1771-1776. Æt. 60-65.
Hume's social character—His conversation—His
disposition—Traditional anecdotes regarding
him—Correspondence—Letter about the Pretender—Gilbert
Stuart's quarrel with Dr. Henry—Commercial State of
Scotland—Letter to his nephew on Republicanism—Smith's
"Wealth of Nations"—Hume's illness—His Will—Smith appointed
Literary Executor—Strahan substituted—His journey to England
with Home—Prospects of Death—Communications with his Friends
and Relations—His Death—General view of his influence on
Thought and Action.
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 Monsr. 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
Parcus deorum cultor et infrequens.
But this does not seem to have been the case, at least in his outward
conduct. We find him, in writing home from France, casually mentioning
his not having seen Elliot's sons "in church;" and on another occasion
making a like allusion, indicative of his having been a pretty regular
attendant at the ambassador's chapel. He is said to have been fond of
Dr. Robertson's preaching, and not averse to that of his colleague and
opponent, John Erskine. A lady, distinguished in literature, remembers
that in a conversation with a respectable tradesman's wife, who had been
a servant to Hume, she said that her master one day asked her very
seriously, why she was never seen in church, where he had provided seats
for all his household. At that time there were very few of the humbler
classes in Edinburgh, who did not belong to the Church of Scotland. The
woman's defence was, that she belonged to a dissenting congregation; and
it was admitted to be quite satisfactory.
Social in his habits, and living the life of a wealthy bachelor, it was
natural that Hume should connect himself with the societies, whether of
a literary or convivial character, which brought the good company of
Edinburgh together. He appears to have been a pretty active member of
the Philosophical Society. In a letter, of which part has already been
printed, and which would probably in strict chronological order belong
to an earlier period, we find him with mild dignity enforcing the
tolerance and philosophical equanimity, that ought to reign wherever men
of different sentiments meet each other in intellectual discussion.
"Tuesday Forenoon.
"Sir,—I am so great a lover of peace, that I am resolved to
drop this matter altogether, and not to insert a syllable in
the Preface, which can have a reference to your Essay. The
truth is, I could take no revenge but such a one as would have
been a great deal too cruel, and much exceeding the offence:
for, though most authors think, that a contemptuous manner of
treating their writings is but slightly revenged by hurting
the personal character and the honour of their antagonists, I
am very far from that opinion. Besides, I am as certain as I
can be of any thing, (and I am not such a sceptic as you may
perhaps imagine,) that your inserting such remarkable
alterations in the printed copy, proceeded entirely from
precipitancy and passion, not from any formed intention of
deceiving the Society. I would not take advantage of such an
incident to throw a slur on a man of merit, whom I esteem,
though I might have reason to complain of him.
"When I am abused by such a fellow as Warburton, whom I
neither know nor care for, I can laugh at him. But if Dr.
Stewart approaches any way towards the same style of writing,
I own it vexes me; because I conclude, that some unguarded
circumstance of my conduct, though contrary to my intention,
had given occasion to it.
"As to your situation with regard to Lord Kames, I am not so
good a judge. I only think that you had so much the better of
the argument, that you ought, upon that account, to have been
more reserved in your expressions. All raillery ought to be
avoided in philosophical argument, both because it is
unphilosophical, and because it cannot but be offensive, let
it be ever so gentle. What, then, must we think with regard to
so many insinuations of irreligion, to which Lord Kames's
paper gave not the least occasion? This spirit of the
inquisitor is, in you, the effect of passion, and what a
cool moment would easily correct. But where it predominates
in the character, what ravages has it committed on reason,
virtue, truth, liberty, and every thing that is valuable among
mankind! I shall now speak a word as to the justness of your
censure with regard to myself after these remarks on the
manner of it. I have no scruple of confessing my mistakes. You
see I have owned that I think Lord Kames is mistaken in his
argument; and I would sooner give up my own cause than my
friend's, if I thought that imputation of any consequence to
a man's character. . . . .[455:1]
"As I am resolved to drop this matter entirely from the
Preface, so I hope to persuade Lord Kames to be entirely
silent with regard to it in our meeting. But in case I should
not prevail, or if any body else start the subject, I think it
better that some of your friends should be there, and be
prepared to mollify the matter. If I durst pretend to advise,
I should think it better you yourself were absent, unless you
bring a greater spirit of composition than you express in your
letter. I am persuaded that whatever a person of Mr. Monro's
authority proposes will be agreed to: though I must beg leave
to differ from his judgment in proposing to alter two pages.
That chiefly removes the offence given to me; but what regards
Lord Kames is so interwoven with the whole discourse, that
there is not now any possibility of altering it. I am, sir,
your most obedient humble servant," &c.
"P. S.—I hope you are very zealous in promoting the sale of
Blacklock's Poems. I will never be reconciled to you unless
you dispose of at least a score of them; and make your friends
Sir John Maxwell and Lord Buchan pay a guinea a piece for
their copy."[455:2]
The Poker Club, occasionally mentioned in these pages, seems to have
had no other direct and specific object but the consumption of claret.
The duty laid on that national wine, by "the English statesman," so
pathetically commemorated by John Home, was a heavy blow and great
discouragement to the club; but it rallied, and returned to its old
esteemed beverage; and, indeed, it is a somewhat curious circumstance,
that the national taste, created by the early intercourse with France
and the consequent cheapness of French wines, still lingers in Scotland,
where claret is much more generally consumed than in England. The club
met in Fortune's tavern every Friday. It was the practice, at each
meeting, to name two to be, what were called, "attendant members;" an
arrangement, probably, designed to form a nucleus round which those
whose attendance was uncertain, but who might drop in occasionally in
the course of the evening, could form themselves; and to prevent any
general desertion of the club, or, what might be, perhaps, more
calamitous, the accident of any individual finding himself, for the
night, its sole and solitary representative. We find Hume duly taking
his turn in these attendances, and keeping the minutes according to
rotation. On the 20th January, 1775, there is this emphatic entry, in
his handwriting, "As Mr. Nairne was one of the attendant members, and
neglected his duty, the club sent him the bill." The last meeting of
the club, attended by Hume, appears to have been that of 8th December,
1775.[457:1]
It does not appear to be necessary that traditional anecdotes, such as
the few we possess of Hume, must either be authenticated, or excluded
from such a work as the present. It seems to entitle them to a place,
that they were current among those who knew his character and habits.
They thus afford all that is expected from such sources—passing fancy
sketches, recognised as likenesses. Like several others that have
appeared in these pages, as mere traditions, the following anecdote,
which is eminently natural and curious, has no farther authentication
than the general belief, in Edinburgh, that it "was like the man."
About the commencement of his last illness, a female member of the
respectable Berean congregation, in Leith, presented herself at his
door, with the information that she had been intrusted with a message to
him from on High; and, becoming very urgent, succeeded in obtaining
admission. "This is a very important matter, madam," said the
philosopher, "we must take it with deliberation;—perhaps you had better
get a little temporal refreshment before you begin. 'Lassie, bring this
good lady a glass of wine.'" While she was preparing for the attack,
Hume entered, good-humouredly, into conversation with her; and,
discovering that her husband was a chandler, announced that he stood
very much in want, at that time, of some temporal lights, and intrusted
his guest with a very large order. This unexpected stroke of business at
once absorbed all the good woman's thoughts; and, forgetting her
important mission, she immediately trotted home to acquaint her husband
with the good news.
There is an anecdote, which has appeared in numerous collections of such
literary scraps, which represents him as having slipped into the boggy
ground at the base of the castle rock, and called to a woman to help him
out. In his unwieldy and infirm state, during his latter years, the
accident is not improbable. The anecdote proceeds to say, that the
female called on had great doubts of the propriety of helping "Hume, the
Deist," out of that slough of despond into which it had pleased
Providence to cast him. "But, my good woman, does not your religion as a
Christian, teach you to do good, even to your enemies?" "That may be,"
said she, "but ye shallna get out o' that, till ye become a Christian
yersell: and repeat the Lord's Prayer and the Belief," a feat which is
said to have been very rapidly performed, much to the worthy catechist's
astonishment.
Some of his witticisms have a tone of sarcastic severity, which he does
not appear to have been disposed to suppress, even when women were the
victims, if it was called forth by affectation or folly. To a celebrated
"fine woman" of his day, who said she was often pestered to tell her
age, and desired his opinion what answer she should give: he is reported
to have said, "Madam, say you are not yet come to years of discretion."
To the same lady, who, when crossing one of the ferries of the Firth of
Forth, during a fresh breeze, was making a loud outcry about danger, he
remarked, with much coolness, that they would probably soon be food for
fishes; "and who," said the frightened belle, probably a little confused
by the horrors of their position, "who will they begin with?" The answer
she received was, "Why, madam, those of them that are gluttons will
begin with me; those that are epicures with your ladyship."
We now resume Hume's correspondence. The letters of the last five years
of his life, which have been preserved, are comparatively few; a
circumstance which may be accounted for from his living, during that
period, among his correspondents. On 28th January, 1772, he writes to
Smith, that he would be glad to receive a visit from him; but that his
house would be rather dull, from his sister having fever. In
continuation he says:—
"I shall not take an excuse from your own state of health;
which I suppose only a subterfuge invented by indolence and
love of solitude. Indeed, my dear Smith, if you continue to
hearken to complaints of this nature, you will cut yourself
out entirely from human society, to the great loss of both
parties.
