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

[399:1] There are two letters from Blacklock to Hume, remarkably characteristic of the timid and excitable character of the blind genius. After an exordium on the tone which he hopes their intercourse will maintain, full of nervous susceptibility; the fear of being too profuse in correspondence alternating with the dread that he may be thought cold, negligent, or ungrateful; he gives an account of the education of his pupil, Joseph, and then turns towards his own dark prospects.

"It was not indeed without some fear that I undertook the office. The vivacity of his disposition, and even the quickness of his genius, inspired me with terror that I should not be able to manage the one, or make any lasting impression upon the other. But how agreeable was my disappointment to find his temper, though lively, extremely amiable and flexible, and his apprehension, though quick, yet distinct and retentive. He applies with a diligence not often found in people of his age and character. As during this winter we had a pretty numerous family, most of whom were gentlemen of parts and spirit, I have seen numberless instances in which his passions, though warm and sensible, were governed with a discretion worthy of mature age and experience, yet in such a manner as to preserve his dignity, and betray no degree of complaisance unworthy of his spirit, or inconsistent with his ingenuity. You cannot imagine but such an object must pre-engage every susceptible heart. He is really admired by all the young gentlemen of our family who know him. I love him, and Mrs. Blacklock doats on him; yet there are not, perhaps, two in the human species who have it in their power to vex me in the same degree, if at any time he should be more remiss and careless than usual. He is now reading French with Mons^r Cauvin, and the Satires of Horace, and Homer's Iliad, with me.

"Mr. Alexander's account of my situation, in general, was right. I have indeed got clear of a parish where I could have never been happy, even though their malice had been less implacable than I found it. But when I left that vindictive place, my poetical vanity was not quite extinguished; and it is natural for those who have felt the oppressive hand of unprovoked injury, to expect a kinder and more human reception, where civility, politeness, and gentler manners prevail. These sentiments, too sanguinely indulged, might perhaps have raised my hopes too high, and taught me to anticipate a greater degree of notice from the people of taste and learning in this place, than I have either obtained or deserved. Be that as it will, I am at present almost an absolute recluse; and when I meet with any of the virtuosi in public places, (where, indeed, I do not commonly appear,) their behaviour seems more cool and reserved than I could have thought. Not that all my self-importance can flatter me with any degree of merit in this way; but surely it was not unnatural to hope the enterprises which I attempted in the circumstances in which I was involved, might have attracted some degree of attention, and impressed some faint prepossessions in my favour, when not opposed by any vice or immorality in my character. For these reasons, as well as the private and disinterested attachment of my heart, you will naturally imagine the pleasure I feel from the prospect of your arrival in Edinburgh, and from my promised intercourse with one, who, though he might do honour to the republic of letters in any period, yet descends to honour me with the name of a Friend."

In the other letter, dated 2d May, 1767, he states that he has been overworking himself; and says, "My old nervous complaints have been like to return, and unhinge all our schemes; but, thank God, they are a little better again." He then details, with some minuteness, the reasons for feeling that his pecuniary prospects are precarious; and ascribes his exertions to his wish "to do something, if possible, for these approaching contingencies," which, he says, "the natural gloom" of his mind has made "not very distant." He continues:—

"You was so kind as hint your friendly intention towards a church settlement. That, I begin to think, I am unfit to encounter with again; for the ten thousand hardships and disagreeable things which I met with in my short but dear-bought experience of that kind of life, brought me a great way on in my journey down hill; so that if any one of them should again occur in another trial, I would certainly soon reach the foot of the precipice. This event is matter of no great thought to myself, but as it may concern one not undeservedly dear to me."

These letters are written with great precision, in a small, neat, regular hand; and, though duly signed, "Thos. Blacklock," it is clear that they cannot be the penmanship of their sightless author.

