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opium, or some other narcotic, and are particularly injurious in almost every case in which they are exhibited to infants, especially in all cases of teething and irritable states of the stomach and bowels.

This list might be greatly extended, but we have given sufficient to show the general nature of all such nostrums. It will at once be perceived that, unlike all other inventions for which patents or legal protections are given, quack medicines are no inventions at all, but the veriest impositions and deceptions. Strange, then, that government should sanction such tricks by which money is filched out of the pockets of the lieges, and erroneous notions of diseases and remedial cures continually impressed upon their minds. In these days of altered tariffs and corn law monopoly, it would be advisable to look into the patent lists to reform this gross abuse, which after all produces but a paltry sum of revenue, and which is a decided nuisance in many ways to the public. No doubt, were patents abolished, nostrums would still continue to be propagated, but the excess of competition would soon check the evil, and perhaps be the best means of really opening the eyes of the public to the numerous deceptions practised upon the ignorant. At all events, it would take away the stain which must ever lie on any government that, for the sake of a paltry gain, thus lends its aid in diffusing deceit and imposition. Another means effectually to put down these public nuisances, for they can be considered as nothing less, would be the unanimous refusal of the periodical press to sanction the implied countenance which insertions of advertisements, but more especially of laudatory paragraphs, in their columns, having all the weight of editorial commendation, thus bestows. It is not, of course, to be expected that conductors of periodical publications are minutely to scrutinise or to pass judgment upon the merits of the various advertisements which are handed to them as a mere matter of business; still the system of quack medicines is so glaringly false, and, in many instances, their announcement to the public is so revolting to propriety, that already, many respectable prints refuse their admission entirely. The mere loss of such advertisements can be but a very small consideration compared to the benefits which a rejection of them, if unanimously agreed upon, would confer on the community.

CRITICISM ON LITERARY MEN.

We live in an age remarkable for deficiency of mental independence. The multitude are swayed by any one who chooses to adopt a dogmatical and swaggering tone, and who perseveringly deals in iteration. Pursuing no definite course of thought, the opinions of the masses become ductile as dough, to be kneaded and fashioned as self-constituted leaders of the host may determine; and hence, what is the prominence of to-day becomes the indentation of to-morrow; and so will it continue to be until, by the creation of higher standards of thinking, the mass becomes less impressible to external influence. Of this passive yielding of the public mind no better example could be given, than the effects produced by the many criticisms which are passed on literary men in this our day and generation. John Bull takes up a work by some well-known author, and he reads it. Charmed by the eloquence of the style, the freshness of the ideas, or the novel form in which familiar ideas are brought forward, he is beguiled into hours of sustained perusal, where he only meditated minutes

of mere skimming. He rises from his reading with different impressions as to the actual bearing of things past, present, and future, and he descends into the arena of actual life a more happy and philosophical man than he was before this same book came into his hand. So far well. But in an evil hour soon after, John takes up a review, magazine, or newspaper, and to his astonishment there beholds that his favourite author is branded as a sceptic, a revolutionist, a sciolist, or a mannerist in style. John takes the alarm; he is a churchman, perhaps even a churchwarden, at all events the head of a family, and the book is thrust into a corner. John moves on, and time also moves on, and then he takes up some guide to public opinion, of whose orthodoxy and talent he has no doubt whatever, for it has from first to last been his pole-star in politics and theology, and to his still farther surprise he finds the condemned author eulogized most solidly; little drawbacks are of course admitted, for authors, like all other mortals, have their peccadilloes, but still "this author possesses mind, and his works must go down as part and parcel of the intellectual inheritance of posterity." John restores the traduced man to favour, although we dare not say that that favour will always continue free from after attacks.

When in Italy, Byron wrote Murray to send him no more reviews, Quarterly or Edinburgh, as he wished to read books for himself. We cannot go so far as to recommend this course to all readers, but we certainly do think that an approximation to it would not be amiss, and we shall briefly assign the reasons which prompt us to give this advice.