"P.S.—I have not yet read 'Orlando Inamorato;' but intend
soon to do it. I am now in a course of reading the 'Italian
Historians,' and am confirmed in my former opinion, that that
language has not produced one author who knew how to write
elegant correct prose, though it contains several excellent
poets."[459:1]
In the following letters, we find several details about that remarkable
revulsion in the state of trade in Scotland, which, at the present day,
is chiefly known by the quantity of decisions on points of bankruptcy
law, with which it filled the Reports.
Hume to Adam Smith
"St. Andrew's Square, 27th June, 1772.
"We are here in a very melancholy situation, continual
bankruptcies, universal loss of credit, and endless
suspicions. There are but two standing houses in this
place—Mansfields and the Coutses—for I comprehend not
Cummin, whose dealings were always very narrow. Mansfield has
paid away £40,000 in a few days: but it is apprehended that
neither he nor any of them can hold out till the end of next
week, if no alteration happen. The case is little better in
London. It is thought that Sir George Colebroke must soon
stop; and even the Bank of England is not entirely free from
suspicion. Those of Newcastle, Norwich, and Bristol, are said
to be stopped. The Thistle Bank has been reported to be in the
same condition. The Carron Company is reeling, which is one of
the greatest calamities of the whole, as they gave employment
to near ten thousand people. Do these events any wise affect
your theory, or will it occasion the revisal of any chapters?
"Of all the sufferers, I am the most concerned for the Adams,
particularly John. But their undertakings were so vast, that
nothing could support them. They must dismiss three thousand
workmen, who, comprehending the materials, must have expended
above £100,000 a-year. They have great funds; but if these
must be disposed of in a hurry, and to disadvantage, I am
afraid the remainder will amount to little or nothing.
People's [compa]ssion I see was exhausted for John, in his
last calamity, and every body asks why he incurred any more
hazards. But his friendship for his brothers is an apology;
though I believe he has a projecting turn of his own. To me
the scheme of the Adelphi always appeared so imprudent, that
my wonder is how they could have gone on so long.
"If Sir George Colebroke stop, it will probably disconcert
all the plans of our friends, as it will diminish their
patron's influence; which is a new misfortune.
"On the whole, I believe that the check given to our
exorbitant and ill grounded credit, will prove of advantage in
the long run, as it will reduce people to more solid, and less
sanguine projects, and, at the same time, introduce frugality
among the merchants and manufacturers: what say you? Here is
food for your speculation."[461:1]
Hume to Adam Smith.
"St. Andrew's Square, 23d Nov. 1772.
"Dear Smith,—I should agree to your reasoning, if I could
trust your resolution. Come hither for some weeks about
Christmas; dissipate yourself a little; return to Kirkcaldy;
finish your work before autumn: go to London; print it; return
and settle in this town, which suits your studious independent
turn, even better than London. Execute this plan faithfully,
and I forgive you.
"Ferguson has returned, fat and fair, and in good humour,
notwithstanding his disappointment, which I am glad
of."[461:2]
In 1772, Macpherson published a quarto volume, called "An Introduction
to the History of Great Britain and Ireland," of which Pinkerton,
indignant at the Celtic spirit it displayed, said, "The empty vanity,
shallow reading, vague assertion, and etymological nonsense, in this
production, are truly risible." In a letter to Colonel Dow,[461:3] we
find Hume criticising this book in a rather less emphatic manner.
"My compliments to Ossian. He has given us a work last winter, which
contains a great deal of genius and good writing; but I cannot assent to
his system. I must still adhere to the common opinion regarding our
origin, or rather your origin; for we are all plainly Danes or Saxons in
the low countries. But these subjects I reserve to a discussion over an
evening fire on your return. I charge you not to think of settling in
London, till you have first seen our New Town, which exceeds any thing
you have seen in any part of the world."[462:1]
With the following letter, many readers may perhaps be familiar, but to
those who have not already seen it, the curious historical incident it
details, will give it much interest.
Hume to Sir John Pringle.
St. Andrew's Square, Edinburgh,
Feb. 10, 1773.
My dear Sir,—That the present Pretender was in London, in the
year 1753, I know with the greatest certainty; because I had
it from Lord Marischal, who said, it consisted with his
certain knowledge. Two or three days after his lordship gave
me this information, he told me, that the evening before, he
had learned several curious particulars from a lady, (who I
imagined to be Lady Primrose,) though my lord refused to name
her. The Pretender came to her house in the evening, without
giving her any preparatory information; and entered the room
when she had a pretty large company with her, and was herself
playing at cards. He was announced by the servant under
another name. She thought the cards would have dropped from
her hands on seeing him. But she had presence enough of mind,
to call him by the name he assumed; to ask him when he came to
England, and how long he intended to stay there. After he and
all the company went away, the servants remarked how
wonderfully like the strange gentleman was to the prince's
picture, which hung on the chimney-piece, in the very room in
which he entered. My lord added, (I think from the authority
of the same lady,) that he used so little precaution, that he
went abroad openly in day-light, in his own dress; only laying
aside his blue riband and star; walked once through St.
James's, and took a turn in the Mall.
About five years ago, I told this story to Lord Holderness,
who was secretary of state in the year 1753; and I added, that
I supposed this piece of intelligence had at that time escaped
his lordship. "By no means," said he, "and who do you think
first told it me? it was the king himself, who subjoined, 'And
what do you think, my lord, I should do with him?'" Lord
Holderness owned that he was puzzled how to reply; for if he
declared his real sentiments, they might savour of
indifference to the royal family. The king perceived his
embarrassment, and extricated him from it, by adding, "My
lord, I shall just do nothing at all; and when he is tired of
England, he will go abroad again." I think this story, for the
honour of the late king, ought to be more generally known.
But what will surprise you more, Lord Marischal, a few days
after the coronation of the present king, told me, that he
believed the young Pretender was at that time in London; or at
least had been so very lately, and had come over to see the
show of the coronation, and had actually seen it. I asked my
lord the reason for this strange fact. "Why," says he, "a
gentleman told me so that saw him there; and that he even
spoke to him, and whispered in his ears these words: 'Your
royal highness is the last of all mortals whom I should expect
to see here.'—'It was curiosity that led me,' said the other;
'but I assure you,' added he, 'that the person who is the
object of all this pomp and magnificence is the man I envy the
least.'" You see this story is so near traced from the
fountain head, as to wear a great face of probability. Query,
What if the Pretender had taken up Dymock's gauntlet? I find
that the Pretender's visit in England, in the year 1753, was
known to all the Jacobites; and some of them have assured me,
that he took the opportunity of formally renouncing the Roman
Catholic religion, under his own name of Charles Stuart, in
the new church in the Strand; and that this is the reason of
the bad treatment he met with at the court of Rome. I own that
I am a sceptic with regard to the last particulars.
Lord Marischal had a very bad opinion of this unfortunate
prince; and thought there was no vice so mean or atrocious of
which he was not capable; of which he gave me several
instances. My lord, though a man of great honour, may be
thought a discontented courtier; but what quite confounded me
in the idea of that prince, was a conversation I had with
Helvétius at Paris, which, I believe, I have told you. In case
I have not, I shall mention a few particulars. That gentleman
told me, that he had no acquaintance with the Pretender; but,
some time after that prince was chased out of France, "a
letter," said he, "was brought me from him, in which he told
me that the necessity of his affairs obliged him to be at
Paris; and, as he knew me, by character, to be a man of the
greatest probity and honour in France, he would trust himself
to me, if I would promise to conceal and protect him. I own,"
added Helvétius to me, "although I knew the danger to be
greater of harbouring him at Paris than at London; and
although I thought the family of Hanover not only the lawful
sovereigns in England, but the only lawful sovereigns in
Europe, as having the full and free consent of the people; yet
was I such a dupe to his flattery, that I invited him to my
house; concealed him there, going and coming, near two years;
had all his correspondence pass through my hands; met with his
partisans upon Pont Neuf; and found, at last, that I had
incurred all this danger and trouble for the most unworthy of
all mortals; insomuch that I have been assured, when he went
down to Nantz, to embark on his expedition to Scotland, he
took fright and refused to go on board; and his attendants,
thinking the matter gone too far, and that they would be
affronted for his cowardice, carried him, in the night time,
into the ship, pieds et mains liés." I asked him, if he meant
literally? "Yes," said he, "literally. They tied him and
carried him by main force." What think you now of this hero
and conqueror?
Both Lord Marischal and Helvétius agree, that with all this
strange character, he was no bigot; but rather had learned,
from the philosophers at Paris, to affect a contempt of all
religion. You must know that both these persons thought they
were ascribing to him an excellent quality. Indeed, both of
them used to laugh at me for my narrow way of thinking in
these particulars.[465:1] However, my dear Sir John, I hope
you will do me the justice to acquit me.
I doubt not but these circumstances will appear curious to
Lord Hardwicke, to whom you will please to present my
respects. I suppose his lordship will think this unaccountable
mixture of temerity and timidity, in the same character, not a
little singular. I am yours very sincerely.[465:2]
If there should be any doubts of the genuineness of this letter, from
its having first appeared, unauthenticated, in a periodical work, they
will be removed by the perusal of the following answer by Sir John
Pringle, printed from the original manuscript.