Appended to the second, and in a bolder and more masculine looking hand, is the following:—

"Mrs. Blacklock begs leave to offer her compliments to Mr. Hume, herself; and to supplicate some easy thing, if it can be procured, (without giving Mr. Hume much trouble,) for her friend, whom she has been a good deal apprehensive for this spring, by reason of his close study. Our college has acquired a new professor for natural history. Do you think one for poetry could be added, with a moderate salary to it?"—MSS. R.S.E.

CHAPTER XVII.

It is to the period from the year 1770 to his death, when he lived among his early friends in Edinburgh, that we ought to refer such traditional accounts of Hume's private life and social habits, as are not expressly connected with any known event in his history. He was, it is true, a distinguished man when he left his native city, in 1763. He had then, indeed, performed all the services which entitled him to immortality. But his foreign celebrity, and his official honours, had since added many ostensible glories to his name, and introduced him to a wider sphere of public notice than the substantial fruits of his genius and industry would have of themselves secured. When we remember that this was the most celebrated period of his life, and was the only one of which persons who are still, or who have lately been alive, could have any recollection, we naturally refer to it those traditional notices and incidents which have no distinct place.

The impression of Hume's character, acquired by one who has sought it in the tenor of his works, and the history of his literary career, is quite different from that which we derive from those who knew him, and were connected with the social circle in which he lived. The former is solitary, self-relying, and unimpressible even to sternness; the latter is good, easy, simple, social, and amenable to the sway of gentle impulses. These two representations are not without a harmony of principle. In all serious matters, in his projects of literary ambition, in the philosophy he taught mankind, in all that was to connect him with posterity and the intellectual destiny of the human race, he was resolute and uncompromising. But the exhibition of his strength was reserved for the arena of his triumphs; and in domestic and social intercourse he put aside his helmet, with its nodding plumes; feeling, that the intellectual exhibitions suited for that sphere, should spring from whatever Nature had bestowed on him of sweet, and peaceful, and kind,—whatever was fitted to drive rancour or angry emulation from the bosom, and to render life delightful. Hence, to appear in the social circle as an intellectual gladiator, does not appear to have been his wish; he was content if he gave himself and others pleasure.

This view of his character is confirmed by Mackenzie, who, when a young man, enjoyed the high distinction of mingling in that group, of which he was the principal figure.

But the most illustrious of that circle was David Hume, who had a sincere affection for his poetical namesake,—an affection which was never abated during the life of that celebrated man. The unfortunate nature of his opinions with regard to the theoretical principles of moral and religious truth, never influenced his regard for men who held very opposite sentiments on those subjects; subjects which he never, like some vain and shallow sceptics, introduced into social discourse: On the contrary, when at any time the conversation tended that way, he was desirous rather of avoiding any serious discussion on matters which he wished to confine to the graver and less dangerous consideration of cool philosophy. He had, it might be said, in the language which the Grecian historian applies to an illustrious Roman, two minds; one which indulged in the metaphysical scepticism which his genius could invent, but which it could not always disentangle; another, simple, natural, and playful, which made his conversation delightful to his friends, and even frequently conciliated men whose principles of belief his philosophical doubts, if they had not power to shake, had grieved and offended. During the latter period of his life, I was frequently in his company amidst persons of genuine piety, and I never heard him venture a remark at which such men, or ladies, still more susceptible than men, could take offence.[439:1]

The late Lord Chief Commissioner Adam was another of the young men who were so fortunate as to be admitted to this circle. In a curious little collection of notices of eminent persons, called "The Gift of a Grandfather," privately printed at his own press at Blair-Adam, he says of Hume:

He was an intimate friend and acquaintance: and in all the intercourse of life, and in all he said, and wrote, and did, when not employed in his unnecessary metaphysical scepticism (well named, by a friend of mine, intellectual rope-dancing,) was innocent, playful, and moral, and most natural in his conversation: equally pleasing and instructive to the young and old of both sexes. . . . . . . . . .