Much of the jaundiced criticism of the day proceeds from disappointed authors,-from men who, having failed to ascend to that altitude in the republic of letters to which they conceived their genius entitled them, hesitate not, from sheer spite, to squirt their venom on successful rivals. But, supposing them free from this bias, is it not brave work to be harping on a man being superficial or eccentric in style? If a writer be chargeable with irreligion, profanity, or anything else manifestly detrimental to the public interests, by all means let that be exposed, and the more so, because an evil of a tangible kind is said to be committed, and because the proof, if necessary, can be brought home. But inanity in the eyes of one, nay of two, yea of three critics, we hold to be no crime; for however much they may personally satisfy themselves that this man or that man is murdering the Queen's English to no purpose, they will no more be able to prove that to the satisfaction of three other critics, as intelligent as themselves, than they will be able to show that, because they may happen to wear green spectacles, all the world should do so too.

And the reason of this is obvious. Literary criticism is entirely a matter of temperament. The sanguine, melancholy, or mixed temperaments never will, and never can agree to any given standard of writing. Do we then wish to annihilate all canons of taste? By no means. Just as all men concur in agreeing that vinegar is sour and tobacco bitter, so are there general principles of taste which have only to be announced in order to receive universal assent; all that we contend for is that the critic of one temperament should not mercilessly run down the writer of another; for as assuredly as there is a glory of the sun, so also is there one of the moon, and another of the stars. Scientifically, we may be able to measure the amount of illumination individually emanating from each, but that does not measure their "glory," which consists in something beyond

mere volume of light, and resides entirely in the peculiar character of their effulgence. Books of chemistry will tell us in decimal numbers what is the precise amount of light respectively derivable from gas, candles, and floating wicks; but what does the glaring light of gas do for him who cannot, from wasting sickness, bear to look on its consuming flame; and so, in like manner, what enjoyment can the melancholy man receive from the flighty sentences of the sanguine writer? Yet the sanguine critic will deal with the melancholy writer just as the philosopher deals with the specific gravity of bodies; he will assume a certain kind of writing as unity, and run up his decimals to points without number, as showing that all other kinds of writing exceed it in power.

But, independently of mere style, some critics run authors down, because, forsooth, they have no new ideas, and have not added one single thought to the cairn of the dead. As we have already hinted, it is a very easy matter to talk about superficiality, but another matter to prove it. It cannot even be done thoroughly in science, and much less in literature; and although we may run over upon our fingers that Ptolemy, Copernicus, Tycho Brahe, Kepler, and Newton, did so and so in astronomy, and that Worcester, Newcomen, Savery, and Watt, did so and so for the steam engine, yet a narrower inspection will show that seminal ideas preceded the announcement of established principles, and that rudimental experiments were always the precursors of rigid demonstrations. And if this be the case with points cognisable by the senses, who will pretend to determine what is absolutely new in the more subtle region of the thoughts of the mind? All is not uncertainty; but, as medical men would say, the diagnosis is difficult, and therefore dogmatism should be eschewed and put down.

To apply this to the writers of the day. We have Carlyle, with his meteoric abruptness; Whately, with his passionless sentences; Macaulay, with his rhetorical style; Dickens, with his conversational phrases; Wordsworth, with his allusions to domestic and familiar life; Brewster, with his poetical diction. Are we to have all these fused into a common denominator, and their different values assigned by any given criticiser? If we are, why may we not ask this same Solon to weigh logic in scales, find out the difference between a syllogism and a pound of cheese, or measure the rainbow with a twelve-inch rule. The thing cannot be done, and there is an end of it. All the great men mentioned possess genius; but because you can appreciate or sympathise with one more than you can do with the others, you must not lay the flattering unction to your soul that there is nought in those others. Their "glory" may not be seen by you, but it is seen by your brethren, and if you could only emancipate yourself from the trammels of idiosyncrasy, you would see it too. No matter how hazy, prosaic, abrupt, fantastic, glittering, or dull their styles may be, there is mind in them all, just as surely as the eternal hills stand fast on their massive foundations, however much mist, hail, rain, snow, or midnight gloom may conceal their gigantie slopes from mortal eyes. Or, to use another illustration-whether the sea roars in the Atlantic, or breaks in silver foam on the moonlight beach. whether it dashes the wretched mariner on pointed rocks, or floats the gondola on the Adriatic,-whether it storms in Biscay, or gently enters a tiny creek, it is the self-same Father Ocean.