Sir John Pringle to Hume.
London, 5th November, 1773.
Dear Sir,—I was much obliged to you for your letter of the
10th ult., as it furnished me with sufficient means for
maintaining my credit with Lord Hardwicke, a person I have not
the honour to be well known to; and I had the more occasion
for such a testimony as yours, as the other earl, mentioned in
your letter, has thought proper, (I presume since he has once
more become a courtier,) to deny his knowing any thing of the
story, when one of the company, (where I told the anecdote to
Lord Hardwicke,) inquired of him about it.
Lord Hardwicke, not being in town when yours came to hand, I
charged his intimate friend, Mr. Wray, who was going to visit
him, with it. Yesterday, that gentleman returned, and, with
the letter, sent me a line, expressing his lordship's great
satisfaction in the communication; and with many thanks to us
both for it. I understand he is very curious in picking up
such historical facts; and, if so, he certainly never met with
any thing of that kind more suited to his genius. The most
extraordinary circumstance is, that of the pied et poing
liés; and yet your authority seems to be unexceptionable.
What could be expected from an adventurer whom they had been
obliged to treat in that humiliating manner? and whose
timidity, they must believe, was every now and then to recur,
to affront those that set him upon the enterprise? I know that
our people were at great pains to decry his courage, after
the battle of Culloden; but that I considered always as done
upon a political, rather than an historical principle. I had
good evidence for believing that, at Derby, he was, of the
council of war, the person who stood longest out against the
motion for returning, and not advancing to London. Again, he
was for standing at the Spey; and, lastly, he did not retire
from Culloden till his whole band was put to flight. It is
true he never advanced nearer than the corps de réserve; but
which corresponded to our second line, in which the Duke of
Cumberland placed himself. I may add, that both of us have
been informed, that he betrayed no unmanly concern, when he
skulked so long with his female heroine; and then, surely, he
was daily in the greatest danger of his life; had he been
taken he would have met with no quarter. But, after all, these
testimonies, in favour of his courage, must yield to such
proofs as you bring to the contrary.[466:1]
Hume to Adam Smith.
"St. Andrew's Square, 24th Feb., 1773.
"Dear Smith,—There are two late publications here which I
advise you to commission. The first is Andrew Stuart's Letters
to Lord Mansfield, which they say have met with vast success
in London. Andrew has eased his own mind, and no bad effects
are to follow. Lord Mansfield is determined, absolutely, to
neglect them. The other is Lord Monboddo's treatise on the
Origin and Progress of Language, which is only part of a
larger work. It contains all the absurdity and malignity which
I expected; but is writ with more ingenuity and in a better
style than I looked for."[467:1]
"St. Andrew's Square, 10th April, 1773.
"To-day news arrived in town, that the Ayr Bank had shut up,
and, as many people think, for ever. I hear that the Duke of
Buccleuch is on the road. The country will be in prodigious
distress for money this term. Sir G. Colebroke's bankruptcy is
thought to be the immediate cause of this event.
"Have you seen Macpherson's Homer? It is hard to tell whether
the attempt or the execution be worse. I hear he is employed
by the booksellers to continue my History. But, in my opinion,
of all men of parts, he has the most anti-historical head in
the universe.
"Have you seen Sir John Dalrymple? It is strange what a rage
is against him, on account of the most commendable action in
his life. His collection[467:2] is curious; but introduces no
new light into the civil, whatever it may into the
biographical and anecdotical history of the times.
"Have you seen 'Alonzo?' Very slovenly versification, some
pathetic, but too much resembling 'Douglas.'"[467:3]
We have found Gilbert Stuart deferentially courting Hume's notice of his
earlier literary efforts. A few years of popularity as an author, and
the command of a periodical work, had in the meantime changed the man's
character, by developing all its arrogance, jealousy, conceit, and
vindictiveness. He was one of those who indulge in the comfortable
consciousness, that any comparison between their own genius and that of
any other given person is supremely ludicrous; and as some one said of
La Harpe, it might have proved a good speculation to buy him at what he
was worth, and sell him at his own estimate of his value. Sick of the
praises he heard bestowed on Robertson and the other eminent historians
of his age, he thought it his duty to show the world how the lamp of
such industrious drudges would grow pale before the lustre of true
genius; and thus he favoured the public with some historical efforts, in
which the curious reader of the present day, who takes them from
forgotten shelves, is somewhat surprised to find how effectually
well-turned periods, and a certain audacity of opinion, keep out of view
the meagreness of the author's inquiries.
In 1773, Stuart began to edit the Edinburgh Magazine and Review .
Periodical literature was the proper sphere for exhibiting his powers;
which consisted in the ready acquisition of a superficial view of any
subject, and a rapid, yet elegant style; occasionally magniloquent, and
at other times descriptive or sarcastic. No other periodical work of
that day equalled the Edinburgh Magazine and Review , in genius and
originality. But the editor made it the vehicle of his tyrannical and
vindictive spirit; and the purse and person of the proprietor—it might
almost be said the peace of society, were endangered by so formidable a
weapon remaining in such hands.[468:1]
At this time, the Rev. Robert Henry was publishing his valuable History
of Britain, volume by volume. Stuart had vowed that he would crush this
work; and the critical columns he concentrated against it, do great
credit to his ability as a tactician. Hume was promised the privilege of
reviewing the book in the Magazine, and probably Stuart thought that
to arm him against an interloper in his own province was excellent
policy; but when the article was written, and put in proof, it was found
not adapted to the editor's purpose. We find him thus writing to a
confederate:
David Hume wants to review Henry; but that task is so
precious, that I will undertake it myself. Moses, were he to
ask it as a favour, should not have it: yea, not even the man
after God's own heart. I wish I could transport myself to
London, to review him for the Monthly : a fire there and in
the Critical , would perfectly annihilate him. Could you do
nothing in the latter? To the former I suppose David Hume has
transcribed the criticism he intended for us. It is precious
and would divert you. I keep a proof of it in my cabinet
for the amusement of friends. This great philosopher begins to
dote.[470:1]
A review of Henry's work did appear in The Monthly Review , but from
a very different pen. The proof, however, which gave Stuart so much
amusement, has fortunately been preserved. After giving a favourable
analysis of Henry's second volume, it concludes with the following
sentences, in many respects remarkable.
The reader will scarcely find in our language, except in the
works of the celebrated Dr. Robertson, any performance that
unites together so perfectly the great points of entertainment
and instruction. It is happy for the inhabitants of this
metropolis, which has naturally a great influence on the
country, that the same persons who can make such a figure in
profane learning, are intrusted with the guidance of the
people in their spiritual concerns, which are of such
superior, and indeed of unspeakable importance. These
illustrious examples, if any thing, must make the infidel
abashed of his vain cavils, and put a stop to that torrent of
vice, profaneness, and immorality, by which the age is so
unhappily distinguished.
This city can justly boast of other signal characters of the
same kind, whom learning and piety, taste and devotion,
philosophy and faith, joined to the severest morals and most
irreproachable conduct, concur to embellish. One in
particular, with the same hand by which he turns over the
sublime pages of Homer and Virgil, Demosthenes and Cicero, is
not ashamed to open with reverence the sacred volumes; and
with the same voice by which, from the pulpit, he strikes vice
with consternation, he deigns to dictate to his pupils the
most useful lessons of rhetoric, poetry, and polite
literature.[470:2]
Hume was an early friend of Benjamin Franklin, whom he was instrumental
in introducing to his Parisian friends.[471:1] The celebrated
publication of the papers revealing the policy of the ascendency party,
and the scene at the council board, of which Franklin so deeply
cherished the memory, are thus alluded to in a letter to Smith, of 13th
February, 1774:—
"Pray, what strange accounts are these we hear of Franklin's conduct? I
am very slow in believing that he has been guilty in the extreme degree
that is pretended; though I always knew him to be a very factious man,
and faction, next to fanaticism, is of all passions the most destructive
of morality. How is it supposed he got possession of these letters? I
hear that Wedderburn's treatment of him before the council was most
cruel, without being in the least blameable. What a pity!"[471:2]
The following, among the very few letters which Hume appears to have
written at this period of his life, is addressed to John Home.
"St. Andrew's Square, 4th June, 1774.
"Dear John,—The enclosed came to hand to-day, and, as I take
it to be directed to you, I have sent it you. If on opening it
you find it otherwise, you may return it to me, that I may
find the true owner.
"You have seen, no doubt, the specimen of a Scotch
review.[472:1] My first conjecture was that Carlyle was the
author; but Dr. Blair has convinced me that it is much more
probably the production of your spiritual guide, Tom
Hepburn;[472:2] but, whoever be the father, the child has a
great deal of salt, and spirit, and humour. I wish he would
continue, though at the hazard of my getting a rap over the
knuckles from time to time; for I see in this hero the spirit
of a Drawcansir, who spares neither friend nor foe. I think I
can reckon about twenty people, not including the king, whom
he has attacked in this short performance. I hope all his
spleen is not exhausted. I should desire my compliments to
him, were I not afraid that he would interpret the civility as
paying black mail to him. I am, dear John, yours
sincerely."[472:3]
The following appears to be the earliest letter in which Hume expresses
himself conscious of some unpleasant feelings, systematic of a decay of
the physical functions.
Hume to Colonel Edmondstoune.