His simple unaffected nature, and kindly disposition, exalted him as much as the singular powers of his mind, and his talents for expressing in writing what he contemplated—so well described by Gibbon, as careless inimitable beauties of style; which, when he read, he laid down the book in despair that he should ever be able to imitate them.

I have before shown that he never introduced, in conversation, his abstruse or sceptical speculations; that all his sentiments were moral and natural and pleasing, and even playful in the extreme. This is evinced by his letters, which are perfect in their kind. He could bring himself down, without effort, to the most familiar playfulness with young persons, and particularly delighted in the conversation of youthful females.

Mr. Hume was one of our constant visiters, making, as was the custom of those days, tea-time the hour of calling. In the summer he would often stroll to my father's beautiful villa of North Merchiston. On one occasion—I was then a boy of thirteen—he, missing my mother, made his tea-drinking good with two or three young ladies of eighteen or nineteen, (his acquaintances,) who were my mother's guests. I recollect perfectly how agreeably he talked to them; and my recollection has been rendered permanent by an occurrence which caused some mirth and no mischief.

When the philosopher was amusing himself in conversation with the young ladies, the chair began to give way under him, and gradually brought him to the floor.

The damsels were both alarmed and amused, when Mr. Hume, recovering himself, and getting upon his legs, said in his broad Scotch tone, but in English words, (for he never used Scotch,) "Young ladies, you must tell Mr. Adam to keep stronger chairs for heavy philosophers."

This simple story is a good specimen of the man. He was above all affectation. I was a companion of his eldest nephew, and saw much of him when I was very young. As I grew up he used to invite me to dinner, and I took great delight in his conversation. I continued in and about Edinburgh long enough to be able to relish it, and perhaps to join in it. On one particular occasion I met him at tea at Professor Ferguson's; it was at the period of my attending Dr. Blair's class on rhetoric and belles lettres: their conversation became very interesting to me, as it bore upon subjects which had an affinity to what I was in the habit of hearing prelected upon. They discussed particularly the Henriade of Voltaire; they were not displeased with any want of brilliancy in the versification, but they condemned the choice of the subject. Mr. Hume said, "He should never choose for an epic poem history, the truth of which is well known; for no fiction can come up to the interest of the actual story and incidents of the singular life of Henry IV.;" and Professor Ferguson added, "What epic poet could improve upon the chivalrous life of Chevalier Bayard, or on the event of his extraordinary romantic death?"

"I always lived," says James Boswell, in a passage where he has to record some of his great patron's expressions of contempt and dislike, "on good terms with Mr. Hume, though I have frankly told him I was not clear that it was right of me to keep company with him; 'but,' said I, 'how much better are you than your books!' He was cheerful, obliging, and instructive. He was charitable to the poor;[441:1] and many an agreeable hour have I passed with him."

The testimony which Adam Smith bore to his character and disposition, in the letter which accompanies his autobiography, though so well known, must not here be omitted.

His temper seemed to be more happily balanced, if I may be allowed such an expression, than that perhaps of any other man I have ever known. Even in the lowest state of his fortune, his great and necessary frugality never hindered him from exercising, upon proper occasions, acts both of charity and generosity. It was a frugality founded, not upon avarice, but upon the love of independency. The extreme gentleness of his nature never weakened either the firmness of his mind, or the steadiness of his resolutions. His constant pleasantry was the genuine effusion of good nature and good humour; tempered with delicacy and modesty, and without even the slightest tincture of malignity, so frequently the disagreeable source of what is called wit in other men. It never was the meaning of his raillery to mortify; and, therefore, far from offending, it seldom failed to please and delight, even those who were the objects of it. To his friends, who were frequently the objects of it, there was not, perhaps, any one of all his great and amiable qualities which contributed more to endear his conversation. And that gaiety of temper, so agreeable in society, but which is so often accompanied with frivolous and superficial qualities, was, in him, certainly attended with the most severe application, the most extensive learning, the greatest depth of thought, and a capacity in every respect the most comprehensive. Upon the whole, I have always considered him, both in his lifetime, and since his death, as approaching as nearly to the idea of a perfectly wise and virtuous man, as, perhaps, the nature of human frailty will permit.