Or, if we require to illustrate this point still more

specially, take the individual case of Macaulay— some recent strictures on whom have caused the present ink to be shed. Shallowness it seems is, par excellence, his sin. Let us look into this. Is Macaulay ever dull, deficient in illustration, or guilty of discussing subjects devoid of interest? His most envious critic will not say that he is. What, then, is his crime? He explains the thoughts of others well enough, but he has not given us anything new, that is worth calling new, of his own. Very well, friend, we have heard you. It might be a reasonable preliminary question whether you yourself have thoroughly comprehended the wisdom of the ancients, keeping out of view the power of communicating what you may have picked up; but we shall waive that, and suppose that Macaulay is as guiltless of idea-coining as you would have him to be. What then? Did Salvator Rosa invent any new colour? No; but he threw the old ones into combinations of exquisite power and sublimity. Well, and if you have a writer who has read on almost everything,-who can work his reading into beautiful mosaic, that common men may read about, may understand subjects which they never did before, is there nothing due to the artistic skill with which that brilliant mosaic has been constructed? Take this, the lowest view of Macaulay that can be taken, and say if he deserves to be sneered at by every passing critic. Landor said of one of his defamers, that if the fellow would write an "Imaginary Conversation," he would give him a pint of beer and a herring to breakfast; and so in like manner we should like to see the detractor of Macaulay write a paper on the Baconian philosophy, and still more should we like to see who would read it. No doubt there is some truth in Johnson's observation, that we may find fault with the making of a chair, although we may not be able to make a chair ourselves; but if juvenility and shallowness be all that is chargeable against Macaulay, he may safely be left alone, as there is no case on record where those qualities long attracted the world.

Our advice, then, is, that uncritical readers should read for themselves, and judge for themselves, in all matters pertaining to style and originality, and leave the critics to their own meditations. If a plain simple man were to visit an exhibition of paintings, would it be using him well were a connoiseur to lecture him on the beauties and the defects of some gem in the collection; putting his hat on one place, and exclaiming, "What a fine tree!"-his hand on another, and then grumble against the anatomy of an arm? Would it not be far better to leave the poor man to delight himself with the picture in his own way?-and similarly people should be greatly left to themselves in the matter of judging literary merit. Of late we have had too much criticism; one other bad effect of which is, that it supplies thoughtless persons with opinions ready made, and having these at their finger ends, they can talk, and talk learnedly and extensively, of authors whose works they have never read at all. This degeneracy should not be encouraged; and, with the view of discountenancing it, so far as our humble influence extends, we purpose giving a series of prose extracts from the most eminent modern British writers, unaccompanied by note or comment, a plan which, we believe, will show that every one of them has excellences of his own, and which, we trust, will have the farther good effect of inducing our readers to go to the works of these authors themselves, and so cultivate substantial and improving habits of thought. This series, to be designated The Authors of the Nineteenth Century," will be commenced next week.

DAVID HUME.*

DAVID HUME, the celebrated metaphysician, philosopher, and historian, was the second son of Joseph Home or Hume, advocate, and proprietor of the estate of Ninewells in Berwickshire, and was born there on the 26th of April 1711, O. S. His mother, a woman of "singular merit," was a daughter of Sir David Falconer of Newton, who was at one time Lord President of the Court of Session, and who is favourably remembered by members of the legal profession as the compiler of "Falconer's Collection of Decisions." Hume, great and intellectual as he was, seems to have been proud of his "gentle blood," or, at any rate, to have derived a quiet satisfaction from the idea of being a descendant from nobility, his family being an offset from the great border clan of the Homes. Little is correctly known of the early period of the historian's life. Had he been a poet, or at all embued with the feelings of one, we would, in all probability, have had some