"Edinburgh, 23d March, 1775.
"Caro Giuseppe,—No request can be more obliging than yours;
and no party could have been proposed to any place, or with
any company, more agreeable to me. But you remember what a
plague I was to every body and to myself on my last journey;
and you may recollect that I made a vow, in the bitterness of
my distress, never more to leave my own house, nor lie out of
my own bed. This vow I have religiously kept, except two or
three days last autumn, when I went to my brother's; and
though I could scarcely there esteem myself from home, I
resolved never more to pay them a visit. You have not a bed
cool enough for me, which proceeds not from any distemper or
disorder, but from a peculiarity of constitution, that has
been gradually increasing on me these last twelve years. I am
in very good health: but let me tell you, that you express
yourself strangely when you say I have been complaining. How
could you imagine that I could ever complain, even though
fractus illabatur orbis? I beseech you, know better the
people to whom you speak, and the force of the terms you make
use of. Miss Keiths desired me to tell you, that some time ago
they had a letter from Sir Basil, by which they learn that
your request with regard to Maillet's friend, is complied
with.
"My compliments to Mrs. Edmondstoune; embrace Jean Jacques in
my name. Dear Guidelianus, I am ever yours."[473:1]
Colonel Edmondstoune's answer to these excuses is not a little curious.
Dear obstinate David,
Pravum et tenacem propositi virum
Non civium ardor recta jubentium
Non vultus instantis Baronnæ
Mente quatit stolida.
Will nothing move you, you obdurate philosopher? Your reasons
are not worth a straw; and I'll prosecute you for scandalizing
my house. The room next to your last is as cool as any room
ought to be. It looks to the north, and you was put into a
south room, merely because it was thought that the sun's
vivifying ray would be of use to a man that had been worn out
and so much epuisé in France. Besides, you scrub, have I not
seen you basking for hours together in the sun, contemplating
Shellie, and burning with envy at his prowess? and I heard
nothing about your being heated till we came to Killin, and
that was Crichen's doing, to season you for still a hotter
place.[474:1]
Hume to his Nephew.[474:2]
"St. Andrew's Square, 30th August, 1775.
"Dear Davy,—Your letter gave me satisfaction, and I approve
very much of your course of study. But I think you are
unreasonably diffident of yourself with regard to the copia
verborum: you are not wanting in that particular
[consider]ing you as a beginner; and the course you take will
tend very much to [produce] greater facility as well as
correctness of expression. Stylus est optimus [magis]ter
eloquentiæ. These, if not the words, are the sense of
Quinctilian, for I cite from memory. You know that the Roman
stylus was the same as the pen.
"I had a letter to-day from Mr. Millar,[474:3] who tells me
that he expects to see you on the first Monday of November.
"I do not go to Inverara as soon as I proposed: it will be
next week before I set out. I think I am the better for
jaunting; though in the main I should like better to stay at
home.
"My compliments to your mother; I am glad she has heard from
Josey; but I wonder what has detained him so long at Paris.
"I fancy you and Jock are very happy at present in your field
sports; and your father will not be displeased to see the
favourable progress of the harvest. I am, dear Davy, your
affectionate uncle."[475:1]
Hume to John Home.
St. Andrew's Square, Sept. 20th, 1775.
Dear John,—Of all the vices of language, the least excusable
is the want of perspicuity; for, as words were instituted by
men, merely for conveying their ideas to each other, the
employing of words without meaning is a palpable abuse, which
departs from the very original purpose and intention of
language. It is also to be observed, that any ambiguity in
expression is next to the having no meaning at all; and is
indeed a species of it; for while the hearer or reader is
perplexed between different meanings, he can assign no
determinate idea to the speaker or writer; and may, on that
account, say with Ovid, "Inopem me copia fecit." For this
reason, all eminent rhetoricians and grammarians, both ancient
and modern, have insisted on perspicuity of language as an
essential quality; without which, all ornaments of diction are
vain and fruitless. Quinctilian carries the matter so far, as
to condemn this expression, vidi hominem librum legentem;
because, says he, legentem may construe as well with librum
as hominem; though one would think that the sense were here
sufficient to prevent all ambiguity. In conformity to this
way of thinking, Vaugelas, the first great grammarian of
France, will not permit that any one have recourse to the
sense, in order to explain the meaning of the words; because,
says he, it is the business of the words to explain the
meaning of the sense—not of the sense to give a determinate
meaning to the words; and this practice is reversing the order
of nature; like the custom of the Romans (he might have added
the Greeks,) in their Saturnalia, who made the slaves the
masters; for you may learn from Lucian that the Greeks
practised the same frolic during the festival of Saturn, whom
they called Χρονος.
Now, to apply, and to come to the use of this principle: I
must observe to you, that your last letter, besides a
continued want of distinctness in the form of the literal
characters, has plainly transgressed the essential rule
above-mentioned of grammar and rhetoric. You say that Coutts
has complained to you of not hearing from me; had you said
either James or Thomas, I could have understood your meaning.
About two months ago, I heard that James complained of me in
this respect; and I wrote to him, though then abroad, making
an apology for my being one of the subscribers of a paper
which gave him some offence. I was afraid he had not received
mine. The letter of Thomas, I conceived to be only a circular
letter, informing me of a change in the firm of the house: and
having answered it a few days ago, by giving him some
directions about disposing of my money, which proved that I
intended to remain a customer to the shop; it happens,
therefore, luckily, that I had obviated all objections to my
conduct on both sides.
In turning over my papers, I find a manuscript journal of the
last rebellion, which is at your service. I hope Mrs. Home is
better, and will be able to execute her journey. Are you to be
in town soon? Yours without ambiguity, circumlocution, or
mental reservation.[476:1]
Hume, though we have found him censuring the conduct of Franklin, was
opposed to any attempt to coerce America. "I always thought," says Sir
John Pringle, when writing to him, "you were in the wrong, when you
supposed these colonies wanted only a pretext to shake off their
subjection."[477:1] This subjection he seems to have thought they were
entitled to throw off; for he was far more tolerant of the sway of
individuals over numbers, which he looked upon as the means of
preserving order and civilization, than of the predominance of one
territory over another, which he looked upon as subjugation.
Unfortunately, few of his opinions on this subject can be better
ascertained than by the reflex light of the letters addressed to him, in
answer to his remarks. With Strahan, the eminent printer, he carried on
an extensive correspondence on political matters, of which the letters
on his own side have unfortunately been lost.[477:2] The sentiments
which Hume had expressed on the American war, are thus described, by
contrast, in the words of that member of Parliament, to whom Franklin
addressed his celebrated letter of defiance.
William Strahan to Hume.
I differ from you toto cœlo with regard to America. I am
entirely for coercive methods with those obstinate madmen; and
why should we despair of success? Why should we suffer the
empire to be so dismembered, without the utmost exertions on
our part? I see nothing so very formidable in this business,
if we become a little more unanimous, and could stop the
mouths of domestic traitors, from whence the evil originated.
Not that I wish to enslave the colonists, or to make them one
jot less happy than ourselves; but I am for keeping them
subordinate to the British legislature; and their trade, in a
reasonable degree, subservient to the interest of the mother
country; an advantage she well deserves; but which she must
inevitably lose, if they are emancipated, as you propose. I am
really surprised you are of a different opinion. Very true,
things look oddly at present; and the dispute hath, hitherto,
been very ill managed; but so we always do at the commencement
of every war. So we did, most remarkably, in the last. It is
perhaps owing to the nature of our government, which permits
not of those sudden and decisive exertions frequently made by
arbitrary princes. But, so soon as the British lion is roused,
we never fail to fetch up our lee-way, as the sailors say. And
so I hope you will find it in this important case.[478:1]
The following letter, which is not, however, written in a spirit of
entire earnestness or sobriety, has some reference to his views on the
American question.
Hume to Baron Mure.
"St. David's Street, Oct. 27th, 1775.
"Oh! Dear Baron,—You have thrown me into agonies, and almost
into convulsions, by your request. You ask what seems
reasonable,—what seems a mere trifle; yet am I so unfit for
it, that it is almost impossible for me to comply. You are
much fitter yourself. That address, by which you gained
immortal honour, was done altogether without my knowledge; I
mean that after the suppression of the late rebellion. Here is
Lord Home teazing me for an address from the Merse; and I have
constantly refused him. Besides, I am an American in my
principles, and wish we would let them alone to govern or
misgovern themselves, as they think proper: the affair is of
no consequence, or of little consequence, to us. If the
county of Renfrew think it indispensably necessary for them
to interpose in public matters, I wish they would advise the
king, first to punish those insolent rascals in London and
Middlesex, who daily insult him and the whole legislature,
before he thinks of America. Ask him, how he can expect that a
form of government will maintain an authority at three
thousand miles' distance, when it cannot make itself be
respected, or even be treated with common decency, at home.
