Chapter V: Part 5

Being happily freed from the manual labor which was unsuited to his abilities, Milner repaired straightway to Hull, and proved a most efficient assistant in the institution presided over by his brother. His department in the establishment was the instruction of the younger pupils, among whom he found Wilberforce, who was a lad of spirit, though delicate, and considered so remarkable for his powers of elocution, that it was customary to place him on a table and make him read aloud for the benefit of the other boys. Milner had, years before, besides constructing a sundial, given evidence of a decided bias toward mathematical studies; and he was now, while striving to accomplish himself in the classics, formally initiated into the elements of the science with so much profit, that when the scholars were engaged with lessons in algebra, and any difficulty occurred, the usher was immediately called upon to solve the problem, which he usually did with a promptness and facility not unworthy of one destined to be seated in the Lucasian chair. Joseph Milner had no cause to repent of having saved the talents of his brother from being lost amid the dust, noise, and wheels connected with the preparation of woolen cloth for Russian and German merchants; and he acted toward his gifted relative with exemplary and beneficent kindness. The keen and steady energy with which the latter pursued any object of inquiry that was presented to his attention――a characteristic that sometimes even exposed him to ridicule――was calculated to impart confidence to any attempt made toward his promotion in life; and it was determined that he should, in the year 1770, go to the university at which the reputation of his brother had been formed.

It seems that the elder Milner accompanied the embryo President of Queen’s College to his destination. Their circumstances, as well as economical considerations, led them to adopt, on their long journey, that mode of traveling much more pleasant to contemplate than experience, with which we are in some degree familiar, from the descriptions of those great novelists who flourished in the reign of the second George, and who left such interesting pictures of life and manners as exhibited at the period. They accomplished the distance from Hull to Cambridge on foot, with occasional lifts by the way in a wagon, to recover from fatigue. On their arrival, Isaac was entered at Queen’s College as a sizar, at a time when the privilege, in a pecuniary point of view, which he enjoyed as such, entailed the disagreeable necessity of performing various menial but by no means humiliating duties. Among these was ringing the chapel bell, and serving up the first dish to the fellows at dinner. On one occasion, when so busied, he was luckless enough to overturn a mess of soup on the floor, instead of placing it on the board, and was sharply rebuked for his awkward clumsiness; whereupon he excited much derisive laughter by exclaiming, in the dialect of his native country――“When I get into power, I’ll do away with this nuisance!” The threat, thus expressed on the spur of the moment by the modest and diffident sizar, was more religiously executed than most promises uttered in such a frame of mind; and when raised to academic dignity, he altogether abolished the services of which that he had been rendering formed so irksome and invidious a part.

Notwithstanding the ungrateful and troublesome tasks thus devolved upon him, Milner’s success at the University was great. He enjoyed one advantage――not always granted to men springing from so humble an origin――in a personal appearance which could not fail to prepossess beholders. His form, above the usual height, was cast in admirable proportions, and his presence striking; and his regular and handsome features expressed the talent of his brain, the benevolence of his mind, the kindness of his heart, the serenity of his temper, and the frankness of his disposition. His mental faculties were, as time passed on, placed beyond question by the brilliant success he achieved; and the fulness and variety of his colloquial powers rendered him the soul of the circles he frequented, either in Cambridge or London, and his listening audiences comparatively subservient. His mind became so marvelously comprehensive in its grasp, that it could master the details of any subject; and so universal was his information, that there were few trades on which he could not enlighten those who made them the business of their lives. He was, perhaps, a little more zealous than discreet in collecting his vast stores, and he was in the habit of reflecting from them with a pen in hand to take notes.

One very singular instance is given of his zeal in the acquirement of apparently uncongenial knowledge. Late in life, when his portrait, by Kerrick, was engraved, and his friends were anxious to have his coat-of-arms on the print, the then dean, on being applied to, at once declared that he had, of course, no armorial bearings, but he entertained no objection to be furnished with such as had nothing ridiculous about them. It was, however, a constant maxim with him that any knowledge which comes in one’s way is worth gathering, and his attention being thus attracted toward heraldry, he procured books, and succeeded in gaining much curious information on the subject in which he had no natural interest.

Throughout his earthly existence, Milner was distinguished by piety, purity, and integrity; and though ready enough to converse on other subjects with sportive levity, he never alluded to that of religion without the utmost sincerity and the most becoming seriousness. On entering the University he studied indefatigably, and with a result which must have been highly gratifying to his anxious relatives. In 1774 he took the degree of Bachelor of Arts, and that year the moderators not only assigned him the dignity of senior wrangler, but likewise the title of _Incomparabilis_. On attaining this distinction, Milner ran off, in the pride of his heart and intellect, to indulge in the extravagance of ordering a seal, with the head of his immortal predecessor, Sir Isaac Newton, engraved on it.