Of any description of his character, his own account of it must form a material feature. The mere circumstance that a man should have thus written about himself, is a noticeable element in his mental history. He says, in his "own life:"

To conclude, historically, with my own character. I am, or rather was, (for that is the style I must now use in speaking of myself, which emboldens me the more to speak my sentiments,)—I was, I say, a man of mild disposition, of command of temper, of an open, social, and cheerful humour, capable of attachment, but little susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions. Even my love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper, notwithstanding my frequent disappointments. My company was not unacceptable to the young and careless, as well as to the studious and literary; and as I took a particular pleasure in the company of modest women, I had no reason to be displeased with the reception I met with from them. In a word, though most men, any wise eminent, have found reason to complain of calumny, I never was touched, or even attacked by her baleful tooth: and though I wantonly exposed myself to the rage of both civil and religious factions, they seemed to be disarmed, in my behalf, of their wonted fury. My friends never had occasion to vindicate any one circumstance of my character and conduct: not but that the zealots, we may well suppose, would have been glad to invent and propagate any story to my disadvantage, but they could never find any which they thought would wear the face of probability. I cannot say there is no vanity in making this funeral oration of myself, but I hope it is not a misplaced one; and this is a matter of fact which is easily cleared and ascertained.

We have here a generous testimony to the tolerant spirit of his age: And yet his history and correspondence show, that he did not always feel himself safe from the influence of political or polemical resentment. He seemed, however, to take a pride in contrasting his own personal reception, by the world, with that of his writings; the one being all courtesy, the other all prejudice and dislike. A late eminent judge remembered meeting him at dinner with Black, Smith, and others, a few months before his death. Smith was speaking of the ingratitude, perversity, and intolerance of human nature. Hume said he differed with him. There was he, who had written on history, on politics, and on morals—some said on divinity; yet, in discussing these exciting topics, he had not made a single enemy; unless, indeed, all the Whigs, and all the Tories, and all the Christians! As, in his playful conversation among his intimate friends, he was inclined to indulge in practical humour, he made the general unpopularity of his opinions a common theme of amusement; picturesquely exaggerating the more offensive features, and exhibiting them as bugbears to frighten the well-meaning. Asking his friend, Clephane, to look for lodgings for him in London, he represents the person who is to inhabit them as "a sober, discreet, virtuous, frugal, regular, quiet, good-natured man—of a bad character." This "bad character," he seems to have occasionally used as a method of gently alarming innocent females. A lady, of strictly evangelical principles, walking home from church, through a crowded part of Edinburgh, was rather surprised by the zealous attention with which he proffered his arm. After they had passed through the crowd, he gave his reason for being so obsequious—it was, that she might be congratulated, by her friends, on having been seen walking on Sunday with "Hume the Deist." Mackenzie relates the following incident, which shows that he was not, however, always proof against the effect of jocular attacks on his principles by others.

In the same bonhommie, Mr. Hume bore with perfect good nature the pleasantries which humorous deductions from his theoretical scepticisms sometimes produced. Once, I have been told, he was in a small degree ruffled by a witticism of Mr. John Home's, who, though always pleasant, and often lively, seldom produced what might be termed or repeated as wit. The clerk of an eminent banker in Edinburgh, a young man of irreproachable conduct, and much in the confidence of his master, eloped with a considerable sum with which he had been intrusted. The circumstance was mentioned at a dinner where the two Humes, the historian and the poet, and several of their usual friendly circle, were present. David Hume spoke of it as a kind of moral problem, and wondered what could induce a man of such character and habits as this clerk was said to possess, thus to incur, for an inconsiderable sum, the guilt and the infamy of such a transaction. "I can easily account for it," said his friend, John Home, "from the nature of his studies, and the kind of books which he was in the habit of reading." "What were they?" said the philosopher. "Boston's Fourfold State," rejoined the poet, "and Hume's Essays." David was more hurt by the joke than was usual with him; probably from the singular conjunction of the two works, which formed, according to his friend's account, the library of the unfortunate young man.[444:1]