Tell him, that Lord North, though, in appearance, a worthy
gentleman, has not a head for these great operations; and
that, if fifty thousand men, and twenty millions of money,
were intrusted to such a lukewarm coward as Gage, they never
could produce any effect. These are objects worthy of the
respectable county of Renfrew: not mauling the poor infatuated
Americans in the other hemisphere."[479:1]
It has already been said, that Hume appears to have suspected that his
nephew, David, was imbibing republican principles. It is well worthy of
remark, that he does not appear to have considered the training of his
young nephews, in political opinions different from his own, as at all
to be deprecated; and David, to whom the following letter is addressed,
was boarded with Professor Millar, afterwards author of the "Historical
View of the English Government," who had even then shown himself as one
of the most powerful antagonists of Hume's constitutional doctrines. It
must be regretted that the letter is much mutilated; but enough of it is
preserved to show how lightly Hume's political opinions hung on him—how
little they possessed the character of a creed—how tolerant he was of
any system of politics which bore the air of philosophy, and how
curiously he could let his reason vibrate between opinions of the most
opposite character in practical politics.
Hume to his Nephew.
"Edinburgh, 8th December, 1775.
"Dear Davy,—All your letters, both to me and to your father,
have [given] great satisfaction, particularly your last; and,
in return, I must give you [the] satisfaction of telling you,
that Mr. Millar is very well pleased with you, [ ] no less
than you with him. He complains only of one thing, which [is
not the] usual complaint of tutors against their pupils; to
wit, that he is afraid you [apply too] close, and may hurt
your health by too assiduous study. I should not men[tion
this] if I had the least apprehension that a hint of this
nature would m[ake you] relax too much. But I cannot forbear
saying, that every day, fair or foul, [you] ought to use some
exercise. Relaxation from [for?] amusement, you may use, [or
not,] as you fancy; but that, for health, is absolutely
necessary. When I was [of your] age, I was inclined to give in
to excesses of the same kind; and I remember [an anecdote]
told me by a friend, the present Lord Pitfour. A man was
riding, with [great] violence, and running his horse quite out
of wind. He stopt a moment to [ask when] he might reach a
particular place. In two hours, replied the countryman, [if
you] will go slower; in four if you be in such a hurry. Bad
health, be[sides other] inconveniencies, is the greatest
interrupter to study in the world.
"I cannot but agree with Mr. Millar, that the republican form
of government is by far the best. The ancient republics were
somewhat ferocious and torn [ ] by bloody factions; but
they were still much preferable to the monarchies or
[aristocracies] which seem to have been quite intolerable.
Modern manners have corrected this abuse; and all the
republics in Europe, without exception, are so well governed
that one is at a loss to which we should give the preference.
But what is this general subject of speculation to our
purpose? For, besides that an established government [ ]
without the most criminal imputation, be disjointed from any
speculation, [ ] is only fitted for a small state; and any
attempt towards it can, in our [ ] produce only anarchy,
which is the immediate forerunner of despotism [ ] tell us
what is that form of a republic which we must aspire to? Or
[ ]stion be afterwards decided by the sword. [One] great
advantage of a commonwealth over our mixed monarchy, is, that
it [would consid]erably abridge our liberty; which is growing
to such an extreme as to be incom[patible wi]th all. Such
fools are they who perpetually cry out liberty, [and think to]
augment it by shaking off the monarchy.
"I have not heard from Josey for some time, which, you may
believe, has produced [ ] reflections in some of your
friends. But to show you that you are not forgotten [ ] I
showed Mr. Millar's letter to your mother. I am afraid, said
she, that [ ] some symptoms of a consumption in poor Davy.
"[I a]m far from thinking Mr. Millar's demands in point of
money unreas[onable.] On the contrary, I believe that I never
laid out money to better purpose.
"[Ha]rrington is an author of genius, but chimerical. No laws,
however rigorous, [would ma]ke his Agrarian practicable. And
as the people have only a negative, the [ ] would
perpetually gain ground upon them. You remember that
Montesquieu says, that Harrington establishing his "Oceana" in
opposition to the English constitution, is like the blind men
who built Chalcedon on the opposite [ ] to the seat of
Byzantium. I ask your pardon for not writing to you [sooner,]
but beg the continuance of your correspondence. My compliments
to [Mr. Millar,] to whom I owe a letter. I am, your
affectionate uncle."[482:1]
Hume to John Home.
"Edinburgh, 8th February, 1776.
"Dear Tyrtaeus,—It is a remark of Dr. Swift's, that no man in
London ever complained of his being neglected by his friends
in the country. Your complaint of me is the more flattering.
"Two posts ago, I received, under a frank of General Fraser's,
a pamphlet, entitled A letter from an officer retired . It is
a very good pamphlet; and I conjecture you to be the author.
Sallust makes it a question, whether the writer or the
performer of good things has the preference? and he ascribes
the greater praise to the latter. It is happy for you, that
you may rest your fame on either. I here allude to what you
have done for Ferguson.
"But, pray, why do you say, that the post of Boston is like
the camp of Pirna? I fancy our troops can be withdrawn thence
without any difficulty.
"I make no doubt, since you sound the trumpet for war against
the Americans, that you have a plan ready for governing them,
after they are subdued: but you will not subdue them; unless
they break in pieces among themselves—an event very probable.
It is a wonder it has not happened sooner. But no man can
foretell how far these frenzies of the people may be carried.
Yours," &c.[483:1]
The following letter exhibits a feeling of impatience for the appearance
of the long promised "Wealth of Nations." It shows, in discussing some
questions in political economy, that, with his usual sagacity, Hume
predicted that the loss of British supremacy over America, would not
have that dire effect on our commercial prosperity, which had been
anticipated.
Hume to Adam Smith.
"Edinburgh, 8th Feb. 1776.
"Dear Smith,—I am as lazy a correspondent as you, yet my
anxiety about you makes me write. By all accounts your book
has been printed long ago: yet it has never yet been so much
as advertised. What is the reason? If you wait till the fate
of America be decided, you may wait long.
"By all accounts, you intend to settle with us this spring:
yet we hear no more of it: What is the reason? Your chamber in
my house is always unoccupied. I am always at home. I expect
you to land here.
"I have been, am, and shall be probably in an indifferent
state of health. I weighed myself t' other day, and find I
have fallen five complete stones. If you delay much longer I
shall probably disappear altogether.
"The Duke of Buccleuch tells me that you are very zealous in
American affairs. My notion is that the matter is not so
important as is commonly imagined. If I be mistaken, I shall
probably correct my error when I see you, or read you. Our
navigation and general commerce may suffer more than our
manufactures. Should London fall as much in its size as I have
done, it will be the better. It is nothing but a hulk of bad
and unclean humours. Yours," &c.[484:1]
It is not perhaps uncharitable to suppose, that the following eulogium
would have been more warm, had the person it was addressed to not been
one of "the barbarians who inhabit the banks of the Thames."
Hume to Gibbon.
Edinburgh, 18th March, 1776.
Dear Sir,—As I ran through your volume of history with a
great deal of avidity and impatience, I cannot forbear
discovering somewhat of the same impatience in returning you
thanks for your agreeable present, and expressing the
satisfaction which the performance has given me. Whether I
consider the dignity of your style, the depth of your matter,
or the extensiveness of your learning, I must regard the work
as equally the object of esteem; and I own, that if I had not
previously had the happiness of your personal acquaintance,
such a performance, from an Englishman in our age, would have
given me some surprise. You may smile at this sentiment; but
as it seems to me that your countrymen, for almost a whole
generation, have given themselves up to barbarous and absurd
faction, and have totally neglected all polite letters, I no
longer expected any valuable production ever to come from
them. I know it will give you pleasure (as it did me,) to find
that all the men of letters in this place concur in their
admiration of your work, and in their anxious desire of your
continuing it.
When I heard of your undertaking, (which was some time ago,) I
own I was a little curious to see how you would extricate
yourself from the subject of your two last chapters. I think
you have observed a very prudent temperament; but it was
impossible to treat the subject so as not to give grounds of
suspicion against you, and you may expect that a clamour will
arise. This, if any thing, will retard your success with the
public; for in every other respect your work is calculated to
be popular. But, among many other marks of decline, the
prevalence of superstition in England, prognosticates the fall
of philosophy and decay of taste; and though nobody be more
capable than you to revive them, you will probably find a
struggle in your first advances.
I see you entertain a great doubt with regard to the
authenticity of the poems of Ossian. You are certainly right
in so doing. It is, indeed, strange, that any men of sense
could have imagined it possible, that above twenty thousand
verses, along with numberless historical facts, could have
been preserved by oral tradition during fifty generations, by
the rudest, perhaps, of all European nations; the most
necessitous, the most turbulent, and the most unsettled. Where
a supposition is so contrary to common sense, any positive
evidence of it ought never to be regarded. Men run with great
avidity to give their evidence in favour of what flatters
their passions, and their national prejudices. You are,
therefore, over and above indulgent to us in speaking of the
matter with hesitation.
I must inform you, that we are all very anxious to hear that
you have fully collected the materials for your second volume,
and that you are even considerably advanced in the composition
of it. I speak this more in the name of my friends than in my
own; as I cannot expect to live so long as to see the
publication of it. Your ensuing volume will be more delicate
than the preceding, but I trust in your prudence for
extricating you from the difficulties; and, in all events, you
have courage to despise the clamour of bigots. I am, with
regard, &c.[485:1]
At length appeared the long looked for work, in which the parent of the
first elucidations of political economy was to see his own offspring
eclipsed; and to see it with pride. One must be familiar with the
unenvious friendship which Hume ever bestowed, on the fellow countrymen
who joined him in the noble path of philosophical inquiry, to appreciate
the genuine satisfaction with which he thus hailed the appearance of
"The Wealth of Nations."