He was now admitted as a member of the Hyson club, which had been formed in 1758, and could boast of several names known to fame. About the same period, the appointment of tutor to a Polish prince was placed within his acceptance, but declined; and his reputation as a mathematician was so unquestioned, that the papers he made out for the use of his pupils were much prized; and there even occurred an instance of a bed-maker being bribed to procure some of them by stealth, to be copied by a student belonging to another college. Yet it was not merely with mathematics that his attention was now occupied. Various philosophical subjects were subjected to his learned faculties; his intellectual performances had secured him friends, and he had shown the independence of spirit by standing alone, among the students of the college, in a refusal to attach his name to a petition against subscription to the Articles of the Church. To this fact he referred with satisfaction in later days, in his encounter with the Bishop of Peterborough, whose denunciation of the sin and danger of giving people the Bible to read, unaccompanied by the Prayer-book, had brought him into the controversial arena.

At the age of twenty-six Milner was ordained deacon, and next year was admitted to priests’ orders, having in the interval been elected a fellow of his college, of which he became tutor in 1777. At that date he took the degree of Master of Arts. He got into the habit of now and then assisting his friends by officiating in country churches in the neighborhood; and he was presented to the rectory of the parish of St. Botolph. Milner had already contributed several papers to the “Transactions of the Royal Society,” of which he, in due time, became a fellow; and he was led to embark, with all the ardor which characterized him, on the study of chemistry. Eminently successful in this pursuit, he proceeded to deliver public lectures on the science. It appears, however, that the experiments he made considerably impaired his health; and this unfortunate circumstance prevented him from undertaking much public labor in his clerical capacity; but he studied scripture and theology with critical interest, and thus laid the foundation of his extensive knowledge of divinity. He was in the habit of going to spend part of the Cambridge long vacation with his brother, in whose house now resided their aged mother, a woman of mental vigor and activity, and to whose shrewd and talkative humor several amusing anecdotes bear witness. When at Hull, in this way, Milner disdained not to return to his duties as usher. To the boys he could be gay and frolicsome, and they relished alike his playful manner and the clearness with which he explained what they could not understand without such assistance.

In 1784, Milner was chosen Jacksonian Professor of Natural and Experimental Philosophy; and in the same year took part in the institution of a society for the advancement of philosophy and general literature, which only enjoyed a brief existence.

When Wilberforce was living in the house of an aunt, who held Methodistical views of religion, and was suspected of being impressed with such doctrines, his rich and sapient grandsire delivered himself of this alarming and oracular saying: “Billy shall travel with Milner when he is of age; but if Billy turns Methodist, he shall not have a sixpence of mine.” It did come to pass that, after Wilberforce was elected member for his native shire, and his acquaintance with Milner was renewed, he requested the company of his former instructor on a Continental tour. Accordingly they started on their excursion in the autumn of 1784, accompanied by the young, wealthy, and eloquent senator’s female relatives. It is related that, during this expedition, the travelers being on one occasion in imminent danger of being dashed over the brink of a precipice, from the weight of their vehicle overpowering the horses, Milner leaped out, and, grasping the wheels, exerted his great physical strength so effectually, that the danger was obviated. During their wayfarings they met, in Switzerland, the celebrated Lavater, in whose conversation Milner was much interested. Shortly afterward Milner visited his friend at Bath, when “the volatile representative of the county of York” was attacked by a serious illness, and subsequently at his temporary residence in Westmoreland, which being filled with guests of distinction, furnished the divine with a fair field for the display of his wonderful power and versatility. He held conversations with his host on religious subjects, and exercised no slight influence on the mind and opinions of the great philanthropist, in whose schemes for the freedom and welfare of the human race he warmly sympathized.

In the year 1786 Milner took his degree of Bachelor of Divinity, and about the same time was an active member of the Board of Longitude, instituted for the purpose of considering and reporting to government any discoveries calculated to mitigate the perils of navigation. He was regarded as one of the most talented men at Cambridge, where he was considered as an excellent lecturer. As Jacksonian professor he gave alternate courses on chemistry and experimental philosophy, the former of which were especially well attended; and he continued to occupy the chair till his preferment to ecclesiastical dignity.

About his thirty-eighth year he was elected President of Queen’s College; and in this capacity he is reported to have aimed at affording encouragement to learned men belonging to the foundation, and introducing such improvements in the reformation of abuses, and other means, as were calculated to conduce to the welfare of the students, and the honor of the university. Four years later he took the degree of Doctor of Divinity, on being appointed to the deanery of Carlisle, of which he took formal possession by reading prayers in the cathedral. As a preacher he was most effective: his voice, in which he took pride, was sonorous and magnificent; his eloquence was, on the whole, dignified and impressive; and when it was known that he was to preach, as he was in the habit of doing almost every Sunday during his periodic residence, in the cathedral of the ancient city, the aisles and every part of the building were thronged with people of all religious persuasions. Indeed it was remarked, that on such occasions you might walk on the heads of the crowd; and even those who did not entirely agree with his doctrines, admitted the ability with which they were urged, and the striking light in which they were placed. Nor did he court popularity by the brevity of his discourses; for we read, that on an Ash Wednesday he preached to a thronging congregation in the chapel of Whitehall, on “the one thing needful,” for no shorter space than an hour and twenty minutes.

Milner’s presentation to the deanery was closely followed by his election to the Vice-chancellorship of the University, of which he was so distinguished a resident; and in 1809 he was unexpectedly re-elected to the office: having, in the mean time, been called to fill the mathematical chair, which a century earlier had been occupied by the ever-illustrious Newton.

