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

Hume to Dr. Blair.

"Bath, 13th May, 1776.

"My dear Doctor,—You have frequently heard me complain of my physical friends, that they allowed me to die in the midst of them without so much as giving a Greek name to my disorder: a consolation which was the least I had reason to expect from them. Dr. Black, hearing this complaint, told me that I should be satisfied in that particular, and that my disorder was a hemorrhage, a word which it was easy to decompose into αιμος [504:1] and ρηγνυμι. But Sir John Pringle says, that I have no hemorrhage, but a spincture in the colon, which it will be easy to cure. This disorder, as it both contained two Greek appellations and was remediable, I was much inclined to prefer; when, behold! Dr. Gustard tells me that he sees no symptoms of the former disorder, and as to the latter, he never met with it and scarcely ever heard of it. He assures me that my case is the most common of all Bath cases, to wit, a bilious complaint, which the waters scarcely ever fail of curing: and he never had a patient of whose recovery he had better hopes.

"Indeed the waters, in the short trial which I have made of them, (for I have been here only four days,) seem to agree very well with me; and two days ago I found myself so well, that, for the first time, I began to entertain hopes of a reprieve. Yesterday I was not so well, from a misunderstanding in new lodgings with regard to my bedding. My whimsicalness in this particular surprises Dr. Gustard, and he knows not what to make of it. By the by, this Dr. Gustard is an excellent kind of man, very friendly, and I believe very intelligent. He assures me, as do several others, that the summer is the best time for Bath waters: and if they continue to agree with me I shall probably pass here that season. I promised to General Conway, and Lady Aylesbury, that if I had recovered so much health as to venture myself in company, I should pass some weeks of the autumn at Park place. This is the only retardment I can foresee to my return to Scotland before winter. My wishes carry me thither; though the grievous loss we have suffered in friends makes the abode in that country less pleasing to my fancy than formerly.

"You must have heard of the agreeable surprise which John Home put upon me. We travelled up to London very cheerfully together, and thence to this place, where we found Mrs. Home almost quite recovered. Never was there a more friendly action, nor better placed; for what between conversation and gaming, (not to mention sometimes squabbling,) I did not pass a languid moment; and his company I am certain was the chief cause why my journey had so good an effect: of which, however, I suppose he has given too sanguine accounts, as is usual with him.[505:1]

"Be so good as to read this letter to Dr. Black and to Mr. Ferguson. When I write to one, I suppose myself writing to all my friends: and I also wish to comprehend the Principal in the number. Pray tell him that Mrs. Macauley is settled in Bath, and though her muse seems now to be mute, she is, if not a more illustrious, yet a more fortunate historian than either of us. There is one Dr. Wilson, a man zealous for liberty, who has made her a free and full present of a house of £2000 value, has adopted her daughter by all the rites of Roman jurisprudence, and intends to leave her all his fortune, which is considerable.

"Two ladies of my acquaintance have laid a scheme of bringing Lady Huntingdon and me together, for her or my conversion. I wish I may have spirits to humour this folly."[506:1]

On 10th June, Strahan wrote to Adam Smith, to say that he finds in a letter from Sir John Pringle, giving an account of Hume's health, "that all the good symptoms that attended his first trial of the Bath waters are now vanished. His distemper has returned with its usual violence, so he intends to leave that place and try Buxton."[506:2] He seems not to have attempted this change, but returning straight from Bath, he sent, on the way, invitations to a party of his friends to meet him at dinner. The note addressed to Dr. Blair is as follows:

"Mr. John Hume,[506:3] alias Home, alias The Home, alias the late Lord Conservator, alias the late minister of the gospel at Athelstaneford, has calculated matters so as to arrive infallibly with his friend in St. David's Street, on Wednesday evening. He has asked several of Dr. Blair's friends to dine with him there on Thursday, being the 4th of July, and begs the favour of the Doctor to make one of the number."[507:1]

Thus did this knot of men, united in friendship by the greatness of their talents, and their superiority to all things small and mean, meet for the last time round the social board, to bid, as it were, a farewell to him who had been the chief ornament and distinction of their circle. The eyes of these affectionate friends sedulously and anxiously watched the expiring flame—their pens have recorded the last scenes of its existence, and leave to the ordinary biographer only the task of embodying their statements in deferential silence. Nothing, therefore, remains, but to put together, along with the few remaining letters by Hume himself, the accounts furnished us by those who had the best means of knowing the manner in which he spent the last few days of his life.

"Edinburgh, 6th August, 1776.

