English, to translate anew all my philosophical writings into French. He says that none of them are well done, except that on the "Natural History of Religion," by Monsieur Martigny,[52:1] a counsellor of state. He added, that the Abbé Prevôt, celebrated for the Memoires d'un homme d'Honneur , and other entertaining works,[52:2] was just now translating my History. This account of Helvetius engaged me to send him over the new editions of all my writings; and I have added your History, which, I told him, was here published with great applause; adding, that the subject was interesting, and the execution masterly; and that it was probable some man of letters at Paris may think that a translation of it would be agreeable to the public. I thought that this was the best method of executing your intentions. I could not expect that any Frenchman here would be equal to the work. There is one Carraccioli, who came to me and spoke something of translating my new volume of History; but as he also mentioned his intentions of translating Smollett, I gave him no encouragement to proceed. The same reason would make me averse to see you in his hands.

But though I have given this character of your work to Monsieur Helvetius, I warn you, that this is the last time that, either to Frenchman or Englishman, I shall ever speak the least good of it. A plague take you! Here I sat near the historical summit of Parnassus, immediately under Dr. Smollett; and you have the impudence to squeeze yourself by me, and place yourself directly under his feet. Do you imagine that this can be agreeable to me? And must not I be guilty of great simplicity, to contribute, by my endeavours, to your thrusting me out of my place in Paris as well as at London? But I give you warning that you will find the matter somewhat difficult, at least in the former city. A friend of mine, who is there, writes home to his father, the strangest accounts on that head, which my modesty will not permit me to repeat, but which it allowed me very deliciously to swallow.

I have got a good reason or pretence for excusing me to Monsieur Helvetius, with regard to the translating his work. A translation of it was previously advertised here.

—— 20th, 1759.

I am afraid that my letters will be tedious and disagreeable to you by their uniformity. Nothing but continued and unvaried accounts of the same thing must in the end prove disgusting. Yet since you will hear me speak on this subject, I cannot help it, and must fatigue your ears as much as ours are in this place, by endless and repeated, and noisy praises of the "History of Scotland." Dr. Douglas told me yesterday, that he had seen the Bishop of Norwich, who had just bought the book, from the high commendations he heard of it from Mr. Legge. Mallet told me that Lord Mansfield is at a loss whether he shall most esteem the matter or the style. Elliot told me, that being in company with George Grenville, that gentleman was speaking loud in the same key. Our friend pretended ignorance; said he knew the author, and if he thought the book good for any thing, would send for it and read it. "Send for it, by all means," said Mr. Grenville; "you have not read a better book of a long time."—"But," said Elliot, "I suppose, although the matter may be tolerable, as the author was never on this side the Tweed till he wrote it, it must be very barbarous in the expression." "By no means," cried Mr. Grenville. "Had the author lived all his life in London, and in the best company, he could not have expressed himself with greater elegance and purity." Lord Lyttelton seems to think that, since the time of St. Paul, there scarce has been a better writer than Dr. Robertson. Mr. Walpole triumphs in the success of his favourites the Scotch, &c. &c. &c.

. . . . . The great success of your book, beside its real merit, is forwarded by its prudence, and by the deference paid to established opinions. It gains also by its being your first performance, and by its surprising the public, who are not upon their guard against it. By reason of these two circumstances, justice is more readily done to its merit; which, however, is really so great, that I believe there is scarce another instance of a first performance being so near perfection.

London, 29th May, 1759.

My Dear Sir,—I had a letter from Helvetius lately, wrote before your book arrived at Paris. He tells me, that the Abbé Prevôt, who had just finished the translation of my History, paroit très-disposé à traduire l'Histoire d'Ecosse que vient de faire Monsieur Robertson. If he be engaged by my persuasion, I shall have the satisfaction of doing you a real credit and pleasure; for he is one of the best pens in Paris.[55:1] . . . . . .

Our friend Smith[55:2] is very successful here, and Gerard[55:3] is very well received. The Epigoniad I cannot so much promise for, though I have done all in my power to forward it, particularly by writing a letter to The Critical Review , which you may peruse. I find, however, some good judges profess a great esteem for it: but habent et sua fata libelli: however, if you want a little flattery to the author, (which I own is very refreshing to an author) you may tell him that Lord Chesterfield said to me he was a great poet. I imagine that Wilkie will be very much elevated by praise from an English Earl, and a knight of the Garter, and an ambassador, and a secretary of state, and a man of so great reputation. For I observe that the greatest rustics are commonly most affected with such circumstances.

Ferguson's book[55:4] has a great deal of genius and fine writing, and will appear in time. . . . .

London, April 12, 1759.