interesting particulars from himself. There was, however, an entire want of poetical enthusiasm in the embryo metaphysician, and we need not, therefore, be surprised that we have not from the great man himself any of those stirring reminiscences of boyish feelings and pursuits, which the romantic locality of Ninewells would have drawn from a poet. The foundation of the future historian's education, it is probable, was laid at the parish school of Chirnside, continued at the High School of Edinburgh, and finished at the University there. "It is to be regretted," says an eminent writer," that so little is known about the early days of Hume, and the habits of his boyish years. There are, indeed, very few instances in which the information which can be derived about the early habits and inclinations of a man who has afterwards distinguished himself repays the labour of research, or even that of reading the

reading, and I diversify them at pleasure,--sometimes
not unpleasant nor disserviceable neither, for what
a philosopher, sometimes a poet,-which change is
will more surely engrave upon my mind a Tusculan
disputation of Cicero's De Egritudine Senienda'
than an Eclogue or Georgick of Virgil's? The philo-
pher's wise man and the poet's husbandman agree in
peace of mind, in a liberty and independency on for-
Everything is placid and quiet in both nothing
tune, and contempt of riches, power, and glory.
perturbed or disordered. I live like a king, pretty
much by myself, neither full of action nor pertur
bation,-nolles somnos.
see, is not to be relied on. My peace of mind is not
This state, however, I can
sufficiently confirmed by philosophy to withstand
the blows of fortune. This greatness and elevation
of soul is to be found only in study and contempla-
tion, this can alone teach us to look down on
human accidents. You must allow me to talk thus,
like a philosopher: 'tis a subject I think much on,
and could talk all day long of. But I know I must
not trouble you. Wherefore I wisely practise my
rules, which prescribe to check our appetite, and,
for a mortification, shall descend from these superior
regions to low and ordinary life; and so far as to
tell you, that John has bought a horse: he thinks it
neither cheap nor dear. It cost six guineas. If it
were not for breaking the formal rule of connexions,
I have prescribed myself in this letter,--and it did
not seem unnatural to raise myself from so low
affairs as horses to so high and elevated things as
books and study,-I would tell you that I read some
of Longinus already, and that I am mightily delighted
with him. I think he does really answer the cha-
racter of being the great sublime he describes. He
delivers his precepts with such force, as if he were
enchanted with the subject; and is himself an author
that may be cited for an example to his own rules
by any one who shall be so adventurous as to write
upon his subject."

statements brought forward; while many who have busied themselves in such tasks, have only shown From the earliest period at which we begin to have that the objects of their attention were by no means a record of the thoughts and feelings of this eminent distinguished from other men in the manner in which they have spent their childhood; but it must be ing literary ambition. Indeed, we are told by himman, we find many traces of a great and far-stretchallowed that, in the case of Hume, a narrative of the self, in the work before mentioned, that he was early gradual rise and development of that stoical conseized with that taste for literature, which was tempt towards the objects which distract the minds ultimately destined to become the ruling passion of of most men, that industry without enthusiasm, that his life, and the greatest source of his enjoyment. independence without assumption, and strict morality founded only on reason, which distinguished his all his talents from early youth. No memoir of a "He was," says his biographer," an economist of conduct through life, might have taught us a lesson literary man presents a more cautious and vigilant of the world, and would at least have gratified a well-husbandry of the mental powers and acquirements. grounded curiosity."- "My father," says the historian himself, in his short autobiography, "who passed for a man of parts, died when I was an infant, leaving me with an elder brother and a sister, under the care of our mother, who, though young and handsome, devoted herself entirely to the rearing and education of her children."