Hume to Adam Smith.
"Edinburgh, 1st April, 1776.
"Euge! Belle! Dear Mr. Smith,—I am much pleased with your
performance; and the perusal of it has taken me from a state
of great anxiety. It was a work of so much expectation, by
yourself, by your friends, and by the public, that I trembled
for its appearance, but am now much relieved. Not but that the
reading of it necessarily requires so much attention, and the
public is disposed to give so little, that I shall still doubt
for some time of its being at first very popular. But it has
depth, and solidity, and acuteness, and is so much illustrated
by curious facts, that it must at last take the public
attention. It is probably much improved by your last abode in
London. If you were here at my fireside, I should dispute some
of your principles. I cannot think that the rent of farms
makes any part of the price of the produce, but that the price
is determined altogether by the quantity and the
demand.[486:1] It appears to me impossible, that the King of
France can take a seignorage of eight per cent upon the
coinage. Nobody would bring bullion to the mint; it would be
all sent to Holland or England, where it might be coined and
sent back to France, for less than two per cent. Accordingly,
Necker says, that the French king takes only two per cent of
seignorage. But these and a hundred other points are fit only
to be discussed in conversation; which, till you tell me the
contrary, I still flatter myself with soon. I hope it will be
soon; for I am in a very bad state of health, and cannot
afford a long delay. I fancy you are acquainted with Mr.
Gibbon. I like his performance extremely, and have ventured to
tell him, that, had I not been personally acquainted with him,
I should never have expected such an excellent work from the
pen of an Englishman. It is lamentable to consider how much
that nation has declined in literature during our time. I hope
he did not take amiss the national reflection.
"All your friends here are in great grief at present, for the
death of Baron Mure, which is an irreparable loss to our
society. He was among the oldest and best friends I had in the
world."[487:1]
In April, 1776, the disease of which Hume subsequently died, had made
alarming progress. The little autobiographical sketch, called "my own
Life," was finished on the eighteenth of that month; and he there speaks
of the rise and progress of his disorder, and of his feelings under the
expectation of a speedy termination of his life, in the following
terms:—
In spring, 1775, I was struck with a disorder in my bowels,
which at first gave me no alarm, but has since, as I apprehend
it, become mortal and incurable. I now reckon upon a speedy
dissolution. I have suffered very little pain from my
disorder; and what is more strange, have, notwithstanding the
great decline of my person, never suffered a moment's
abatement of my spirits; insomuch, that were I to name the
period of my life which I should most choose to pass over
again, I might be tempted to point to this latter period. I
possess the same ardour as ever in study, and the same gaiety
in company. I consider, besides, that a man of sixty-five, by
dying, cuts off only a few years of infirmities; and though I
see many symptoms of my literary reputation's breaking out at
last with additional lustre, I knew that I could have but few
years to enjoy it. It is difficult to be more detached from
life than I am at present.
It was probably early in the year, and before the disease had made such
progress, as to make his friends in general anticipate its fatal
conclusion, that Dr. Black wrote the following undated letter on the
subject to Smith:—
"I write at present, chiefly to acquaint you with the state of your
friend David Hume's health, which is so bad that I am quite melancholy
upon it, and as I hear that you intend a visit to this country soon, I
wish if possible to hasten your coming, that he may have the comfort of
your company so much the sooner. He has been declining several years,
and this in a slow and gradual manner, until about a twelvemonth ago,
since which the progress of his disorder has been more rapid. One of his
distresses has been a sensation of excessive heat, chiefly in the night
time, and which was only external, for it occasioned no internal
distress, or anxiety, or thirst."
Black then proceeds to describe with more minuteness, than would be
either pleasing or instructive to unscientific readers, a series of
symptoms from which he infers that the most serious part of his
patient's disorder, is a hemorrhage in the upper part of the
intestines.[488:1] He continues,—
"His mother, he says, had precisely the same constitution with himself,
and died of this very disorder; which has made him give up any hopes of
his getting the better of it." He concludes by saying,—
"Do not, however, say much on this subject to any one else; as he does
not like to have it spoke of, and has been shy and slow in acquainting
me fully with the state of his health."
In preparation for the event, which could not be far distant, he had
executed a settlement of his estate, so early as the 4th of January. He
left the bulk of his fortune to his brother, or, in the case of his
predeceasing him, to his nephew David, burdened in the latter case with
special legacies to his other nephews and his nieces. He left his sister
£1200. Along with some legacies to a few obscure private friends and to
his servants, he left £200 to D'Alembert, and the same sum to Adam
Ferguson.[489:1] He appointed Smith his literary executor, in the
following terms:[490:1] "To my friend Dr. Adam Smith, late Professor of
Moral Philosophy in Glasgow, I leave all my manuscripts without
exception, desiring him to publish my 'Dialogues on Natural Religion,'
which are comprehended in this present bequest; but to publish no other
papers which he suspects not to have been written within these five
years, but to destroy them all at his leisure. And I even leave him full
power over all my papers, except the Dialogues above mentioned; and
though I can trust to that intimate and sincere friendship, which has
ever subsisted between us, for his faithful execution of this part of my
will, yet, as a small recompense of his pains in correcting and
publishing this work, I leave him two hundred pounds, to be paid
immediately after the publication of it."
Smith subsequently refused to receive payment of the legacy; and it was
the cause of a long friendly discussion with Mr. Home of Ninewells, who,
in opposition to his argument, that it was bequeathed as a remuneration
for editorial labours, which by a subsequent alteration of the bequest
did not require to be performed, urged such pleas as this, "My brother,
knowing your liberal way of thinking, laid on you something as an
equivalent, not imagining you would refuse a small gratuity from the
funds it was to come from, as a testimony of his friendship."[490:2] But
he pleaded in vain; and Smith continued to refuse the bequest, with all
the firmness of his unmercenary nature.
Previous to his journey to Bath, which has to be presently narrated,
Hume appears to have informed Smith of the desire expressed in his will,
that he should undertake the publication of the "Dialogues on Natural
Religion." The intimation was probably verbal, as it does not form part
of any letter among Hume's papers. Elliot was opposed to the publication
of this work. Blair pleaded strongly for its suppression; and Smith, who
had made up his mind, that he would not edit the work, seems to have
desired that the testamentary injunction laid on him might be revoked.
Hume, however, before his death, took effectual steps to guard against
its suppression.
Thus, after having good-naturedly abstained, for nearly thirty years,
from the publication of a work, which might give pain and umbrage to his
dearest friends; at the close of life, and when the lapse of time since
it was written might have been supposed to render him indifferent to its
fate,—because there appeared some danger of its final suppression, he
took decided and well pondered steps to avert from it this fate. Such
was the character of the man!
Hume to Adam Smith.
"London, 3d May, 1776.
"My dear Friend,—I send you enclosed an ostensible letter,
conformably to your desire. I think, however, your scruples
groundless. Was Mallet any wise hurt by his publication of
Lord Bolingbroke? He received an office afterwards from the
present king and Lord Bute, the most prudish men in the world;
and he always justified himself by his sacred regard to the
will of a dead friend. At the same time, I own that your
scruples have a specious appearance. But my opinion is, that
if upon my death you determine never to publish these papers,
you should leave them sealed up with my brother and family,
with some inscription that you reserve to yourself the power
of reclaiming them whenever you think proper. If I live a few
years longer, I shall publish them myself. I consider an
observation of Rochefoucault, that a wind, though it
extinguishes a candle, blows up a fire.
"You may be surprised to hear me talk of living years,
considering the state you saw me in, and the sentiments which
both I and all my friends at Edinburgh entertained on that
subject. But though I cannot come up entirely to the sanguine
notions of our friend John, I find myself very much recovered
on the road, and I hope Bath waters and farther journeys, may
effect my cure.
"By the little company I have seen, I find the town very full
of your book, which meets with general approbation. Many
people think particular points disputable; but this you
certainly expected. I am glad that I am one of the number; as
these points will be the subject of future conversation
between us. I set out for Bath, I believe, on Monday, by Sir
John Pringle's directions, who says, that he sees nothing to
be apprehended in my case. If you write to me (hem! hem!) I
say if you write to me, send your letter under cover to Mr.
Strahan, who will have my direction."[492:1]
The "ostensible letter" which was to serve as Smith's justification, if
he should decline to follow the injunctions of the will, is as
follows:—
"London, 3d May, 1776.
"My dear Sir,—After reflecting more maturely on that article
of my will by which I left you the disposal of all my papers,
with a request that you should publish my 'Dialogues
concerning Natural Religion,' I have become sensible that,
both on account of the nature of the work, and of your
situation, it may be improper to hurry on that publication. I
therefore take the present opportunity of qualifying that
friendly request. I am content to leave it entirely to your
discretion, at what time you will publish that piece, or
whether you will publish it at all.
"You will find among my papers a very inoffensive piece,
called "my own Life," which I composed a few days before I
left Edinburgh; when I thought, as did all my friends, that my
life was despaired of. There can be no objection, that the
small piece should be sent to Messrs. Strahan and Cadell, and
the proprietors of my other works, to be prefixed to any
future edition of them."[493:1]
Smith did not absolutely refuse to edit the "Dialogues," but Hume saw
pretty clearly that it was a task that would not be performed by him.