Dear Sir,—I give you thanks for the agreeable present of your Theory. Wedderburn and I made presents of our copies to such of our acquaintances as we thought good judges, and proper to spread the reputation of the book. I sent one to the Duke of Argyle, to Lord Lyttelton, Horace Walpole, Soame Jenyns, and Burke an Irish gentleman, who wrote lately a very pretty Treatise on the Sublime. Millar desired my permission to send one in your name to Dr. Warburton.

I have delayed writing to you, till I could tell you something of the success of the book, and could prognosticate, with some probability, whether it should be finally damned to oblivion, or should be registered in the temple of immortality. Though it has been published only a few weeks, I think there appear already such strong symptoms, that I can almost venture to foretell its fate. It is, in short, this——

But I have been interrupted in my letter by a foolish impertinent visit of one who has lately come from Scotland. He tells me that the University of Glasgow intend to declare Rouet's office vacant, upon his going abroad with Lord Hope. I question not but you will have our friend Ferguson in your eye, in case another project for procuring him a place in the University of Edinburgh should fail. Ferguson has very much polished and improved his Treatise on Refinement;[56:1] and with some amendments it will make an admirable book, and discovers an elegant and a singular genius. The Epigoniad, I hope, will do; but it is somewhat up-hill work. As I doubt not but you consult the Reviews sometimes at present, you will see in The Critical Review a letter upon that poem; and I desire you to employ your conjectures in finding out the author. Let me see a sample of your skill in knowing hands by your guessing at the person.[56:2]

I am afraid of Kames' "Law Tracts." A man might as well think of making a fine sauce by a mixture of wormwood and aloes, as an agreeable composition by joining metaphysics and Scottish law. However, the book, I believe, has merit; though few people will take the pains of inquiring into it. But to return to your book, and its success in this town, I must tell you——

A plague of interruptions! I ordered myself to be denied; and yet here is one that has broke in upon me again. He is a man of letters, and we have had a good deal of literary conversation. You told me, that you was curious of literary anecdotes, and therefore I shall inform you of a few that have come to my knowledge. I believe I have mentioned to you already, Helvetius's book "De l'Esprit." It is worth your reading, not for its philosophy, which I do not highly value, but for its agreeable composition. I had a letter from him a few days ago, wherein he tells me that my name was much oftener in the manuscript, but that the censor of books at Paris obliged him to strike it out.

Voltaire has lately published a small work called Candide, ou, l'Optimisme . I shall give you a detail of it. But what is all this to my book, say you? My dear Mr. Smith, have patience: compose yourself to tranquillity; show yourself a philosopher in practice as well as profession: think on the emptiness, and rashness, and futility of the common judgments of men; how little they are regulated by reason in any subject, much more in philosophical subjects, which so far exceed the comprehension of the vulgar.

A wise man's kingdom is his own breast; or, if he ever looks farther, it will only be to the judgment of a select few, who are free from prejudices, and capable of examining his work. Nothing, indeed, can be a stronger presumption of falsehood than the approbation of the multitude; and Phocion, you know, always suspected himself of some blunder, when he was attended with the applauses of the populace.

Supposing, therefore, that you have duly prepared yourself for the worst by all these reflections, I proceed to tell you the melancholy news, that your book has been very unfortunate; for the public seem disposed to applaud it extremely. It was looked for by the foolish people with some impatience; and the mob of literati are beginning already to be very loud in its praises. Three bishops called yesterday at Millar's shop in order to buy copies, and to ask questions about the author. The Bishop of Peterborough said, he had passed the evening in a company where he heard it extolled above all books in the world. The Duke of Argyle is more decisive than he used to be in its favour. I suppose he either considers it as an exotic, or thinks the author will be serviceable to him in the Glasgow elections. Lord Lyttelton says that Robertson, and Smith, and Bower,[58:1] are the glories of English literature. Oswald protests he does not know whether he has reaped more instruction or entertainment from it. But you may easily judge what reliance can be put on his judgment, who has been engaged all his life in public business, and who never sees any faults in his friends. Millar exults and brags that two-thirds of the edition are already sold, and that he is now sure of success. You see what a son of the earth that is, to value books only by the profit they bring him. In that view, I believe it may prove a very good book.

Charles Townsend, who passes for the cleverest fellow in England, is so taken with the performance, that he said to Oswald he would put the Duke of Buccleuch under the author's care, and would make it worth his while to accept of that charge. As soon as I heard this, I called on him twice, with a view of talking with him about the matter, and of convincing him of the propriety of sending that young nobleman to Glasgow: for I could not hope, that he could offer you any terms which would tempt you to renounce your professorship; but I missed him. Mr. Townsend passes for being a little uncertain in his resolutions; so perhaps you need not build much on his sally.