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There is no instance of a man of genius who has wasted less in idleness, or in availing pursuits. Money was not his object, nor was temporary fame, though, of the means of independent livelihood, and a good repute among men, he never lost sight; but his ruling object of ambition, pursued in poverty and riches, in the blaze of fame, was to establish a permanent health and sickness, in laborious obscurity, and amidst name, resting on the foundation of literary achievements, likely to live as long as human thought en

"Of his method of studying, and of his habits of life after he left the university," says Burton, of his literary aspirations and projects, we fortunately possess some curious notices in his correspondence." In one of his letters, written when he was only fif-dured, and mental philosophy was studied." teen, to one of his friends, Hume says, " I am entirely confined to myself and library for diversion since we parted,

Ea sola voluptus,
Solamenque mali ;'

and, indeed, to me they are not a small one; for I take no more of them than I please, for I hate task*Abridged from the "Life and Correspondence of David Hume." By John Hill Burton, Advocate. Tait, Edinburgh.

There are various specimens extant, of Hume's early studies in composition. The letter from which we have already quoted may be considered a very remarkable production for one so young in years. That portion of it which has been laid before our readers is, in itself, sufficient to show the dawning of that grave and high-toned philosophical feeling in which it became his great delight to indulge. Another very interesting paper, and one of his earliest productions, is "An Historical Essay on Chivalry and

Modern Honour." It must have been written when he was only sixteen or seventeen years old, " although its matured thought, and clear systematic analysis, might, in other circumstances, have indicated it as the fruit of a mind long and carefully cultivated." In another letter, found among the Hume Papers, addressed "To a Physician," but which we believe was never sent, we have a very striking revelation of the mind of Hume, the persevering young student, and, indeed, the Hume he afterwards became. Had our space permitted, it might have tempted us to insert the whole of these "Confessions of a Student."

The estate of Ninewells was not large enough to support both of the brothers in becoming dignity as country gentlemen; it was deemed prudent, there fore, that the younger one should learn a profession. His relations supposed that so steady, grave, and industrious a youth as Hume was quite cut out for a lawyer, and to learn the law he was accordingly sent. The love of literature, however, was too strong upon him, and Hume's study of the law was soon numbered among things passed away. He says, in his "own life,"-"My studious disposition, my sobriety, and my industry, gave my family a notion that the study of the law was a proper profession for me; but I found an insurmountable aversion to every thing but the pursuits of philosophy and general learning; and while they fancied I was poring upon Voet and Vinnius, Cicero and Virgil were the authors which I was secretly devouring."

But you will please to observe, that it is with nations as with particular men, where one trifle frequently serves more to discover the character than a whole train of considerable actions. Thus, when I compare our English phrase of humble servant,' which likewise we omit upon the least intimacy, with the French one, of the honour of being your most humble servant,' which they never forget-this, compared with other circumstances, lets me clearly see the different humours of the nations. This phrase, of the honour of doing or saying such a thing to you, goes so far, that my washing woman, to-day, told me, that she hoped she would have the honour of serving me while I staid at Rheims; and, what is still more absurd, it is said by people to those who are very much their inferiors,”

During his three years' residence in France, and for some time before, our young philosopher had been gradually accumulating that great mass of observation and reflection which he worked into his "Treatise on Human Nature." He left the Continent in 1737, with two volumes of that work completed, and came over to London to have it published. We may, from this time, date the beginning of that extensive literary and social correspondence, of which Mr Burton has made such an extensive use, and which furnishes the best commentary on his mental life. In a letter to his friend, Henry Home, afterwards Lord Kames, we find some interesting information about the progress of his book. "I am sorry," he says, "I am not able to satisfy your curiosity by giving you An unsuccessful attempt was made, in the year some general notion of the plan upon which I pro1734, to establish Hume in business in the city of ceed. But my opinions are so new, and even some Bristol, by placing him in the office of a respectable terms I am obliged to make use of, that I could merchant there. In the course of a few months he not propose, by any abridgement, to give my system found that commercial life was as little suited to his an air of likelihood, or so much as make it intellitaste as the study of the law, and it, too, was relin-gible. * * * * I have been here near three quished. "I went over to France," he says, "with a view of prosecuting my studies in a country retreat, and I there laid that plan of life, which I have steadily and successfully pursued. I resolved to make a very rigid frugality supply my deficiency of fortune, to maintain unimpaired my independency, and to regard every object as contemptible, except the improvement of my talents in literature."