"My dear John,—I shall begin with telling you the only piece of good news of the family, which is, that my nephew, in no more than two days that he has staid here, has recovered so surprisingly, that he is scarcely knowable, or rather is perfectly knowable, for he was not so on his first arrival.[508:1] Such are the advantages of youth! His uncle declines, if not with so great rapidity, yet pretty sensibly. Sunday, ill; half of yesterday the same; easy at present; prepared to suffer a little to-morrow; perhaps less the day after. Dr. Black says, I shall not die of a dropsy, as I imagined, but of inanition and weakness. He cannot, however, fix, with any probability, the time, otherwise he would frankly tell me.

"Poor Edmondstoune and I parted to-day, with a plentiful effusion of tears; all those Belzebubians[508:2] have not hearts of iron. I hope you met with every thing well at Foggo, and receive nothing but good news from Buxton. In spite of Dr. Black's caution, I venture to foretel that I shall be yours cordially and sincerely till the month of October next."[508:3]

Next in date is the following affectionate and considerate letter to his nephew.

"Edinburgh, 15th August, 1776.

"Dear Davy,—You need not doubt but your company, as well as your father's, would have been very agreeable to me, especially at present, for the consolation of your company; but I see the immediate inconveniences that attend it. You cannot be well spared from Josey, whose state of health, I am sorry to find, is still somewhat precarious; and there is no immediate call for your being here. For besides that you would but pass a melancholy time with me, howeveection might cover it and relieve it, I am weakening very gradually, and am not threatened with any immediate incident. I shall probably have more warning, in which case I shall not fail to summon you; and I shall never die in satisfaction without embracing you. I doubt not but my name would have procured you friends and credit, in the course of your life, especially if my brother had allowed you to carry it, for who will know it in the present disguise? But as he is totally obstinate on this head, I believe we had better let him alone. I have frequently told him, that it is lucky for him he sees few things in a wrong light, for where he does he is totally incurable. I am very much at my ease to-day. I beg my compliments to all your family. Your affectionate uncle."[509:1]

Of the manner in which he conducted himself when he had come near to the end of his days, Adam Smith tells us:—

His cheerfulness was so great, and his conversation and amusements run so much in their usual strain, that, notwithstanding all bad symptoms, many people could not believe he was dying. "I shall tell your friend, Colonel Edmondstoune," said Dr. Dundas to him one day, "that I left you much better, and in a fair way of recovery." "Doctor," said he, "as I believe you would not choose to tell any thing but the truth, you had better tell him, that I am dying as fast as my enemies, if I have any, could wish, and as easily and cheerfully as my best friends could desire." Colonel Edmondstoune soon afterwards came to see him, and take leave of him; and on his way home, he could not forbear writing him a letter, bidding him once more an eternal adieu, and applying to him, as to a dying man, the beautiful French verses in which the Abbé Chaulieu, in expectation of his own death, laments his approaching separation from his friend, the Marquis de la Fare.[510:1] Mr. Hume's magnanimity and firmness were such, that his most affectionate friends knew that they hazarded nothing in talking or writing to him as to a dying man, and that so far from being hurt by this frankness, he was rather pleased and flattered by it. I happened to come into his room while he was reading this letter, which he had just received, and which he immediately showed me. I told him, that though I was sensible how very much he was weakened, and that appearances were in many respects very bad, yet his cheerfulness was still so great, the spirit of life seemed still to be so very strong in him, that I could not help entertaining some faint hopes. He answered, "Your hopes are groundless. An habitual diarrhœa of more than a year's standing, would be a very bad disease at any age: at my age it is a mortal one. When I lie down in the evening, I feel myself weaker than when I rose in the morning; and when I rise in the morning, weaker than when I lay down in the evening. I am sensible, besides, that some of my vital parts are affected, so that I must soon die." "Well," said I, "if it must be so, you have at least the satisfaction of leaving all your friends, your brother's family in particular, in great prosperity." He said that he felt that satisfaction so sensibly, that when he was reading, a few days before, Lucian's Dialogues of the Dead, among all the excuses which are alleged to Charon for not entering readily into his boat, he could not find one that fitted him; he had no house to finish, he had no daughter to provide for, he had no enemies upon whom he wished to revenge himself. "I could not well imagine," said he, "what excuse I could make to Charon in order to obtain a little delay. I have done every thing of consequence which I ever meant to do; and I could at no time expect to leave my relations and friends in a better situation than that in which I am now likely to leave them. I therefore have all reason to die contented." He then diverted himself with inventing several jocular excuses, which he supposed he might make to Charon, and with imagining the very surly answers which it might suit the character of Charon to return to them. "Upon further consideration," said he, "I thought I might say to him, 'Good Charon, I have been correcting my works for a new edition. Allow me a little time, that I may see how the public receives the alterations.' But Charon would answer, 'When you have seen the effect of these, you will be for making other alterations. There will be no end of such excuses; so, honest friend, please step into the boat.' But I might still urge, 'Have a little patience, good Charon; I have been endeavouring to open the eyes of the public. If I live a few years longer, I may have the satisfaction of seeing the downfal of some of the prevailing systems of superstition.' But Charon would then lose all temper and decency. 'You loitering rogue, that will not happen these many hundred years. Do you fancy I will grant you a lease for so long a term? Get into the boat this instant, you lazy loitering rogue.'"