As appropriate to his popularity among women and young people, the following anecdotes from the pen of one who has gained no little celebrity by her genius, cannot fail to give interest. They are contained in a letter by Lady Anne Lindsay, authoress of the song Auld Robin Gray , when she was a young lady living in her grandmother's house in Edinburgh, to her sister Margaret:—

Dinners go on as usual, which, being monopolized by the divines, wits, and writers of the present day, are not unjustly called the Dinners of the Eaterati, by Lord Kellie, who laughs at his own pun till his face is purple.

Our friend, David Hume, along with his friend, Principal Robertson, continue to maintain their ground at these convivial meetings. To see the lion and the lamb lying down together, the deist and the doctor, is extraordinary; it makes one hope that some day Hume will say to him, "Thou almost persuadest me to be a Christian." He is a constant morning visiter of ours. My mother jested him lately on a circumstance which had a good deal of character in it.

When we were very young girls, too young to remember the scene, there happened to be a good many clever people at Balcarres at Christmas; and as a gambol of the season, they agreed to write each his own character, to give them to Hume, and make him show them to my father, as extracts he had taken from the pope's library at Rome.[445:1]

He did. My father said, "I don't know who the rest of your fine fellows and charming princesses are, Hume; but if you had not told me where you got this character, I should have said it was that of my wife."

"I was pleased," said my mother, "with my lord's answer, it showed that at least I had been an honest woman."

"Hume's character of himself," said she, "was well drawn and full of candour; he spoke of himself as he ought;" but added, what surprised us all, that, "plain as his manners were, and apparently careless of attention, vanity was his predominant weakness. That vanity led him to publish his Essays, which he grieved over; not that he had changed his opinions, but that he thought he had injured society by disseminating them."

"Do you remember the sequel of that affair?" said Hume.

"Yes, I do," replied my mother, laughing: "you told me that, although I thought your character a sincere one, it was not so; there was a particular feature omitted that we were still ignorant of, and that you would add it; like a fool I gave you the manuscript, and you thrust it into the fire, adding, 'Oh, what an idiot I had nearly proved myself to be, to leave such a document in the hands of a parcel of women!'"

"Villain!" said my mother, laughing, and shaking her head at him.

"Do you remember all this, my little woman?" said Hume to me.

"I was too young," said I, "to think of it at the time."

"How's this? have not you and I grown up together?"

I looked surprised.

"Yes," added he, "you have grown tall, and I have grown broad."[446:1]

It may give us some farther idea of the refined simplicity that made his conversation agreeable to intellectual and right thinking women, to observe the manner in which he was addressed in the following very lively letter from Lady Elliot Murray, the wife of his friend, Sir Gilbert.

Minto, 12th October, 1772.

I am resolved to take the reins of government into my own hands. I don't know what has made me such a humble subservient animal hitherto. I will dictate from this time forth. I will give the law, and insist on an implicit obedience to my superior wisdom; for am I not wiser than the wisest? did I not foretell what has come to pass, that Mons. De Guigne would not reach Edinburgh before the middle of this week? and did I not prove my judgment surpassing that best of historians, who is a mere pedler in understanding to me? Had he taken my advice, he need not have jumbled himself seventy long miles over mountains and plains in one day, and left a family who were happy in his company, and exchanged the cheering blaze of a good coal fire, for the dreary glimpses of a clouded moon. But, however, he had the pleasure of gratifying a sense which few people are much troubled with, a delicacy and ardour in politeness; and as that is pretty near akin to benevolence, I believe the indulgence of it may be a full recompense for the trouble. But that last principle will lead you back the road you went; for you left three ladies mourning for your departure, and the good man of the house has been in a vexation ever since, and can only be contented by a renewal of your kind intentions towards us, of passing some quiet days under our roof. Sir Gilbert came home from Jedburgh, and had seen your brother there, who told him he would find you here when he came back.