In recompense for so many mortifying things, which nothing but truth could have extorted from me, and which I could easily have multiplied to a greater number, I doubt not but you are so good a Christian as to return good for evil; and to flatter my vanity by telling me, that all the godly in Scotland abuse me for my account of John Knox and the Reformation. I suppose you are glad to see my paper end, and that I am obliged to conclude with—Your humble servant.[58:2]

London, 28th July, 1759.

Dear Sir,—Your friend, Mr. Wilson,[59:1] called on me two three days ago when I was abroad, and he left your letter. I did not see him till to-day. He seems a very modest, sensible, ingenious man. Before I saw him, I spoke to Mr. A. Millar about him, and found him very much disposed to serve him. I proposed particularly to Mr. Millar, that it was worthy of so eminent a bookseller as he, to make a complete elegant set of the classics, which might set up his name equal to the Alduses, Stevenses, or Elzevirs; and that Mr. Wilson was the properest person in the world to assist him in such a project. He confessed to me that he had sometimes thought of it; but that his great difficulty was to find a man of letters, who could correct the press. I mentioned the matter to Wilson, who said he had a man of letters in his eye: one Lyon, a nonjuring clergyman at Glasgow. He is probably known to you, or at least may be so; I would desire your opinion of him.

Mr. Wilson told me of his machines, which seem very ingenious, and deserve much encouragement. I shall soon see them.

I am very well acquainted with Bourke, who was much taken with your book. He got your direction from me, with a view of writing to you, and thanking you for your present; for I made it pass in your name. I wonder he has not done it: he is now in Ireland. I am not acquainted with Jenyns; but he spoke very highly of the book to Oswald, who is his brother in the board of trade. Millar showed me, a few days ago, a letter from Lord Fitzmaurice; where he tells him, that he has carried over a few copies to the Hague, for presents. Mr. York was very much taken with it, as well as several others who had read it.

I am told that you are preparing a new edition, and propose to make some additions and alterations, in order to obviate objections. I shall use the freedom to propose one; which, if it appears to be of any weight, you may have in your eye. I wish you had more particularly and fully proved that all kinds of sympathy are necessarily agreeable. This is the hinge of your system, and yet you only mention the matter cursorily, in p. 20. Now, it would appear that there is a disagreeable sympathy, as well as an agreeable. And, indeed, as the sympathetic passion is a reflex image of the principal, it must partake of its qualities, and be painful where that is so. Indeed, when we converse with a man with whom we can entirely sympathize, that is, where there is a warm and intimate friendship, the cordial openness of such a commerce overpowers the pain of a disagreeable sympathy, and renders the whole movement agreeable. But, in ordinary cases, this cannot have place. An ill-humoured fellow; a man tired and disgusted with every thing, always ennuié, sickly, complaining, embarrassed; such a one throws an evident damp on company, which I suppose would be accounted for by sympathy, and yet is disagreeable.

It is always thought a difficult problem to account for the pleasure received from the tears, and grief, and sympathy of tragedy, which would not be the case if all sympathy was agreeable. An hospital would be a more entertaining place than a ball. I am afraid that, in p. 99, and 111, this proposition has escaped you, or, rather, is interwoven with your reasonings in that place. You say expressly, "It is painful to go along with grief, and we always enter into it with reluctance." It will probably be requisite for you to modify or explain this sentiment, and reconcile it to your system.

My dear Mr. Smith, you must not be so much engrossed with your own book as never to mention mine. The Whigs, I am told, are anew in a rage against me, though they know not how to vent themselves; for they are constrained to allow all my facts. You have, probably, seen Hurd's abuse of me. He is of the Warburtonian school; and, consequently, very insolent and very scurrilous; but I shall never reply a word to him. If my past writings do not sufficiently prove me to be no Jacobite, ten volumes in folio never would.

I signed, yesterday, an agreement with Mr. Millar; where I mention that I proposed to write the History of England, from the beginning till the accession of Henry VII.; and he engages to give me £1400 for the copy. This is the first previous agreement ever I made with a bookseller.[61:1] I shall execute this work at leisure, without fatiguing myself by such ardent application as I have hitherto employed. It is chiefly as a resource against idleness that I shall undertake this work; for, as to money, I have enough; and as to reputation, what I have wrote already will be sufficient, if it be good; if not, it is not likely I shall now write better. I found it impracticable (at least fancied so) to write the History since the Revolution. I am in doubt whether I shall stay here and execute the work; or return to Scotland, and only come up here to consult the manuscripts. I have several inducements on both sides. Scotland suits my fortune best, and is the seat of my principal friendships; but it is too narrow a place for me; and it mortifies me that I sometimes hurt my friends. Pray write me your judgment soon. Are the bigots much in arms on account of this last volume? Robertson's book has great merit; but it was visible that he profited here by the animosity against me. I suppose the case was the same with you. I am, dear Smith, yours sincerely.[61:2]