Hume proceeded in the first instance to Paris, then to Rheims, and he subsequently took up his residence at La Flêche, where he remained for a year or two. While a resident in the metropolis of France, he was much occupied about some miracles which had been performed two years before at the tomb of the Abbé Paris, and which were afterwards prominently referred to in his philosophical writings. In September, 1734, we find him thus writing from Rheims to his friend Ramsay, "I am now arrived at Rheims, which is to be my place of abode for some considerable time, and where I hope to spend my time happily for the present, and lay up a stock for the future. It is a large town, containing about forty thousand inhabitants, and has in it about thirty families that keep coaches, though, by the appearance of the houses, you would not think there was one. I am recommended to two of the best families in town, and particularly to a man, who, they say, is one of the most learned in France." Burton thinks it not improbable, that the person here alluded to was the Abbé Pluche, a native of Rheims, and the greatest literary ornament of that city. After some remarks upon French and English politeness, the letter goes on to say,-" You may perhaps wonder that I, who have stayed so short time in France, and who have confessed that I am not master of their

months, always within a week of agreeing with my printers; and you may imagine I did not forget the work itself during that time, when I began to feel some passages weaker for the style and diction than I could have wished. The nearness and greatness of the event roused up my attention, and made me more difficult to please than when I was alone in perfect tranquillity in France." The concluding portion of this letter tells us, although in a playful way, a painful tale. "I have a great inclination," he says, " to go down to Scotland this spring to see my friends, and have your advice concerning my philosophical discoveries; but cannot overcome a certain shamefacdness I have to appear among you at my years, without having yet a settlement, or so much as attempted any. How happens it that we philosophers cannot as heartily despise the world as it despises us? I think in my conscience the contempt were as well founded on our side as on the other." Hume received L.50 for the first edition of his work, a very liberal sum at that time. We have his own account of its success in the following well-known sentences. "Never literary attempt was more unfortunate than my Treatise of Human Nature. It fell dead born from the press, without reaching such distinction as even to excite a murmur among the zealots." This, however, is rather exaggerated; it did meet with some notice; but Hume was never satisfied with the success of his works. The philosopher now busied himself in preparing his third volume for publication, and in the meantime endeavoured to get a situation as travelling tutor to Lord Haddington and Mr Baillie. He did not succeed in getting it. The manuscript of Hume's third volume of his Treatise was shown to a new corre

language, should decide so positively of their manner.spondent of his, Mr Hutcheson, professor of moral

philosophy in the university of Glasgow, and at this gentleman's suggestion several alterations were made in the details of the work. It was published by Thomas Longman in 1740.

Hume's literary ambition was not in the least damped by the cool reception of his first work. The only difference it occasioned was in turning his attention for a time to subjects of a more popular nature, in order to suit the taste of general readers. And, in accordance with this design, he, in 1741 and 1742, gave to the world two small volumes of Essays, which were composed in retirement at Ninewells, where at that time he was residing with his brother. These essays were published anonymously, and it is remarkable that, although thus shielded, he was very anxious that they should not appear to be written by him. The success of these volumes was very considerable, and made him quite forget his previous disappointment. After the publication, he says, I continued with my mother and brother in the country, and in that time recovered the knowledge of the Greek language, which I had too much neglected in my early youth."

readers will find given at full length by Mr Burton. It is well worthy of being referred to.