The ties which, amidst all his triumphs, had hitherto been instrumental in binding the Dean of Carlisle to the world, were about this period weakened by domestic losses. His mother had already gone to her grave; and in 1797 his brother, who had just been appointed to the vicarage of Hull, breathed his last. The latter bereavement touched Milner’s heart to the core; he began to feel less concern with earthly affairs, to exhibit greater earnestness in his professional duties, and to set his affections more steadfastly on things above. His life, indeed, was far from being without its enjoyments and consolations. He looked upon his summer residence at Carlisle as, in some measure, a period of relaxation, associated on terms of intimacy with the families in the vicinity, and derived pleasure from the hospitalities that were practiced, and the company that assembled at the mansions of Lord Lonsdale and the bishop of the diocese. He was prepared to converse with those whom he met on the subjects with which they were most familiar, in a style joyous, jocund, or grandiloquent. “He talked, also, to his chosen and intimate friends,” it has been said, with power, “but not in the same fitful strain. To them, from the abundance of the heart, he spoke on the theme which engages the latest thoughts of all men, the retrospect and the prospect; the mystery within, and the dread presence without; the struggle, and the triumph, and the fearful vengeance; and whatever else is involved in the relations which subsist between mortal man and the eternal source of his existence. To search into those relations, and into the duties, and hopes, and fears flowing from them, was the end which Isaac Milner still proposed to himself, under all his own ever-varying moods.”

Milner, with affectionate devotion to the memory of his deceased brother, repaid the essential obligations which in youth he had incurred, by editing and improving the “Church History,” written to disseminate the theological views he held; and added thereto a biographical sketch of the author. Nor, in the midst of affluence and reputation, did he forget the wants of his more humble relatives; to whose necessities, as to those of the poor of his native place, he ministered with a bountiful hand. In Carlisle, also, he contributed toward the various objects of public charity; he was ever anxious to serve those who, in private, applied to him for assistance; and he subscribed liberally toward the erection of the new churches, which were rendered necessary by the large population of the old Border city.

In 1819, having previously been introduced to Dr. Chalmers, Milner wrote to the magistrates of Edinburgh, urging the claims to the Professorship of Natural Philosophy in their gift, and then vacant, of that eminent Scottish divine, whom he described as “a man of great genius, varied talents, and sound principles, both religious and civil.”

After attaining the age of threescore and ten years, this distinguished man died on the 1st of April, 1820, and was buried in the chapel of that college of which by intellectual industry he had risen to be the head.

DAVID HUME.

Though any attempt to excuse or palliate Hume’s erroneous views and opinions in regard to religion――the dissemination of which he is said to have regretted――would be little less than high treason against Christianity and civilization, his example, in other respects, is of infinite value. His career was characterized by resolution, independence, and self-command, at a time when these qualities were not much in fashion; and his life is a lasting protest against the idea, that the habits of a literary man are necessarily lax in respect to pecuniary affairs. Moreover, he must be acknowledged as prince among the historians of England. He still retains his ascendency after the lapse of an eventful century; and his great work is looked to as the natural source of information on the subject of which it treats. The intelligent reader is animated by feelings of admiration after perusing its inimitable pages; while the less informed goes to it for guidance and instruction. Yet much of this mighty memorial of his great intellect was composed in the face of a reception so galling to a proud spirit, and so discouraging to a heart panting for fame, that most men would, under the circumstances, have thrown down the pen in blank dismay; but Hume, notwithstanding his temporary disgust, had courage and genius fully equal to the occasion. He felt how glorious was the prize at stake, and pushed bravely forward to snatch it. And it is, indeed, impossible too highly to admire the calm, intrepid, unshrinking perseverance he displayed in thus consummating, in spite of all the clamor that the earliest volumes elicited, a work which he ere long had the consolation of knowing the world would not willingly let die. Such, doubtless, has often been the lot of those who write for immortality!

The pedigree of this illustrious personage, who frankly confessed to the charm of an ancient name, was such as might satisfy the most exacting genealogist. Indeed, it is traced in the books of heralds, through potent barons and mighty earls, to the Saxon conquerors of Britain; though it does not appear that he was fully aware of a fact, which, to say the least, would have been reflected on with complacency. But as the subject is not altogether uninteresting to many, it may be here adverted to with brevity.