Enter Sir Gilbert. Where is Mr. Hume?—Answer: He is gone. When did he come?—About one o'clock. And when did he go away?—About five. What! have you quarrelled?—Yes. He and I had some little difference about his byeuks, and I tried to persuade him to burn them all, and write the other way; for, as I said, I was sure he would be a shining light, and equal the author of the "Pilgrim's Progress," or Mr. Ebenezer Erskine, if he would only take the right side; and he flew in a passion and went away in a huff! How could you think he would be persuaded by you? Pooh! though I am but a simple woman, before it be long he may be convinced I can see farther into a millstone than he can do; and if he had taken my advice, he might have rested his bones here this night in quiet, in place of rumbling along in the dark in a post chaise; and so in other matters too, I might perhaps do him a service if he would be ruled by me. My dear, how can you be so wild? And, my dear, where is the harm in telling one's mind, when you think you can do good by it, to a good worthy creature that is only a little mistaken or so? Good by it, what a chimera! but come, there is some other reason than this for his going away? None that I know; except a fine flim-flam letter that he received from the French Ambassador, saying, he expected to have the exquisite joy of beholding him at Edinburgh to-morrow. Ah, now I understand it. But when does he come back? Why he either comes back with Mons. De Guigne, or after he has done the last duties to him at Edinburgh. So you see, if you do not come, you will have brought me in for the lesser excommunication; for you will have been the cause of my deceiving my husband, and telling him a lie: although, for that matter, neither you nor I lukelly have any thing to fear now-a-days, for either the greater or lesser excommunication: For, as you justly observe, line 12, first page of your letter, how are things changed! Old prejudices are done away, but behold new ones arise; and the last errors I am afraid are worse than the first: but, for my own part, I would willingly have stood before the kirk-session, to have shown any respect and regard to Mons^r. L'Ambassador, who is a man we all esteem in this house, and from whom we have always received every possible civility, of which we retain a grateful sense. But we perceive he is travelling in his public capacity, and unless Sir Gilbert had had it in his power to go to town to wait of him, and give him welcome from us to our house, should it suit his conveniency to rest here upon his road to England, we think any other invitation would appear improper and abrupt; and as it so happens he cannot possibly accomplish this at present, for we are to have company with us most part of this week; and after that we go to our visits, which will take us most of next week; and then we shall be chez nous till our journey southwards, when we will require from you to restore us your good society, else we shall verily believe your flying visit was all a hum, and we won't be Humed so!

Bless me, I thought I was writing to my poor good Harry. How does he do, sanctified soul? I have really hopes of you, now that he and you are come hand to fist at a conversation; as he tells me you are very often with him, and he really thinks you are a saint in your nature; and I say that is a great pity, for tho' I cannot deny the fact, I deplore it for the consequences of it; but give my best wishes to him, and tell him I long to hear of better prospects for him. I am really confounded, when I think what a parcel of nonsense I have wrote you: But learn to prefer the truth and sincerity of a Scots wife, to the pernicious flattery of Les Dames Françaises, of which you have had enough in your days; and so it is fit you should be made to hear on the other side of the head. And so wishing you all health and happiness, and clearness of understanding, I remain, sir, your well wisher, friend, and obedient servant,

Ag. Elliot Murray.

P.S. I don't think the quiet Euthanasia of England will happen in the year 1773, the mayoralty of J. W. Esq.