99 66

Hume was deeply affected by the death of his mother, an event which took place while he was on his way back from Turin. This painful occurrence, and the marriage of his brother soon after, occasioned some changes in his domestic arrangements. He and his sister proposed at one time to take up their residence in Berwick-upon-Tweed, but ultimately they resolved to come to Edinburgh, whither, in 1751, they removed, and took up their abode, first in Riddel's Land, and after a year or two in Jack's Land. "We find," says Mr Burton, "through the whole of his acts and written thoughts, before his return from the embassy to Turin, the indications of an earnest wish to possess the means of independent livelihood, suitable to one belonging to the middle classes of life." Shortly after his removal to the Scottish metropolis, was published his "Political Discourses," and also his "Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals." The "Principles came unnoticed and unobserved into the world." The "Political Discourses ""was the only work of his that was successful on the first publication." Hume again attempted, in 1751, to obtain the chair of logic in the University of Glasgow, but was again unsuccessful. In 1752, Hume was appointed librarian to the Advocate's Library, an office which he held only for a year or two, and which was valuable to him merely from the great number of books and manuscripts to which it gave him access; the salary at that time being not more than L.40 a year. Shortly after his appointment to this office he commenced his celebrated" History of England," which he composed with great rapidity. The first volume, a 4to. of 473 pages, made its appearance at the end of the year 1754, and the others in rapid succession; this work "laid the foundation of a title to that which all the genius and originality of his philosophical works would never have procured himthe reputation of a popular author." About this time he busied himself much in the affairs of

Hume's correspondence in 1742 and the years immediately following became very extensive, and extended to most of the celebrated literati, as well as to many of the well educated country gentlemen of the day. Henry Home, Professor Hutcheson, Mure of Caldwell, and Oswald of Dunnikier, enjoyed a share of his letters. In 1743, he made a strong effort to be appointed to the chair of moral philosophy in the university of Edinburgh, which it was expected would be vacated about that time. Various circumstances occurred, however, which prevented this scheme being accomplished. Early in 1745," says Hume, in his "own life," "I received a letter from the Marquis of Annandale, inviting me to come and live with him in England. I found, also, that the friends and family of that young nobleman were desirous of putting him under my care and direction, for the state of his mind and health required it. I lived with him a twelvemonth. My appointment during that time made a consider-Thomas Blacklock, the blind poet, whose gentle able accession to my small fortune." The particulars of Hume's residence with Lord Annandale, and the various events to which it gave rise, are curious, but take up too much space for insertion here.*

Hume's connexion with the Marquis was abruptly terminated after about a year's duration. The next event of any consequence in his life was his being appointed secretary to General St Clair, who had been chosen to command an expedition against Canada, which, however, ended in a uselesss incursion upon the French coast. In 1746 "we find Hume restored, though but for a brief period, to the tranquil retirement of Ninewells; and undisturbed by public events, civil or warlike, sitting down quietly among his books in the midst of his family circle, consisting of his mother, his elder brother, and his sister. It would be interesting to obtain a glimpse of this circle and its habits; but the lapse of nearly a century has thrown it too far into the shade of time, to permit of these minute objects being distinguished." He did not long enjoy this studious retirement at Ninewells, being again called into active life, as secretary once more to his friend, General St Clair, who had been appointed to proceed on a mission to the coast of Turin. During his absence from England he kept a voluminous journal of his proceedings; which our

*Mr Burton says he is indebted to a collection of letters, edited by Thomas Murray, LL.D., author of "The Literary History of Galloway," for this interesting portion of his late

work.

sensitive character and hard fate operated strongly upon Hume's feelings. In 1755, his opinions became the subject of much public discussion in church courts and elsewhere.

We pass over several little matters, of no general interest, in the life of the historian, and proceed to his second and last residence in France. In 1763, Hume accompanied Lord Hertford, the French Ambassador, to Paris, as his secretary. His reception in the French capital was a kind of triumph. Every where he met with the most extraordinary honours; he was introduced to all the eminent people of France, aristocratic, as well as literary, and it was at this time that he formed acquaintance with the celebrated Rousseau. This friendship, after lasting for some years, was terminated in consequence of a quarrel. In 1765, Hume was appointed secretary of legation at Paris, at the usual salary of L.1200 a year.

Nearly the whole of chapter 14th, in the second volume of Mr Burton's book, is occupied with the detail of matters regarding a proposal to get Hume appointed secretary to the Lord Lieutenant for Ireland. So much objection was raised about this, however, that the idea had to be abandoned. As a kind of set off against this disappointment, he received a pension of L.400 per annum. In 1766, Hume made a short visit to Scotland, and in the following year he received an invitation from Mr Conway to be Under Secretary of State, an office which he held for some time.

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