When the Norman Conquest took place, a Northumbrian prince――whose grandmother was daughter of an English king, and whose brother became, by marriage with the heiress of the Nevilles, progenitor of those barons slain on the field of Barnet――was driven to seek refuge on the north side of the Tweed, where he founded that powerful feudal connection known as the house of Dunbar, which fell in the fifteenth century. One of its branches, and the inheritor of much of its power, was the baronial family of Home, whose chiefs bestowed such lands as came into their possession on their younger sons. One of these cadets――the historian’s ancestor――was thus gifted with Tyninghame, a fertile estate in Lothian; but being, unlike his remote descendant, an irreclaimable spendthrift, he totally dissipated this paternal grant. It happened, however, that his son, a youth of promise, was received into favor by the head of the clan, and planted at the Ninewells, on the pleasant banks of the Whitadder, where his successors, whose names no minstrel has sung, vegetated for three hundred years. In fact, though residing close to the Border, they do not appear to have fought in the wars which desolated the vicinity, nor even to have speculated in the precarious trade of cattle-lifting. They seem neither to have been puissant knights nor “rank reivers;” nor were they in request when a charter was to be attested, or an eldest son served heir to his father. But they paid a species of “black mail” to the English captain of Berwick, received protection, lived in peace, speared salmon, and cultivated their fruitful lands. In the reign of Queen Anne, one of these lairds, whose sire’s heart’s blood seems to have stained the blade of an exasperated sheriff, went in youth to the Scottish capital, and was in due time called to the bar; but without pursuing the legal profession further. He was considered a man of attainments, and took to wife, in 1708, the daughter of Sir David Falconer, Lord President of the College of Justice. By this lady he had two sons and a daughter, of whom David Hume was born, at Edinburgh, on the 26th of April, 1711.

The consideration of a distinguished lineage certainly imparted to Hume’s heart a calm satisfaction and colored, though in the slightest degree, his writings; but as he was deficient in sympathy with the past, it could not infringe on his philosophic mind, perplex his clear intelligence, or influence his serene judgment. The political sentiments in which he was nurtured were destined to exercise a much greater effect on his life and works. His father’s residence was situated in a district where the lords of the soil were, with rare exceptions, deeply tinged with Jacobite principles. Their interest and inclination alike prompted an adherence to the cause of the ancient line of kings; and at the very time when the future historian first saw the light, the accession to power of a Tory ministry had conveyed hope and animation to their breasts. Thus when he began to creep about and lisp forth inarticulate sounds, complaints of real injuries and imaginary insults sustained by his relatives since the Revolution would greet his childish ears, and perhaps enter into his young soul. In his fourth year, these restless worthies proposed to hold a public meeting with a view of obtaining a redress of their grievances; but as the authorities deemed that it might prove a cause of embarrassment to the newly-established government, it was sternly interdicted, and precautions were taken to repress any attempt to disobey the official mandate. David’s fierce clansmen bit their gloves, shook their heads, and vowed revenge. Several of them risked and lost all in the insurrection of 1715; his chief and a near kinsman were committed to the Castle of Edinburgh for their devotion to the house of Stuart; and amidst scenes of tumult, disorder, and confiscation, the first few years of Hume’s life passed over. Perhaps, indeed, to his brother and himself having been minors at the time may be ascribed their not having assumed the white cockade, and that the acres held for centuries by their ancestors were not appropriated by some intriguing agent for forfeited estates, or seized by a factor with few scruples of conscience and sufficient dexterity in arithmetical mystification.

At an early age――indeed almost in infancy――Hume lost his father; and his widowed mother, though young and handsome enough to have aspired with success to a second husband, devoted her whole time and attention to the rearing and education of her children. David soon began to manifest an ardent love for his books. As a boy he was particularly docile, well behaved, and attentive to his studies, without being remarkable for the display of precocious talents. The family property had, of course, gone to his elder brother; and as the portion of a second son was not such as to encourage for a moment the idea of passing his life without labor, he felt under the necessity of bringing his abilities into active operation. With this view he was sent to fit himself for exertion by completing his education at the university of his native city, where he went through the usual academic course with comparative credit and success.

His extraordinary ability at this period is beyond all question, for a letter written to a youthful intimate at the age of sixteen proves that his marvelous talent was then exhibiting itself. Having been fired with that enthusiasm for literature which continued to be his ruling passion and chief delight, he impressed his guardians with a high opinion of his studious disposition; and they, taking into account his steadiness of conduct and sobriety of demeanor, arrived at the conclusion, that the Scottish bar would be a proper sphere for the exercise of that intellectual industry of which he daily gave signal proofs. His tastes, however, were rather unsuited to pursuing the profession successfully; and he states that he was generally engaged in devouring Cicero and Virgil while he was supposed to be occupied with the more practical studies of Voet and Vinnius. At eighteen the law appeared utterly nauseous to him, and his aversion to it as the business of life became extreme. He pondered and reflected; he could think of no other method to push his way in the world than as a scholar and philosopher, and this prospect pleased him infinitely for a season; but his health giving way under the pressure of severe mental application, a reaction came, and his ardor quite expired. He abandoned all thoughts of the law as a profession, and removed to the residence of his brother. The change of air and scene had a beneficial influence, and the young philosopher applied to the family doctor to restore his health and spirits. The latter laughed at his patient’s imaginary ailments; but, at the same time, accompanied his unwelcome raillery by the extremely palatable advice to drink a pint of claret a day, and take plenty of equestrian exercise. Hume attended to the prescription, daily swallowed a proper quantity of the grateful beverage, and rode some ten or twelve miles on horseback. Though caring little for rural pleasures, pursuits, or recreations, he seems to have really enjoyed himself at this period: he soon gathered strength from his exercise in the open air; and, from being a tall, lean, and raw-boned lad, he passed to the other extreme――his complexion became ruddy and his countenance cheerful. His pursuits seem to have been diversified. He studied Latin, English, French, and Italian. He read books of morality, and was captivated with their beautiful representations of virtue and philosophy; and he listened, not without gratification, to stories about the fortunes of their race from some knightly clansman or old freeholder. The traditionary lore and local associations were apparently, it must be confessed, quite lost upon him: he was without local ambition; and the scenes of his boyhood, when he has occasion to mention them, are alluded to with the same cold dignity with which he writes of places which he had never seen. His intellect was so severely original, that it disdained to draw one particle of inspiration from buildings and battle-plains which have since been invested with so pleasing a charm, and made the subject of glowing verse. There is no sign of his having viewed Norham Castle, Flodden Field, and Halidon Hill, or ridden through “the rich Merse,” and perambulated the ancient capital of the eastern marshes, or gazed on the “desolate grandeur” of Home, with romantic enthusiasm, poetic perception, or provincial pride. While accumulating information in regard to distant countries with industry and rapidity, he altogether neglected or scorned the precious metals which lay in his way; and while contemplating the perfections of Roman poets, he had not a thought to spare to the Border ballad-makers, whose verses Scott toiled to preserve and restore. He had therefore small temptation to linger amidst the fields, meadows, and woods through which he had roamed in his thoughtful childhood. He felt, indeed, that such an expenditure of time was by no means in harmony with his circumstances; and, believing that business and diversion would give him peace of mind and relief from anxiety, he resolved to betake himself to a more active life, and entered on a course, of all others, at variance with his natural bent toward studious retirement and philosophic reflection――that of commerce. In doing so, he confessed that he could never wholly give up his pretensions in learning but with his latest breath. He merely laid them aside for the time, with a view of resuming them to greater advantage. In reality, he was actuated by an ardent and consuming passion to achieve literary fame and found a philosophical reputation when he formed his determination――a most inauspicious frame of mind, assuredly, with which to enter upon the harsh duties of mercantile existence!

About the beginning of March, 1734, Hume started for Bristol. He visited London in his way, and then traveled onward. He had obtained introductions to several leading merchants in the place; and on reaching his destination established himself in the counting-house of one of them, in the hope of forgetting the past, preparing for the future, and enriching himself by commerce. But the petty cares, the perpetual bustle, and the perennial annoyances of such a career, were found, as might have been anticipated, utterly intolerable to a person to whom legal studies had appeared irksome and unattractive; and, after a few months’ trial, he relinquished his new situation, with all its coarse, uncongenial duties, and those prospects of remuneration which are so seldom realized.

Hume had already, according to his own statement, collected materials for many volumes. He, therefore, passed over to France, with the view of prosecuting his studies in some rural retreat. No doubt he could have done so at the time-honored mansion of his fathers, but circumstances had occurred since he left which rendered it impossible to return there with any feeling of comfort; so he made a short stay in Paris, and then repaired to Rheims, in the north of France, where he spent some months in literary retirement. “I there,” he writes, “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.”

Having formed this wise and prudent determination, he removed to La Flèche, in Anjou, where he prepared his “Treatise on Human Nature;” and then he returned to London, to superintend the publication, and endure the suspense. Being issued in 1738, the work, to use his own expression, fell still-born from the press; though when subsequently published in separate essays, it was a little more successful.

Having thus, at the age of twenty-seven, embarked and made an inauspicious voyage on the uncertain sea of literature, Hume, without even waiting to know the fate of his work――for which a publisher had given the sum of fifty pounds――turned his face northward; and, perhaps, with some slight regret that he had relinquished the profession of the law, and deserted the merchant’s desk, sought the agreeable seclusion of his family’s fair domain, which he found his brother laudably occupied in improving and enhancing in value. Among its old trees, pleasantly shading the gentle acclivity whence burst the nine fountains which gave a name to the place, and with which the argent lion on his ancestral shield was charged, Hume experienced so much satisfactory enjoyment in “retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,” that, though the ideas and tastes of his relatives could not have harmonized very readily or easily with his own, he would, in all probability, had other matters been equal, have chosen to pass his life there. But the ambition for literary fame continued strongly to animate and influence him; and his time was chiefly spent in grave reading, deep meditation, in restoring his knowledge of the Greek language, and in corresponding, among others, with his friend Henry Home, afterward celebrated as Lord Kames.

Such was his position, when the last Marquis of Annandale, a Scottish nobleman, whose eccentricity took the form of lunacy, having read some of the hapless essays, was so charmed with something he saw in them, that he conceived a passionate wish to obtain the services of the learned author as his tutor. Hume was induced, by the temptation of an ample salary, to accept the office of companion to this weak-minded man, and had his temper severely tested in consequence. After holding the luckless and invidious post for a year, during which the marquis seems to have written a novel, relating to some events and love affairs in his own life, Hume’s patience and placidity gave way, and, throwing up the situation, he became candidate for the Professorship of Moral Philosophy at Edinburgh, which, although powerfully supported, he was unable to obtain, on account of his well-known sentiments on religious subjects.

Matters, however, ere long, began to assume a pleasanter aspect. An honorable appointment, as private secretary to General St. Clair, uncle of Lord-chancellor Loughborough, was almost immediately bestowed on him, as if by way of solace for his depressing defeat. The General had originally been destined for an important expedition to Canada, which somehow ended――or, rather was metamorphosed――into an incursion on the coast of France. On returning, Hume retreated to country quarters, and wrote a defense of the expedition, which has since been printed; and shortly afterward he accompanied General St. Clair on an embassy to the courts of Turin and Vienna, in the double capacity of secretary and aid-de-camp, wearing the uniform of an officer. His time, while in this position, was passed agreeably, in good company, and with considerable profit in a pecuniary point of view.

Meantime his “Inquiry concerning the Human Understanding,” being the substance of his former work in a new shape, was published in London, but with scarcely greater success than the original; any interest it excited being merely of a temporary character. However, his natural cheerfulness bore him up against his repeated literary disappointments; and he returned to Scotland to delight his kinsfolk and acquaintances with narrations of his adventures in lands beyond the sea, and to digest the frustration of his hopes as well as he could. Still resolute of purpose, he wrote, during a two-years’ retirement, his “Political Discourses,” which were given to the world in 1752, and excited interest and attention both at home and abroad. Indeed, though in some measure overshadowed by the celebrated work which his friend Adam Smith produced fourteen years later, they unfold and enforce those views of economical science which are now recognized and adopted, for better or for worse, by all English statesmen. Moreover, they have, in the highest degree, the merit of originality; and their style is so admirable, that they can be perused by general readers at once with profit and pleasure. At the same time he composed his “Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals,” which, notwithstanding his own high estimate of its comparative merits, was little noticed or regarded. The former emanations of his great intellect were now beginning to attract observation, and he was gratified by finding that answers antagonistic to the views they maintained were gradually appearing; but he discreetly formed the resolution of not being drawn into controversy by such effusions, and inflexibly kept his purpose in this respect.

Hume had now attained the age of forty, and, though there certainly exists evidence which makes one suspect that he had not always proved that rare impenetrability to female blandishments for which his biographers have given him credit, there was, at this time of life, small chance of his being betrayed into a matrimonial alliance. His brother, therefore, aroused himself to the duty of transmitting the name, and continuing the succession, and, in 1751, wedded the daughter of a neighboring family. This country gentleman was a person of retired habits; he had a strong aversion to every thing savoring, or even having the appearance, of vanity; and he was so extremely prudent in his actions, that, with the exception of his marriage, he never took any step without having previously calculated the consequences to his satisfaction. When the latter momentous event occurred, the philosopher felt a natural longing to have a tenement of his own. His mother, whom he describes as a woman of singular merit, and whom he had in her lifetime treated with much filial kindness and affection, had been in her grave for years; and he proposed “to take up house in Berwickshire” with his sister; but duly weighing and deliberately considering the matter, he came to the conclusion that a town was “the true scene for a man of letters;” and, removing to Edinburgh, he exercised so much frugality in disposing of his slender income that he was enabled to live in comfort and contentment. Yet he was not, by any means, parsimonious, and ever was ready, on fitting occasions, to prove his generosity by charitable and beneficent actions.

The year 1752 was an important one in Hume’s life. He was then appointed Librarian to the Faculty of Advocates, after a severe and spirited contest, in which, besides the junior members of the bar, his chief allies were the ladies of “modern Athens,” who made strenuous efforts and exerted their utmost fascinations in his behalf. When the triumph was achieved he found himself in a most advantageous position in regard to an excellent and well-stocked library, which fortunately suggested to his brain the scheme of furnishing the world with a classical history of England, then a serious desideratum in national literature. “Being frightened,” he states in his autobiography, “with the notion of continuing a narrative through a period of seventeen hundred years, I commenced with the House of Stuart, an epoch where I thought the misrepresentation of faction began chiefly to take place.”

When the first volume, recording the events in the reigns of James I. and Charles I., was issued, in 1754, the effects of the author’s earlier training were sufficiently apparent to kindle the wrath of one party without flattering the prejudices of the other. Accordingly, it was assailed by one cry of reproach and disapprobation; the sale was quite inconsiderable, and almost the only token of encouragement worth having came from the Primates of England and Ireland, who advised him to take heart, and proceed in his undertaking. But, whatever may be thought of Hume’s historic leanings and political sympathies, it must be admitted that he acted courageously, conscientiously, and without fishing for the favor of those who had in their hands all the patronage and disposal of such places and rewards as he could have aspired to. He followed what appeared to him the true and just course, notwithstanding the storms to which he felt he would on that account be exposed; and his genius, more potent than had been the swords of his insurgent kinsmen, threw a wall of defense around the memory of the exiled race which, with all its defects, succeeding writers, whatever their ability and energy, have never been skillful and vigorous enough to scale or break down. Nevertheless, the reception of his work inspired him with feelings of such dislike for the British public, that he resolved upon leaving the country, renouncing his name, and passing the remainder of his days on the Continent; but a French war luckily put an end to his scheme of self-expatriation, and he determined to persevere with his laborious and ungrateful task. In 1756 his second volume appeared, and proved not less obnoxious than the first; but by that he had, as he says, “grown callous against the impressions of public folly.” It was fortunate, in any case, that he did not succumb till the tyranny was overpast. His victory was secure, slowly as it might approach.

