to pervade the whole system; for in laying bare the roots of our ideas, in describing the soil from which they spring, and the several stages of that marvellous growth and multiplication by which they spread and become, in some respects, coextensive with creation itself, he makes amends for what might seem to be invidious in other parts of his views, and gives birth to a sublime conception of human intellect.

His object however was not so much to reconcile man with himself, as to explain the means by which we acquire all the knowledge we possess, with the reasons why it is not more extensive and complete. He had necessarily, therefore, to dwell on all the existing hindrances as well as helps to knowledge, whether arising from the make and constitution of our nature, or from that artificial atmosphere of prejudice by which in all stages of society we envelop ourselves.

In refuting errors and laying bare absurdities there is always something ungracious; but such, up to his time, had been the character of modern philosophy that it was impossible to erect a system sufficiently spacious and magnificent to be the dwelling-place of Truth, without overthrowing and removing the numerous dens and asylums of Error with which the whole was encumbered. Thus the Essay on the Human Understanding grew to be in part polemical, and the porch of philosophy was filled with the din and strife of controversy, instead of those musical flourishes and harmonious preludes which, in the works of Plato and many other ancient philosophers, meet the student on the threshold.

It will be perceived that I here refer more particularly to the doctrine of innate ideas, which Locke found it necessary to refute before he entered upon the development of his own system. It has been supposed by some modern writers that he was at very unnecessary pains in the matter, seeing he had little more to contend with than shadows of his own raising. This is Hume's view of the controversy, the whole nature of which he appears thoroughly to have misunderstood. At all events he misrepresents it grossly, where, in a laconic note, he cavalierly accuses Locke of not comprehending the question he was discussing. " "Tis probable," he says, "that no more was meant by those who

denied innate ideas than that all ideas were copies of our impressions." The probability however is, that their meaning was very different, for if the word 'impressions' mean anything at all, it must mean the same thing with sensation, and then I would beg leave to inquire where Locke maintains that all our ideas, or indeed any of them, are copies of our sensations? For though he teaches that it is through sensation we obtain certain of our simple ideas, he nowhere asserts that the ideas thus obtained are copies of such sensations.

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The explanation given by Hume of the word 'innate' is perfectly humorous: For what," he asks, "is meant by innate? If innate be equivalent to natural, then all the perceptions and ideas of the mind must be allowed to be innate or natural, in whatever sense we take the latter word, whether in opposition to what is uncommon, artificial, or miraculous." But neither Descartes, nor any other philosopher who held the doctrine of innate ideas, ever employed the term as a synonym with natural. If he had done so, no dispute would have arisen about the matter, though people might have objected to his abuse of language. But Hume knew very well that such was not the meaning of the term innate, and therefore goes on to say: "If by innate he meant contemporary to our birth, the dispute seems to be frivolous; nor is it worth while to inquire at what time thinking begins, whether before, at, or after the birth." All this may be very true, but Locke finding the philosophical world besotted with such frivolities patiently undertook to demonstrate their frivolousness.

The sense in which innate' was understood by Locke's opponents, scarcely glanced at by Hume, requires to be explained: they supposed that certain of our ideas are obtained through sensation, others through reflection, and that a third sort are stamped upon the essence of the soul at the moment of its creation. But because the ideas of this third class are not developed in the first stages of life so as to be taken cognizance of by the understanding, they are said to lie hidden in the depths of our being until called forth and rendered visible by circumstances. This is the system which Locke undertakes to explode. Whether it be frivolous or otherwise the world must determine, for it still exists in

spite of his reasonings, which shows that, however frivolous it may be, it is at least possessed of considerable vitality. Hume, however, undertakes to clear up the mystery in the following manner: Admitting," says he, "these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense above explained, and understanding by innate what is original or copied from no precedent perception, then may we assert that all our impressions are innate, and our ideas not innate." It is very easy to sneer, as Hume elsewhere does, at " that jargon which has so long taken possession of metaphysical reasonings;" but to speak frankly, I never met in any author jargon more completely unintelligible than this. For after utterly confounding the meaning of natural, innate, impression, and idea, he proceeds to make confusion worse confounded by speaking of innate and inward sensations, that is of sensations which precede the existence of all sensitive power, and sensations existing in the intellect, for by inward sensations he must mean this or nothing.*

From the fatal necessity of entering into this controversy sprung likewise another imperfection, the principal, perhaps, in the writings of Locke; I mean his prolixity, which often tires, and would inevitably disgust were it not for the depth,