Hume had been for many years very corpulent. In a letter to Sir Harry Erskine, in 1756, he complains of this tendency to obesity. He occasionally alludes to his partiality for plain food, and to his being, to use his own sufficiently distinct expression, "a glutton, not an epicure."[449:1] We have found him telling Sir Gilbert Elliot, that for beef and cabbage, which he calls "a charming dish," and old mutton, no one could excel him; and that the Duc de Nivernois would become apprentice to his "lass," to learn how she made sheeps'-head broth. The zest with which he returned to the simple food of his native country, after the diplomatic feasts of Paris, seems to have been characteristic of all his habits. Burke is said to have affirmed, that, "in manners he was an easy unaffected man, previous to going to Paris as secretary to Lord Hertford; but that the adulation and caresses of the female wits of that capital had been too powerful even for a philosopher, and the result was, he returned a literary coxcomb." But the saying is not in harmony with the characteristics noted by others; and it is not quite clear that it was ever uttered by Burke.[450:1] All who speak as having been familiarly acquainted with him, concur in describing his manners as kind, simple, and polite. He had, as no one who has read his correspondence can fail to see, a good heart, ever ready to do benevolent acts where occasions for their performance came under his notice; and his exterior appearance and manner corresponded with this part of his character. One occasionally meets with venerable persons who remember having been dandled on Hume's knee, and the number of these reminiscences indicates that he was fond of children.[450:2]

The broad Scottish pronunciation, in which, by all accounts, he indulged, was a rather singular habit in one who desired to throw off all marks of provincialism. Yet we are told that in this rude Doric garb he clothed a very pure English colloquial style. We must take this statement with allowances: He never probably in his most finished writings completely divested his style of Scotticisms; and the English he spoke must have been pure only in comparison with the language of his fellow countrymen. But it may be remarked, that provincial broadness of pronunciation in Scotland is far from being incompatible with a very pure and unprovincial style of language. It has often been observed, that in those parts of the country where the speech of the uneducated is most peculiar, English, when spoken at all, is found in greatest purity. Thus, an inhabitant of the border districts makes his southern tones, though hardly distinguishable from those of his English neighbours, the vehicle of intense Scotticisms; while beyond the Grampians, the deep broad Teutonic pronunciation sometimes gives voice to uncontaminated English, as established by literary and colloquial rules.

Hume had very clearly two kinds of conversation, one for strangers and the world at large, the other for his chosen friends with whom he was at ease, and who could understand the good humour of that jocularity which a contemporary pronounced to have something in it perfectly infantine. His friend John Home was somewhat renowned for a warlike and romantic pomp in his ideas, like those which pervade his own tragic personations. In Hume's conversation we may believe that there was nothing either heroic or enthusiastic. A good humoured sly application of the fugitive subjects of discussion, to the peculiarities of the guests; an occasional vigorous and apt remark; a fantastic wit sometimes let loose to wander where it pleased, and choose whatever it thought fit for its object,—seem to have constituted the charm of his society. Yet the tone of his thoughts sometimes rose to enthusiasm. Thus the son of his valued friend Ferguson, remembers his father saying, that, one clear and beautiful night, when they were walking home together, Hume suddenly stopped, looked up to the starry sky, and said, more after the manner of "Hervey's Meditations" than the "Treatise of Human Nature," "Oh, Adam, can any one contemplate the wonders of that firmament, and not believe that there is a God!"

In a late collection of casual reminiscences, there is the following notice of his social habits.

"Major M——, with whom I dined yesterday, said that he had frequently met David Hume at their military mess in Scotland, and in other parties; that he was very polite and pleasant, though thoughtful in company, generally reclining his head upon his hand, as if in study; from which he would suddenly recover, however, with some indifferent question;[452:1] extremely inquisitive, but quite easy to himself and all around him. One is glad to catch personal notices, however slight, of memorable men and of speculative philosophers. I know no one so memorable as Hume. He seems to have so far outstripped the spirit of the times in his original and profound researches, that the world is in no condition at present to do justice to his merits."[452:2]

Those who know him solely by his philosophical reputation, will perhaps believe him to have been