He had already published the “Natural History of Religion,” which was severely censured; and when the author had arrived at his fiftieth year, his matchless and magnificent “History of England” was completed in six volumes. His easy, elegant, and interesting style ere long rendered the work highly popular. Hume was by universal consent, placed on a lofty pedestal of fame; and, though its reception had originally been so disheartening, the sum obtained for the copyright, and for his former productions, together with his economical habits, had made him not only independent but, as he considered it, opulent. He, therefore, looked forward to passing the remainder of his days in peace, and in his native land, congratulating himself on having never, in his struggle for fortune, courted the smiles of any great man, or treated the humble with discourtesy. He was, though plain and careless in manner, eminently qualified, by his frank and social humor, to enjoy the company of his chosen friends, with whom, in spite of their wide differences of opinion on the most serious subjects, he was ever on terms of affectionate intercourse and uninterrupted friendship. Nevertheless, within two years, he consented to forego his cherished plans, at the earnest and repeated solicitations of Lord Hertford, who was going as Embassador to Paris. Thither Hume accompanied that nobleman, and was shortly after appointed Secretary of Embassy. In 1765, when Lord Hertford departed to undertake the government of Ireland, the historian remained in the French capital as Chargé d’Affaires, and performed the functions pertaining to the office in a manner highly creditable to his clearness of judgment, his talent for business, and capacity for state affairs. In the gay and fashionable circles of Paris his fame, station, and agreeable bearing, secured him so hearty a welcome that ladies and princes, wits and philosophers, vied in their attentions. It was there that, in an evil hour, he consented, in a spirit of excessive amiability, to take under his wing the frantic and erratic Rousseau, whose connection afterward involved him in much trouble, and caused him infinite annoyance.

Hume returned to this country in 1766, and was, the next year appointed Under-secretary of State for the department presided over by Marshal Conway, an office which he retained for more than twelve months. His annual income, the fruits of real industry, now amounted to a thousand pounds a year; and, taking a house in the new town of Edinburgh, he settled to spend his remaining days among his old and most attached friends. For some time his peaceful existence was uninterrupted, but in 1766 his health became so precarious that he was under the necessity of undertaking a journey to Bath, when he was attended by his friend and remote relative, John Home, the author of “Douglas,” with whom he had many a jocular debate about the correct orthography of their name, and the comparative merits of port and claret. The illustrious historian was fond of relieving his sinking spirits by a playful jest at the expense of his clansman’s warlike propensities, and did not omit so favorable an opportunity as that presented by the poet’s pistols being handed, with much ceremony, into the traveling-carriage:

“You shall have your humor, John,” he said, “and shoot as many highwaymen as you like; for,” he added, with as much melancholy, perhaps, as a philosopher could well feel, “there’s too little life left in me to be worth fighting about.”

It appears that the martial predilections alluded to were shortly afterward gratified by a commission in the “Buccleuch Fencibles,” though on this occasion they were not in requisition; unless, indeed, to inspire the young soul of Walter Scott, who was then exercising his precocious imagination at Bath, where he made the acquaintance of the bard, soldier, and divine, whose fame his pen, more than fifty years later, did something to extend and perpetuate. If the eye of the great historian, from which the world and all its vanities were fast vanishing, lighted on that lame boy, vigilantly guarded by a sarcastic and high-spirited female, how little could he have supposed that there was the being destined to invest with the charms of romance and the glow of chivalry that old royal cause, which he had employed all his wisdom and all his intellect to restore to public favor and render permanently attractive!

Meantime the veteran philosopher and historian, deriving little or no benefit from his visit to Bath, returned to die under his own roof. His decline was gradual; and, to the last, his most ultimate associates could not observe any diminution of gayety. He talked familiarly with them during their calls, and alluded to his approaching dissolution in a tone of whose levity even Dr. Smith, his most ardent admirer, could not approve. Whatever twinges of doubt or dread in regard to the future he might in his last hours experience, were encountered and borne with the semblance of indifference and tranquillity. He could not, indeed, feel the blessedness of those who have fought a good fight and kept the faith; nor could he, like Addison, exclaim with hopeful and serene resignation, “You see how a Christian can die:” but, five days before his last, he wrote, “I see death approaching gradually without anxiety or regret.” On the 25th of August, 1776, he breathed his last; and was buried in a cemetery on the Calton Hill, where a monument to his memory has since been erected.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

Among “the laborers of literature” Southey was eminently distinguished by skill, regularity, perseverance, and other qualities hardly less essential to continuous and satisfactory success in his profession. Few men have practiced more resolute industry, or exhibited the literary character in a more estimable light; and his example, in this respect, is peculiarly worthy of being presented to the attention of aspiring and intellectual youths.

He was descended from a sturdy race of yeomen, who had been settled for a considerable period in the county of Somerset. He would, it seems, have liked well to believe that his ancestors had fought beneath the cross in Palestine; but was fain to content himself with ascertaining the less gratifying fact that one of them had risen in rebellion with the reputed son of “the merry monarch,” and narrowly escaped the fangs of such law as was administered by the ruthless and unsparing chief-justice of the last popish sovereign of England. It happened that, during the last century, a kinsman of the family being engaged in trade as a grocer in the city of London, Southey’s father was sent to try his fortune in the metropolis; his relations, in all likelihood, regaling their fancies with the agreeable delusion that he would in good time, and by some easy but mysterious process, attain the wealth and dignity of a Whittington. The young apprentice, however, was naturally, to a great extent, disqualified for pursuing his occupation with success, being by birth and training excessively fond of rural affairs and field sports. The sight of a dead hare carried along the street brought tears to his eyes, and the mention of a greyhound made his heart sick. Many a time, no doubt, did he sigh with heaviness for the green pastures, running streams, and shady orchards of his native shire, as he pensively took down his master’s shutters, and prepared to drag himself through the care, toil, and uncongenial duties, which were brought by each successive day in endless round. While thus occupied, the Somersetshire lad, on the death of his employer, had an opportunity of transferring himself to Bristol; and there he was placed, with due form, in the establishment of a linen-draper, who kept the principal shop in the rich old town. While thus situated learning his business, and applying the yard-wand to crapes and muslins, it was his fortune to become acquainted with the son of a widow lady, whose relationship was miscellaneous, and who resided on a small estate that had belonged to her husband’s forefathers for generations. The bold draper speedily formed an intimacy with the family――got into the habit of being a regular Sunday guest――became enamored of one of the daughters, and took her to wife, after embarking in business on his own account; though it does not appear that he ever enjoyed much prosperity. Nevertheless, it was ordered that his name should not sink into utter oblivion, even though his shop――which, true to hereditary tastes, he had called the “Sign of the Hare”――was not the most flourishing concern; for under its roof, on the 12th of August, 1774, Robert Southey was born; and he was so fat, large, and ugly an infant, that the nurse in attendance expressed no slight disappointment at his unprepossessing appearance. The space of two years, however, served to change him completely in this respect; and by that time he had manifested a peculiarly sensitive disposition. In childhood he was often affected to tears by the songs, ballads, and stories, which were sung, recited, or told by the affectionate inmates of his father’s house to amuse and interest him; and in after life the author of “The Doctor” never could listen to a tale of woe without experiencing painful sensations and feelings of sadness.

Southey was still less than three years old when it was his fate to be removed to Bath, and soon after placed, though by no means willingly, at the school of a dame whose countenance seems almost to have frightened him out of his wits. Indeed, her aspect was so forbidding, that the little pupil was shocked at its excessive plainness, and loudly expressed the terror with which he was inspired, entreating, but vainly, to be sent home. His struggles and complaints proving of no avail he was compelled to submit to this petticoat government until his sixth year; and while under it conceived the idea of going, with two of his school-mates, to an island, and living by themselves. As it was to include mountains of sweetmeats and gingerbread, the place, as may be supposed, was sufficiently fascinating to their imaginations. Southey at this time lived with Miss Tyler, his mother’s half-sister, a full-blown spinster of considerable personal attractions, but with an imperious will and a violent temper. The discipline to which she subjected the young poet, though irksome and despotic, was not altogether disadvantageous to the rise of his intellect. He was not permitted to play with any of his companions, and he was made aware that to soil his garments was deemed an inexpiable crime; but being much in the company of people older than himself, he mused and romanced at an unusually early age; and he was soon, like other boy-bards, inspired

“By strong ambition to out-roll a lay,
Whose melody would haunt the world.”

His original aspirations, however, were of a martial cast; he longed, with all the enthusiasm of an incipient poet, to be a soldier, and to possess the various weapons used in battle. On one occasion he was lulled into a temporary feeling of full and complete happiness by being allowed to take the sword of a military visitor to bed with him; and sadly was he mortified, on awaking, to perceive by the morning light that it had in the mean time escaped from his grasp, and disappeared. On another, he incurred a sharp infliction of the horsewhip for strolling from home with a barber’s assistant, who had promised to furnish him with a suitable blade, but proved faithless to his plighted word.

As soon as Southey had learned to read, one of his aunt’s friends presented him with a number of children’s books, which he much prized and eagerly perused; and thus, perhaps, was implanted in his glowing breast the germs of that extraordinary passion for literature which made him in later days regard the fame arising from it as the most worthy and desirable, as well as least evanescent of any. Moreover, his maiden guardian was extremely fond of frequenting the theatre, and had an extensive acquaintance among people connected with histrionic affairs. Thus, at the age of four, Southey was taken to witness a play, which so much delighted him, that he speedily, conceived a keen relish for the stage. He heard more of theatrical matters than of any other subject; and soon essayed to write dramas himself. His aunt was also much given to reading romances, and trained her little nephew to do likewise.

Notwithstanding this unquestionable fascination held out by her, the capricious sway which she exercised with incessant vigilance was so much felt by the boy, that he rejoiced exceedingly when allowed to return to his father’s house, where he enjoyed comparative freedom, and could walk into the neighboring fields, which with him, at this period, was the greatest of all pleasures and the chief of all delights.