But, though Mr. Hume always talked of his approaching dissolution with great cheerfulness, he never affected to make any parade of his magnanimity. He never mentioned the subject but when the conversation naturally led to it, and never dwelt longer upon it than the course of the conversation happened to require.[512:1]

How much his mind continued to be occupied with all that it had taken interest in, in the days of his health and enjoyment, the following letter, written five days before his death, will show:—

Hume to the Comtesse de Boufflers.

"Edinburgh, 20th of August, 1776.

"Though I am certainly within a few weeks, dear madam, and, perhaps, within a few days of my own death, I could not forbear being struck with the death of the Prince of Conti—so great a loss in every particular. My reflection carried me immediately to your situation in this melancholy incident. What a difference to you in your whole plan of life! Pray write me some particulars; but in such terms that you need not care, in case of decease, into whose hands your letter may fall.

"My distemper is a diarrhœa, or disorder in my bowels, which has been gradually undermining me these two years; but, within these six months, has been visibly hastening me to my end. I see death approach gradually, without any anxiety or regret. I salute you, with great affection and regard, for the last time."[514:1]

Smith, proceeding with his narrative, says, "He had now become so very weak, that the company of his most intimate friends fatigued him; for his cheerfulness was still so great, his complaisance and social disposition were still so entire, that when any friend was with him, he could not help talking more, and with greater exertion, than suited the weakness of his body. At his own desire, therefore, I agreed to leave Edinburgh, where I was staying, partly upon his account, and returned to my mother's house here, at Kirkaldy, upon condition that he would send for me whenever he wished to see me; the physician who saw him most frequently, Dr. Black, undertaking, in the mean time, to write me, occasionally, an account of the state of his health.

"'Since my last, Mr. Hume has passed his time pretty easily, but is much weaker. He sits up, goes down stairs once a-day, and amuses himself with reading, but seldom sees any body. He finds that even the conversation of his most intimate friends fatigues and oppresses him; and it is happy that he does not need it, for he is quite free from anxiety, impatience, or low spirits, and passes his time very well with the assistance of amusing books.'

"I received, the day after, a letter from Mr. Hume himself, of which the following is an extract.

'Edinburgh, Monday, 26th August, 1776.

'Dear Sir,—Yesterday, about four o'clock, afternoon, Mr. Hume expired. The near approach of his death became evident in the night between Thursday and Friday, when his disease became excessive, and soon weakened him so much that he could no longer rise out of his bed. He continued, to the last, perfectly sensible, and free from much pain or feelings of distress. He never dropped the smallest expression of impatience; but, when he had occasion to speak to the people about him, always did it with affection and tenderness. I thought it improper to write to you to bring you over, especially as I heard that he had dictated a letter to you desiring you not to come. When he became very weak, it cost him an effort to speak; and he died in such a happy composure of mind that nothing could exceed it.'"

The world is fortunately in possession of an account of this event, by another scientific man of no less eminence, the great Dr. Cullen. From a letter which he wrote to Dr. Hunter, on 17th September, the following extracts are made:

You desire an account of Mr. Hume's last days, and I give it you with some pleasure; for, though I could not look upon him in his illness without much concern, yet the tranquillity and pleasantry which he constantly discovered did, even then, give me satisfaction; and, now that the curtain is dropped, allows me indulge the less alloyed reflection. It was truly an example "des grands hommes qui sont morts en plaisantant;"[516:1] and to me, who have been so often shocked with the horrors of the superstitious on such occasions, the reflexion on such a death is truly agreeable. For many weeks before his death, he was very sensible of his gradual decay; and his answer to inquiries after his health was, several times, that he was going as fast as his enemies could wish, and as easily as his friends could desire. He was not, however, without a frequent recurrence of pain and uneasiness; but he passed most part of the day in his drawing-room, admitted the visits of his friends, and with his usual spirit conversed with them upon literature, politics, or whatever else was accidentally started. In conversation he seemed to be perfectly at ease, and to the last abounded with that pleasantry, and those curious and entertaining anecdotes, which ever distinguished him. This, however, I always considered rather as an effort to be agreeable, and he at length acknowledged that it became too much for his strength. For a few days before his death, he became more averse to receive visits; speaking became more and more difficult for him; and, for twelve hours before his death, his speech failed altogether. His senses and judgment did not fail till the last hour of his life. He constantly discovered a strong sensibility to the attention and care of his friends, and, amidst great uneasiness and languor, never betrayed any peevishness or impatience. . . . . .[516:2]

These are a few particulars, which may perhaps appear trifling, but to me no particulars seem trifling that relate to so great a man. It is perhaps from trifles that we can best distinguish the tranquillity and cheerfulness of the philosopher, at a time when the most part of mankind are under disquiet, anxiety, and sometimes even horror. I consider the sacrifice of the cock as a more certain evidence of the tranquillity of Socrates, than his discourse on immortality.[517:1]

The death and burial of so distinguished a fellow citizen, were naturally the objects of much attention among the inhabitants of Edinburgh. On the one hand his unpopular opinions; on the other, the blameless character of his life and his great genius, excited conflicting opinions, and these giving zest to public attention and curiosity, attracted crowds to witness his funeral, and to look with mingled feelings, on the spot where his remains were, by the injunctions of his will, deposited.[517:2]

On the declivity of the Calton Hill there is an old grave-yard, which seventy years ago was in the open country beyond the boundary of the city of Edinburgh, and even at the present day, when it is the centre of a wide circumference of streets and terraces, has an air of solitude, from its elevated site, and the abrupt rocky banks that separate it from the crowded thoroughfares. There, on a conspicuous point of rock, beneath a circular monument built after the simple and solemn fashion of the old Roman tombs, lies the dust of David Hume. Whither the immortal spirit that gave life to it is gone, let no man too presumptuously pronounce; but let us rather contemplate with respectful awe, that unseen essence which the Deity had imbued with so great a power over the intellects of men, and believe that this wide sway over the destinies of the human species had its own wise and beneficent design, and was no produce of malign influences or untoward accidents. Fallacies may be the brilliant insects of a day, but truth is eternal; and when the searcher in philosophy groping amid the darkness of man's imperfect reason, produces falsehoods, they are speedily forgotten; but if he develop great truths, they live to bless his species for ever. There are few who will now deny that mankind have learned many valuable truths of David Hume. The wide influence of his mind over thought and action, during the last hundred years, is expressed in the mere naming of the systems of which he was the author or suggester.

His Metaphysical labours gave birth to two great schools of philosophy. The one rising at his own door, endeavoured by powerful and earnest efforts to reconstruct in a more rational and substantial form the old system which he had sapped—the other in a distant land, where new lights of science had begun to burn, sought to raise mental philosophy from its original elements, purified of the dross and rubbish that had rendered the old materials cumbrous and unsafe, and to endow the whole with fresh life and a new form and structure.[519:1]

In Ethics he was the first to make an Utilitarian morality assume the aspect of a theoretical system, which it was the task of a great successor, aided by subordinate labourers, to apply to the practical operations of mankind, and to spread widely over the earth.

In History he was the first to divert attention from wars, treaties, and successions, to the living progress of the people, in all that increases their civilization and their happiness. The example thus set has been the chief service of the "History of England;" yet, with all the faults of its matter, its purely literary merits have been so great, that, as a classical and popular work, it has hitherto encountered no rival.[519:2]

But his triumphs in Political Economy are those which, in the present day, stand forth with the greatest prominence and lustre. In no long time, a hundred years will have elapsed from the day when Hume told the world, what the legislature of this country is now declaring, that national exclusiveness in trade was as foolish as it was wicked; that no nation could profit by stopping the natural flood of commerce between itself and the rest of the world; that commercial restrictions deprive the nations of the earth "of that free communication and exchange, which the author of the world has intended by giving them soils, climates, and geniuses, so different from each other;" and that, like the healthy circulation of the blood in living bodies, Free Trade is the vital principle by which the nations of the earth are to become united in one harmonious whole.[520:1] Those who, with a reverential eye, have marked the wonders of the animal structure, and discovered beauty, utility, and harmonious purpose, where presumptuous ignorance has found uselessness or deformity; or have seen the lower animals, each working in its own blind ignorance, gregariously constructing a fabric more perfect, on philosophical principles, than human science can create,—have thence drawn vivid pictures of the wisdom and goodness with which the world is ordered. May we not extend this harmony to the social economy of the globe, and say, that the spirit of activity and enterprise, harmonizing with the dispersal of the different bounties of Providence in the distant regions of the globe, are part of the same harmonious system; that the love of commerce and the desire of aggrandisement, which in the eye of a narrow philosophy assume the air of selfish and repulsive passions, represent themselves, when they are left to their legitimate course, as motives implanted in us for the great purposes of securing mutual dependance and kind offices, and their fruits, peace and good-will, throughout the great family of mankind. To be the first to teach that the earth is not doomed to the eternal curse of rivalry and strife, and to open up so wide a prospect of beneficence, may be an atonement for many errors, and in the eye of good taste may justify the brief assumption of conscious superiority, in which the subject of this memoir indulged, when he desired that the inscription on his monument should contain only his name, with the year of his birth and of his death. Leaving it to posterity to add the rest.

[449:1] Among the traditional anecdotes of his habits, one is, that going to sup with Mrs. Cockburn, and not arriving until after the choice of the good things had been consumed, when some effort was made to cater for him, he said, "Trouble yourself very little about what you have, or how it appears; you know I am no epicure, but only a glutton." Mr. Chambers says, (Scottish Jests, p. 171,) that he took down this anecdote from one who was present.

These literary parties at Mrs. Cockburn's, appear to have been frequent and agreeable. A gentleman still living, was present at many of them when a youth, and particularly recollects one occasion when a tipsy relative of that lady chose to lock the door of the room where the walking habiliments of the guests were preserved. A general borrowing of articles of clothing from surrounding neighbours took place, and those which fell to Hume's lot, happened to produce a peculiarly ludicrous effect.

[452:1] He seems, from this and other notices, to have been occasionally absent in his habits; but there is no such collection of practical illustrations of this failing, as we possess in the case of Smith and others. I only remember having heard of one trifling instance, of which I had an account from an eye-witness. Hume had been dining with Dr. Jardine, and there had been much conversation about "internal light." In descending the stair leading from the Doctor's "flat," when he left the party, Hume failed to observe that after so many flights which reached the street door, there was, according to a not uncommon practice, another flight of stairs leading to the cellars. He continued his descent, accordingly, till the very end, where some time afterwards he was found in extreme darkness and perplexity, wondering how it was that he could find no outlet. The circumstance bore rather curiously on some opinions he had been maintaining, and Jardine said, shaking his head, "Oh David! where is your internal light?"

[468:1] William Smellie, the respectable printer of the Magazine, seems to have led an uneasy life, between the quarrels and the dissipation of his editor, of which he has left some picturesque memorials. Having come one night to Smellie's house on magazine business in a very advanced stage of intoxication, Stuart was charitably put to bed. Roused in the middle of the night by an immense outcry from the awakened editor, Smellie rushed to the bedroom in his night clothes. Stuart sitting up in bed and glaring around him, immediately associated the respectable printer's presence with the places in which he was himself accustomed to waken, and said,—"Smellie, I never expected to find you in such a place: put on your clothes, and go back to your wife and family, I shall never say a word about this." A journey of six miles, from Edinburgh to Musselburgh, made by Stuart and some of his companions, in which, by reason of the abundance of good cheer on the way, they occupied several days, seems to have been fruitful in adventures. One of the party falling asleep among the ashes of a steam engine, wakened in the night, and found himself in the presence of a great red furnace, surrounded by dusky figures clanging bolts and chains. Associating the exhibition with the course of life he had been running, and its probable reward, he was heard to exclaim, "Good God, is it come to this at last!"—See Kerr's Memoirs of Smellie .

[472:1] A specimen of the Scots Review , a thin duodecimo pamphlet, is now very rare. Its chief object of attention is "that great necromancer and magician David Hume." It is not inaptly described by the Scots Magazine :—

"It professes to give a prospectus, and a specimen of an intended new review; but the whole object seems to have been to laugh at some individuals obnoxious to the writer, and particularly to ridicule the virulence, and to lower the pretensions of those who had signalized themselves by their attacks upon the philosophical writings of Mr. Hume; a promise is held out, that this arch-infidel is himself to be reviewed in the first place; and next, those authors who have waged a holy war against him; of whom a list is given, with their characters, the delineation of which, in no very favourable colours, appears, as already mentioned, to have exhausted the main object of the piece, though one or two gentle hits are aimed at the historian himself."