That he was correct in this supposition, appears by a letter from Smith
to Strahan after Hume's death, where he says:
"I once had persuaded him to leave it entirely to my discretion either
to publish them at what time I thought proper, or not to publish them at
all. Had he continued of this mind, the manuscript should have been most
carefully preserved, and upon my decease restored to his family; but it
never should have been published in my lifetime. When you have read it,
you will perhaps think it not unreasonable to consult some prudent
friend about what you ought to do."[494:1]
By a codicil to his will, dated 7th August, he thus altered the
arrangement referred to in these letters. "In my later will and
disposition, I made some destinations with regard to my manuscripts: All
these I now retract, and leave my manuscripts to the care of Mr. William
Strahan of London, member of Parliament, trusting to the friendship that
has long subsisted between us, for his careful and faithful execution of
my intentions. I desire that my 'Dialogues concerning Natural Religion'
may be printed and published, any time within two years after my death."
After making the bequest to John Home which is mentioned farther on,
leaving to Blair, Smith, Home, and Edmondstoune, "all of them persons
very dear to me, and whose affection to me I know by repeated proofs to
have been mutual," each a copy of the new edition of his works, and to
Miss Ord, ten guineas to buy a ring, "as a memorial of his friendship
and attachment to so amiable and accomplished a person," the codicil is
signed. There is then a new paragraph appended as follows:
"I do ordain that if my 'Dialogues,' from whatever cause, be not
published within two years and a half after my death, as also the
account of my life, the property shall return to my nephew, David, whose
duty in publishing them, as the last request of his uncle, must be
approved of by all the world."[494:2]
Both Hume and Smith seem to have thought that Strahan would undertake
the publication as a mere matter of business. But this book, like the
little hunchback in the "Arabian Nights," was a commodity which every
one seemed anxious to transfer to his neighbour. Strahan declined to
undertake the task, and the "Dialogues" did not appear until 1779, when
they were published by their author's nephew.
Smith cheerfully agreed to undertake the superintendance of the new
edition of his friend's works, then at press. They appear to have been
all in a state of very finished preparation for the press, and an
edition of the "Inquiries" and the miscellaneous essays was published in
1777, from a copy in which the author had completed that removal of
passages of a democratic tendency, which has been so frequently alluded
to.
By the entreaties of several friends, who believed that travelling might
have a favourable influence on his health, Hume undertook a journey to
London towards the end of April. At Morpeth he met with Adam Smith and
John Home, on their way from London, to visit him in Edinburgh, in
consequence of a letter which the former had received from Ferguson, who
says, "David, I am afraid, loses ground. He is cheerful and in good
spirits as usual; but I confess that my hopes, from the effects of the
turn of the season towards spring, have very much abated."
Smith proceeded to Edinburgh, but Home went back to London with his
friend, and fortunately preserved a diary of the journey, so very
interesting, and containing so lively a picture of Hume's state of mind
and habits, that, though already published,[495:1] the reader would not
excuse its omission on this occasion.
Note by Mr. John Home.
Soon after Mr. Home received the letter from Dr. Ferguson, he
left London, and set out for Scotland with Mr. Adam Smith.
They came to Morpeth on the 23d of April, 1776, and would have
passed Mr. David Hume, if they had not seen his servant,
Colin, standing at the gate of an inn. Mr. Home thinks that
his friend, Mr. David Hume, is much better than he expected to
find him. His spirits are astonishing: he talks of his
illness, of his death, as matters of no moment, and gives an
account of what passed between him and his physicians since
his illness began, with his usual wit, or with more wit than
usual.
He acquainted Mr. Adam Smith and me, that Dr. Black had not
concealed the opinion he had of the desperateness of his
condition, and was rather averse to his setting out. "Have you
no reason against it," said David, "but an apprehension that
it may make me die sooner?—that is no reason at all." I never
saw him more cheerful, or in more perfect possession of all
his faculties, his memory, his understanding, his wit. It is
agreed that Smith shall go on to Scotland, and that I should
proceed to Bath with David. We are to travel one stage before
dinner, and one after dinner. Colin tells me that he thinks
Mr. Hume better than when he left Edinburgh. We had a fine
evening as we went from Morpeth to Newcastle. David seeing a
pair of pistols in the chaise, said, that as he had very
little at stake, he would indulge me in my humour of fighting
the highwaymen. Whilst supper was getting ready at the inn,
Mr. Hume and I played an hour at picquet. Mr. David was very
keen about his card-playing.
Newcastle, Wednesday, 24th April.
Mr. Hume not quite so well in the morning—says, that he had
set out merely to please his friends; that he would go on to
please them; that Ferguson and Andrew Stuart, (about whom we
had been talking,) were answerable for shortening his life one
week a-piece; for, says he, you will allow Xenophon to be good
authority; and he lays it down, that suppose a man is dying,
nobody has a right to kill him. He set out in this vein, and
continued all the stage in his cheerful and talking humour. It
was a fine day, and we went on to Durham—from that to
Darlington, where we passed the night.
In the evening Mr. Hume thinks himself more easy and light,
than he has been any time for three months. In the course of
our conversation we touched upon the national affairs. He
still maintains, that the national debt must be the ruin of
Britain; and laments that the two most civilized nations, the
English and French, should be on the decline; and the
barbarians, the Goths and Vandals of Germany and Russia,
should be rising in power and renown. The French king, he
says, has ruined the state by recalling the parliaments. Mr.
Hume thinks that there is only one man in France fit to be
minister, (the Archbishop of Toulouse,) of the family of
Brienne. He told me some curious anecdotes with regard to this
prelate; that he composed and corrected without writing; that
Mr. Hume had heard him repeat an elegant oration of an hour
and a quarter in length, which he had never written. Mr. Hume,
talking with the Princess Beauvais about French policy, said
that he knew but one man in France capable of restoring its
greatness; the lady said she knew one too, and wished to hear
if it was the same. They accordingly named each their man, and
it was this prelate.[497:1]
Thursday, 25th.
Left Darlington about nine o'clock, and came to Northallerton.
The same delightful weather. A shower fell that laid the dust,
and made our journey to Boroughbridge more pleasant. Mr. Hume
continues very easy, and has a tolerable appetite; tastes
nothing liquid but water, and sups upon an egg. He assured me,
that he never possessed his faculties more perfectly; that he
never was more sensible of the beauties of any classic author
than he was at present, nor loved more to read. When I am not
in the room with him he reads continually. The post-boys can
scarcely be persuaded to drive only five miles an hour, and
their horses are of the same way of thinking! The other
travellers, as they pass, look into the chaise, and laugh at
our slow pace. This evening the post-boy from Northallerton,
who had required a good deal of threatening to make him drive
as slow as we desired, had no sooner taken his departure to go
home, than he set off at full speed. "Pour se dédommager,"
said David.
Friday, 26th, Boroughbridge.
Mr. Hume this morning not quite so well. He observes, and I
see it, that he has a good day and a bad one. His illness is
an internal hemorrhage, which has been wasting him for a long
time. He is so thin that he chooses to have a cushion under
him when he sits upon an ordinary chair. He told me to-day,
that if Louis XV. had died in the time of the regency, the
whole French nation were determined to bring back the King of
Spain to be King of France,—so zealous were they for
preserving the line of succession. This evening Mr. Hume not
quite so well, and goes to bed at a more early hour than he
used to do.
Ferrybridge, Sunday, 28th.
Mr. Hume much better this morning. He told me, that the French
nation had no great opinion of Cardinal Fleury; that the
English had extolled him, in opposition to their own minister
Sir Robert Walpole; but that Fleury was a little genius, and a
cheat. Lord Marischal acquainted Mr. Hume with a piece of
knavery which his lordship said nobody but a Frenchman and a
priest could have been guilty of. The French ambassador at
Madrid came to Lord Marischal one day, and told him, that he
had a letter from the French minister at Petersburgh,
acquainting him that General Keith was not pleased with his
situation in Russia, and wished to return to the Spanish
service, (where he had formerly been;) that it would be proper
for Lord Marischal to apply to the court of Spain. Lord
Marischal said nothing could be more agreeable to him than to
have his brother in the same country with him; but that, as he
had heard nothing from himself, he could not make any
application in his name. The French minister still urged him
to write to the Spanish minister, but in vain. When the
brothers met, several years after, they explained this matter.
Keith had never any intention of coming into the Spanish
service again; and if Lord Marischal had applied to the court
of Spain, measures were taken to intercept the letter, and
send it to the court of Russia. General Keith, who commanded
the Russian army in the field against the Swedes, would have
been arrested, and sent to Siberia; and the moment he had left
the army, the Swedes were to attack the Russians. Mr. Hume
told me, talking of Fleury, that Monsieur Trudent,[499:1] who
was his eléve, acquainted him with an anecdote of that
minister and the late French king, which he, Mr. Hume,
believes Trudent had never ventured to tell to any body but
him; and he (David) had never told it to any body but me. Now,
since Fleury, Trudent, and Lewis, are all dead, it may be
told. Trudent took the liberty of observing to Fleury, that
the king should be advised to apply a little more to business,
and take some charge of his own affairs. Fleury, the first
time Trudent spoke to him upon this subject, made him no
answer; but upon his speaking again on the same subject, he
told him, that he had entreated the king to be a man of
business, and assured him that the French did not like an
inactive prince; that in former times, there had been a race
of indolent princes who did nothing at all, and were called
Les Rois Fainéants; that one of them had been put into a
convent. The king made no reply; but some time afterwards,
when Fleury resumed the subject, the king asked him, whether
or no the prince that was put into the convent had a good
pension allowed him?[499:2]
Mr. Hume this day told me, that he had bought a piece of
ground; and when I seemed surprised that I had never heard of
it, he said it was in the New Church-yard, on the Calton Hill,
for a burying-place; that he meant to have a small monument
erected, not to exceed in expense one hundred pounds; that the
inscription should be
David Hume.