*Upon this subject of innate ideas more stir was made during the lifetime of the philosopher than on any other connected with his system. The famous Dr. Sherlock attacked his views in a "Digression concerning connate Ideas, or inbred Knowledge, inserted in the third section of the second chapter of his discourse concerning the happiness of good men, and the punishment of the wicked, in the next world," etc. (Lond. 1704. 8vo.) About four months before Locke's death the book was sent to him by Anthony Collins, to whom in his next letter he expressed himself respecting it as follows: "The samples you have sent me I must conclude, from the abilities of the author, to be very excellent. But what shall I

be the better for the most exact and best-proportioned picture that ever was drawn, if I have not eyes to see the correspondence of the parts? I confess the lines are too subtle for me, and my dull sight cannot perceive their connections. I am not envious, and therefore shall not be troubled if others find themselves instructed with so extraordinary and sublime a way of reasoning. I am content with my own mediocrity. And though I call the thinking faculty in me mind, yet I cannot, because of that name, compare or equal it in anything to that infinite and incomprehensible being which, for want of right and distinct conceptions, is called mind also, or the eternal mind. I endeavour to make the best use I can of everything; and therefore, though I am in despair to be the wiser for these learned instructions, yet I hope I shall be the merrier for them when you and I take the air in the calash together."

reach, and justness of the observations that everywhere abound by the way, making ample amends for the slow pace at which we advance. The philosopher himself was a man of invincible patience, who calmly and continuously could view a subject on all sides, note its lucid points, and tell where its surface retreated and was overshadowed by obscurity. His genius appeared to be marked with serenity and repose, and to search for wisdom without any of that turbulent excitement experienced by inferior men in the very sanctuary of philosophy. He was, therefore, incapable of comprehending the weariness which more active but less capacious minds would inevitably feel in making their way through his lengthy investigations. He could not foresee that they would gladly receive the result without being shown the steps which led to it; that they would have been better pleased that he should have dogmatised as a teacher than that he should have inquired as a companion and friend, not reflecting upon the inestimable advantages we enjoy in being permitted to accompany him through all those mazy and dusky paths by which he endeavoured to hound out the retreat of truth.

It is a modification of this practice which constitutes the principal charm of Plato's writings; though in them the investigation, thrown into the form of dialogue, enhanced by brilliant sallies of wit, illustrated by a thousand allusions to objects of beauty in nature and art, is conducted with infinitely superior skill, and sometimes assumes much of the sprightly or impassioned tone of dramatic colloquy.

Locke unfortunately had formed a false theory of composition. The philosophical style, he thought, could never be too much divested of metaphor and all other figures of speech, which in his opinion distort as well as colour the medium through which we contemplate the pure truths of the understanding. Yet he found himself compelled everywhere to make use of this proscribed form of expression, which in many parts of the Essay on the Human Understanding are as thickly sown as in any philosophical writings whatever, there being scarcely a sentence unadorned by a metaphor. But if the injurious opinions he entertained of those beauties of language did not prevent him from calling in their aid whenever he stood in need of it, they at least led to false views

with respect to their importance, which terminated at length in carelessness and indifference to the colours and harmony of style.

Towards producing this undesirable effect another quality of his mind contributed; I mean that insensibility to the allurements of verse which deprived him of the highest enjoyment afforded by literature, and betrayed him into expressing a cold preference for Sir Richard Blackmore before the noblest poets of our language. Had it not been for this he might possibly have united with the depth, penetration, and comprehensiveness of a philosopher, the ease, flexibility, taste, gracefulness, and nameless felicities of language which belong to the consummate writer; and these, far more than his higher merits, would have opened him a way to the heart of the many, and rendered his glorious speculations popular and familiar to the whole nation.

But admitting him to be in these points deficient, granting at once the roughness and inartificial structure of his language in many parts, the question is whether it be for the interest of the public that he should remain, what he has long been, a neglected author.

I am aware that it belongs to the natural course of things that to a certain extent men should grow out of date with the age that produced them; for in order to promote the tranquillity and happiness of the world, Providence has clearly ordained that through all the inhabitants of a country at any given period there should preexist a certain resemblance, which in common language we denominate the spirit of the age. Such writers as partake largely of this spirit are popular during life, but rarely attain to fame. Having exclusively devoted themselves to the amusement of their contemporaries they possess nothing for posterity; and it is not therefore unusual to see their works perish before them. Even in the case of the greatest writers there is commonly after the cessation of their personal influence and authority a gradual diminution in the number of those who peruse them, though in the meanwhile their names spread more widely and become familiar to millions who have never even seen their works.

This is preeminently the case with Locke. Everybody speaks of his philosophy; his Essay is among the books of most frequent occurrence upon the stalls; and yet there is good