I desired him to change the discourse. He did so; but seemed
surprised at my uneasiness, which he said was very
nonsensical. I think he is gaining ground; but he laughs at
me, and says it is impossible; that the year ('76,) sooner or
later, he takes his departure. He is willing to go to Bath, or
travel during the summer through England, and return to
Scotland to die at home; but that Sir John Pringle, and the
whole faculty, would find it very difficult to boat him,
(formerly an usual phrase in Scotland for going abroad, that
is, out of the island, for health.) This day we travelled by
his desire three stages, and arrived with great ease at
Grantham.
Monday, 29th.
From the treatment Mr. Hume met with in France, he recurred to
a subject not unfrequent with him—that is, the design to ruin
him as an author, by the people that were ministers, at the
first publication of his History, and called themselves Whigs,
who, he said, were determined not to suffer truth to be told
in Britain. Amongst many instances of this, he told me one
which was new to me. The Duke of Bedford, (who afterwards
conceived a great affection for Mr. Hume,) by the suggestions
of some of his party friends, ordered his son, Lord Tavistock,
not to read Mr. Hume's History of England; but the young man
was prevailed upon by one of his companions (Mr. Crawford of
Errol) to disobey the command. He read the History, and was
extremely pleased with it.
Mr. Hume told me, that the Duke de Choiseul, at the time Lord
Hertford was in France, expressed the greatest inclination for
peace, and a good correspondence between France and Britain.
He assured Lord Hertford, that if the court of Britain would
relinquish Falkland Island, he would undertake to procure from
the court of Spain the payment of the Manilla ransom. Lord
Hertford communicated the proposal to Mr. Grenville, who
slighted it. Lord Hertford told Mr. Hume the same day an
extraordinary instance of the violence of faction. Towards the
end of Queen Anne's reign, when the Whig ministers were turned
out of all their places at home, and the Duke of Marlborough
still continued in the command of the army abroad, the
discarded ministers met, and wrote a letter, which was signed
by Lord Somers, Lord Townshend, Lord Sunderland, and Sir
Robert Walpole, desiring the duke to bring over the troops he
could depend on, and that they would seize the queen's person,
and proclaim the Elector of Hanover Regent. The Duke of
Marlborough answered the letter, and said it was madness to
think of such a thing. Mr. Horace Walpole, Sir R. Walpole's
youngest son, confirmed the truth of this anecdote, which he
had heard his father repeat often and often; and Mr. Walpole
allowed Mr. Hume to quote him as his authority, and make what
use he pleased of it. When George I. came to England, he
hesitated whether to make a Whig or a Tory administration; but
the German minister, Bernstorf, determined him to take the
side of the Whigs, who had made a purse of thirty thousand
guineas, and given it to this German. George I. was of a
moderate and gentle temper.—He regretted all his life, that
he had given way to the violence of the Whigs in the beginning
of his reign. Whenever any difficulty occurred in parliament,
he used to blame the impeachment of the Tories,—"Ce diable de
impeachment," as he called it.
The Whigs, in the end of Queen Anne's reign, bribed the
Emperor's ministers, not to consent to the peace, and to send
over Prince Eugene with proposals to continue the war.
This anecdote from Lord Bath. Another anecdote Mr. Hume
mentioned, but distrusted the authority, for it was David
Mallet who told Mr. Hume, that he had evidence in his custody
of a design to assassinate Lord Oxford.
Prior, after the accession, was reduced to such poverty by the
persecution he met with, that he was obliged to publish his
works by subscription. Lord Bathurst told Mr. Hume, that he
was with Prior reading the pieces that were to be published,
and he thought there was not enough to make two small volumes.
He asked Prior if he had no more poems? He said, No more that
he thought good enough.—"What is that," said Bathurst,
pointing to a roll of paper. "A trifle," said Prior, "that I
wrote in three weeks, not worthy of your attention or that of
the public." Lord Bathurst desired to see it. This neglected
piece was Alma .
Tuesday, 30th.
Last night, when Mr. Hume was going to bed, he complained of
cold. One part of his malady had been a continual heat, so
that he could not endure a soft or warm bed, and lay in the
night with a single sheet upon him; he desired to have an
additional covering. Colin observed to him, that he thought it
a good symptom. Mr. Hume said he thought so too, for it was a
good thing to be like other people. This morning he is
wonderfully well; which is visible in his countenance and
colour, and even the firmness of his step. Talking of the
state of the nation, which he continually laments, he
mentioned an anecdote of the former war. He was at Turin with
General Sinclair, after the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, and,
considering the superiority which the French arms had gained,
he could not conceive why France granted such good terms to
Britain. He desired General Sinclair to touch upon that
subject with the King of Sardinia. That prince, who was very
familiar with the General, said he was at a loss to give any
account of that matter; but, many years after, when Hume was
minister in France, and lived in great intimacy with Monsieur
Puysieux, Secretary of State, who had negociated the peace of
Aix, Mr. Hume asked him the reason of the conduct of France at
that time? Puysieux told him, that it was the king's aversion
to war; that he knew more of it than any man alive, for, the
year before the peace, he was ordered by the king to propose
pretty near the same terms. He remonstrated against making the
offer; said that at least the proposal should come from
England; and that there was always some advantage to be gained
by receiving, rather than propounding terms. The king was
impatient, and obliged Puysieux to write the letter, (which
General Ligonier carried,) with those terms which next year
were agreed to by the British court. Mr. John Home said he
knew that the King of France promoted the peace of Paris from
the aversion he had to war; and the peace was made at a time
when it seemed impossible for Britain to carry on a war of
such extent, and retain her scattered conquests. Mr. Hume
mentioned another singular anecdote concerning the beginning
of the last war. When a squadron of the English fleet attacked
and took two French men of war, the Alcide and the Lys, Louis
XV. was so averse to war, that he would have pocketed the
insult; and Madame Pompadour said it was better to put up with
the affront, than to go to war without any object but the
point of honour. It is known, that neither the king nor the
ministers of England wished for war. The French king abhorred
the thought of war!—What then was the cause? Chiefly the fear
of the popular clamour, and of the opposition, in the Duke of
Newcastle's mind. Mr. Hume thinks Lord North no great
minister, but does not see a better; cannot give any reason
for the incapacity and want of genius, civil and military,
which marks this period. He looks upon the country as on the
verge of decline. His fears seem rather too great, and things
are not quite so bad as he apprehends; but certainly the first
show of statesmen, generals, and admirals, is, without
comparison, the worst that has been seen in this country. I
said to Mr. Hume, that I thought the great consideration to be
acquired by speaking in Parliament, was the cause of that want
of every other quality in men of rank: they do speak readily,
but there are many orators who can neither judge nor act well.
Wednesday, 31st April.
Arrived in London, where we saw Sir John Pringle, who thought
Mr. Hume much better than he expected to see him, and in no
immediate danger. We staid a few days in London, and then set
out for Bath.
In travelling from London to Bath, we had occasion frequently
to make our observations on the passengers whom we met, and on
those who passed us, as every carriage continued to do.
Nothing occurred worthy the writing down, except Mr. David's
plan of managing his kingdom, in case Ferguson and I had been
princes of the adjacent states. He knew very well, he said,
(having often disputed the point with us,) the great opinion
we had of military virtues as essential to every state; that
from these sentiments rooted in us, he was certain he would be
attacked and interrupted in his projects of cultivating,
improving, and civilizing mankind by the arts of peace; that
he comforted himself with reflecting, that from our want of
economy and order in our affairs, we should be continually in
want of money; whilst he would have his finances in excellent
condition, his magazines well filled, and naval stores in
abundance; but that his final stroke of policy, upon which he
depended, was to give one of us a large subsidy to fall upon
the other, which would infallibly secure to him peace and
quiet, and after a long war, would probably terminate in his
being master of all the three kingdoms. At this sally, so like
David's manner of playing with his friends, I fell into a fit
of laughing, in which David joined; and the people that passed
us certainly thought we were very merry travellers.
We have the following account from his own pen of his sojourn at Bath.
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.
The following is his last letter to John Home.
"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.
"On the 22d of August, the Doctor wrote me the following letter:—
"'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 23d August, 1776.
'My dearest Friend,—I am obliged to make use of my nephew's
hand in writing to you, as I do not rise to-day. . . . . . . .
'I go very fast to decline, and last night had a small fever,
which I hoped might put a quicker period to this tedious
illness; but, unluckily, it has, in a great measure, gone off.
I cannot submit to your coming over here on my account, as it
is possible for me to see you so small a part of the day; but
Doctor Black can better inform you concerning the degree of
strength which may, from time to time, remain with me. Adieu,'
&c.[515:1]
"Three days after I received the following letter from Doctor Black:—
'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.
FOOTNOTES:
