I am patriot enough to take pains to bring this useful invention into fashion in England; and I should not fail to write to some of our doctors very particularly about it, if I knew any one of them that I thought had virtue enough to destroy such a considerable branch of their revenue for the good of mankind. But that distemper is too beneficial to them, not to expose to all their resentment the hardy wight that should undertake to put an end to it. Perhaps, if I live to return, I may, however, have courage to war with them. Upon this occasion, admire the heroism in the heart of your friend, &c.

[To Lady Rich-France in 1718.]

PARIS, Oct. 10, O. 8., 1718.

melancholy; seek amusements; be willing to be
diverted, and insensibly you will become so. Weak
people only place a merit in affliction. A grateful
remembrance, and whatever honour we can pay to
their memory, is all that is owing to the dead. Tears
and sorrow are no duties to them, and make us in-
capable of those we owe to the living.

I give you thanks for your care of my books. I
yet retain, and carefully cherish, my taste for read-
ing. If relays of eyes were to be hired like post-
horses, I would never admit any but silent compa-
nions; they afford a constant variety of entertain-
ment, which is almost the only one pleasing in the
enjoyment, and inoffensive in the consequence. I am
sorry your sight will not permit you a great use of it:
the prattle of your little ones, and friendship of Lord
Bute, will supply the place of it. My dear child, en-
deavour to raise your spirits, and believe this advice
comes from the tenderness of your most affectionate

[To the Same-On Female Education.]

The air of Paris has already had a good effect upon me; for I was never in better health, though I have been extremely ill all the road from Lyons to this place. You may judge how agreeable the journey has been to me, which did not want that addition to make me dislike it. I think nothing so terrible as objects of misery, except one had the God-like attribute of being capable to redress them; and all the country villages of France show nothing else. While the post-horses are changed, the whole town comes out to beg, with such miserable starved faces, and thin tattered clothes, they need no other eloquence to persuade one of the wretchedness of their condition. This is all the French magnificence till you come to Fountain-between us and brutes. If there is anything in blood, bleau, where you are showed one thousand five hundred rooms in the king's hunting palace. The apartments of the royal family are very large, and richly gilt; but I saw nothing in the architecture or painting worth remembering.


I have seen all the beauties, and such (I can't help making use of the coarse word) nauseous creatures! so fantastically absurd in their dress! so monstrously unnatural in their paints! their hair cut short, and curled round their faces, and so loaded with powder, that it makes it look like white wool! and on their cheeks to their chins, unmercifully laid on a shining red japan, that glistens in a most flaming manner, so that they seem to have no resemblance to human faces. I am apt to believe that they took the first hint of their dress from a fair sheep newly ruddled. 'Tis with pleasure I recollect my dear pretty countrywomen: and if I was writing to anybody else, I should say that these grotesque daubers give me still a higher esteem of the natural charms of dear Lady Rich's auburn hair, and the lively colours of her unsullied complexion.

LOUVERE, Jan. 28, N. S., 1753. Dear Child-You have given me a great deal of satisfaction by your account of your eldest daughter. I am particularly pleased to hear she is a good arithmetician; it is the best proof of understanding: the knowledge of numbers is one of the chief distinctions

you may reasonably expect your children should be en-
dowed with an uncommon share of good sense. Mr
Wortley's family and mine have both produced some
of the greatest men that have been born in England;
I mean Admiral Sandwich, and my grandfather, who
was distinguished by the name of Wise William. I
have heard Lord Bute's father mentioned as an extra-
ordinary genius, though he had not many opportuni-
ties of showing it; and his uncle, the present Duke of
Argyll, has one of the best heads I ever knew. I will
therefore speak to you as supposing Lady Mary not
only capable, but desirous of learning; in that case
by all means let her be indulged in it. You will tell
me I did not make it a part of your education; your
prospect was very different from hers. As you had
much in your circumstances to attract the highest
offers, it seemed your business to learn how to live in
the world, as it is hers to know how to be easy out of
it. It is the common error of builders and parents to
follow some plan they think beautiful (and perhaps
is so), without considering that nothing is beautiful
which is displaced. Hence we see so many edifices
raised, that the raisers can never inhabit, being too

[To the Countess of Bute-Consoling her in Affliction.] | large for their fortunes. Vistas are laid open over

LOUVERE, Aug. 20, 1752.

My dear Child-Tis impossible to tell you to what degree I share with you in the misfortune that has happened. I do not doubt your own reason will suggest to you all the alleviations that can serve on so sad an occasion, and will not trouble you with the commonplace topics that are used, generally to no purpose, in letters of consolation. Disappointments ought to be less sensibly felt at my age than yours; yet I own I am so far affected by this, that I have need of all my philosophy to support it. However, let me beg of you not to indulge a useless grief, to the prejudice of your health, which is so necessary to your family. Everything may turn out better than you expect. We see so darkly into futurity, we never know when we have real cause to rejoice or lament. The worst appearances have often happy consequences, as the best lead many times into the greatest misfortunes. Human prudence is very straitly bounded. What is most in our power, though little so, is the disposition of our own minds. Do not give way to

barren heaths, and apartments contrived for a coolness
very agreeable in Italy, but killing in the north of
Britain: thus every woman endeavours to breed her
daughter a fine lady, qualifying her for a station in
which she will never appear, and at the same time in-
capacitating her for that retirement to which she is
destined. Learning, if she has a real taste for it, will
not only make her contented, but happy in it. No
entertainment is so cheap as reading, nor any pleasure
so lasting. She will not want new fashions, nor re-
gret the loss of expensive diversions, or variety of
company, if she can be amused with an author in her
closet. To render this amusement complete, she
should be permitted to learn the languages. I have
heard it lamented that boys lose so many years in
mere learning of words: this is no objection to a girl,
whose time is not so precious: she cannot advance
herself in any profession, and has therefore more hours
to spare; and as you say her memory is good, she
will be very agreeably employed this way. There are
two cautions to be given on this subject: first, not to
think herself learned when she can read Latin, or

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It is a saying of Thucydides, that ignorance is bold, and knowledge reserved. Indeed it is impossible to be far advanced in it without being more humbled by a conviction of human ignorance than elated by learning. At the same time I recommend books, 1 neither exclude work nor drawing. I think it is as scandalous for a woman not to know how to use a needle, as for a man not to know how to use a sword. I was once extremely fond of my pencil, and it was a great mortification to me when my father turned off my master, having made a considerable progress for the short time I learned. My over-eagerness in the pursuit of it had brought a weakness in my eyes, that made it necessary to leave off; and all the advantage I got was the improvement of my hand. I see by hers that practice will make her a ready writer: she may attain it by serving you for a secretary, when your health or affairs make it troublesome to you to write yourself; and custom will make it an agreeable amusement to her. She cannot have too many for that station of life which will probably be her fate. The ultimate end of your education was to make you a good wife (and I have the comfort to hear that you are one); hers ought to be to make her happy in a virgin state. I will not say it is happier, but it is undoubtedly safer, than any marriage. In a lottery, where there is (at the lowest computation) ten thousand blanks to a prize, it is the most prudent choice not to venture. I have always been so thoroughly persuaded of this truth, that, notwithstanding the flattering views I had for you (as I never intended you a sacrifice to my vanity), I thought I owed you the justice to lay before you all the hazards attending matrimony: you may recollect I did so in the strongest manner. Perhaps you may have more success in the instructing your daughter; she has so much company at home, she will not need seeking it abroad, and will more readily take the notions you think fit to give her. As you were alone in my family, it would have been thought a great cruelty to suffer you no companions of your own age, especially having so many near relations, and I do not wonder their opinions influenced yours. I was not sorry to see you not determined on a single life, knowing it was not your father's intention; and contented myself with endeavouring to make your home so easy, that you might not be in haste to leave it.

even Greek. Languages are more properly to be called vehicles of learning than learning itself, as may be observed in many schoolmasters, who, though perhaps critics in grammar, are the most ignorant fellows upon earth. True knowledge consists in knowing things, not words. I would no further wish her a linguist than to enable her to read books in their originals, that are often corrupted, and are always injured, by translations. Two hours' application every morning will bring this about much sooner than you can imagine, and she will have leisure enough besides to run over the English poetry, which is a more important part of a woman's education than it is generally supposed. Many a young damsel has been ruined by a fine copy of verses, which she would have laughed at if she had known it had been stolen from Mr Waller. I remember, when I was a girl, I saved one of my companions from destruction, who communicated to me an epistle she was quite charmed with. As she had naturally a good taste, she observed the lines were not so smooth as Prior's or Pope's, but had more thought and spirit than any of theirs. She was wonderfully delighted with such a demonstration of her lover's sense and passion, and not a little pleased with her own charms, that had force enough to inspire such elegancies. In the midst of this triumph, I showed her that they were taken from Randolph's poems, and the unfortunate transcriber was dismissed with the scorn he deserved. To say truth, the poor plagiary was very unlucky to fall into my hands; that author being no longer in fashion, would have escaped any one of less universal reading than myself. You should encourage your daughter to talk over with you what she reads; and as you are very capable of distinguishing, take care she does not mistake pert folly for wit and humour, or rhyme for poetry, which are the common errors of young people, and have a train of ill consequences. The second caution to be given her (and which is most absolutely necessary), is to conceal whatever learning she attains, with as much solicitude as she would hide crookedness or lameness: the parade of it can only serve to draw on her the envy, and consequently the most inveterate hatred, of all he and she fools, which will certainly be at least three parts in four of her acquaintance. The use of knowledge in our sex, beside the amusement of solitude, is to moderate the passions, and learn to be contented with a small expense, which are the certain effects of a studious life; and it may be preferable even to that fame which men have engrossed to themselves, and will not suffer us to share. You will tell me I have not observed this rule myself; but you are mistaken: it is only inevitable accident that has given me any reputation that way. I have always carefully avoided it, and ever thought it a misfortune. The explanation of this paragraph would occasion a long digression, Two distinguished philosophical writers adorn this which I will not trouble you with, it being my pre-period, Shaftesbury and Berkeley. Both were ac sent design only to say what I think useful for the complished and elegant authors, and both, in their instruction of my granddaughter, which I have much opinions, influenced other minds. The moral sense at heart. If she has the same inclination (I should of the former was adopted by Hutcheson, and the say passion) for learning that I was born with, his- idealism of Berkeley was reproduced by Hume. tory, geography, and philosophy will furnish her with materials to pass away cheerfully a longer life than is allotted to mortals. I believe there are few heads capable of making Sir Isaac Newton's calculations, ANTHONY ASHLEY COOPER, the third Earl of but the result of them is not difficult to be under- Shaftesbury, was born in London in 1671. After a stood by a moderate capacity. Do not fear this should careful private education, he travelled for some time, make her affect the character of Lady- or Lady and in 1693 entered the House of Commons. Five -, or Mrs ; those women are ridiculous, not years afterwards, he repaired to Holland, and cultibecause they have learning, but because they have it vated the society of Bayle and Le Clerc. On his not. One thinks herself a complete historian, after return he succeeded to the earldom, and spoke frereading Echard's Roman History; another a profound quently in the House of Lords. All his parliamenphilosopher, having got by heart some of Pope's unin-tary appearances were creditable to his talents, and telligible essays; and a third an able divine, on the strength of Whitfield's sermons; thus you hear them screaming politics and controversy.

I am afraid you will think this a very long insignificant letter. I hope the kindness of the design will excuse it, being willing to give you every proof in my power that I am your most affectionate mother.



honourable to his taste and feelings. His first publication was in 1708, A Letter on Enthusiasm, prompted by the extravagance of the French prophets, whose


The style of Shaftesbury is lofty and musical. He bestowed great pains on the construction of his sentences, and the labour is too apparent. Desirous also of blending the nobleman and man of the world with the author, a tone of assumption and familiarity deforms some of his arguments and illustrations. He was an ardent admirer of the ancients, and in his dialogue entitled The Moralists,' has adopted in a great measure the elevated style of his favourite Plato. With those who hold in like estimation the works of that divine philosopher,' and who are willing to exchange continuity, precision, and simplicity, for melody and stateliness of diction, The Moralists' cannot fail to be regarded, as it was by Leibnitz and Monboddo, with enthusiastic admiration. The religious tendency of Shaftesbury's writings has been extensively discussed. That he is a powerful and decided champion against the atheists, is universally admitted; but with respect to his opinion of Christianity, different views have been entertained. To any one, however, who candidly considers the tone of levity and disparagement in which, in many parts of the Characteristics,' he speaks of revelation, a future state, and some other Christian doctrines, we think it will appear that Dr Leland had good reason to include him among the authors replied to in his View of the Principal Deistical Writers.' The representation of Shaftes†This passage receives from Sir James Mackintosh the high bury's views given by that eminent divine in his praise that there is scarcely any composition in our language fifth and sixth letters, seems to us well supported, more lofty in its moral and religious sentiments, or more exand free from prejudice. A perusal of the Charac-quisitely elegant and musical in its diction.'

causes I then assigned to it. Love, doubtless, is at the bottom, but a nobler love than such as common beauties inspire.

Here, in my turn, I began to raise my voice, and imitate the solemn way you had been teaching me. Knowing as you are (continued I), well knowing and experienced in all the degrees and orders of beauty, in all the mysterious charms of the particular forms, you rise to what is more general; and with a larger heart, and mind more comprehensive, you generously seek that which is highest in the kind. Not captivated by the lineaments of a fair face, or the welldrawn proportions of a human body, you view the life itself, and embrace rather the mind which adds the lustre, and renders chiefly amiable.

Nor is the enjoyment of such a single beauty sufficient to satisfy such an aspiring soul. It seeks how to combine more beauties, and by what coalition of these to form a beautiful society. It views communities, friendships, relations, duties; and considers by what harmony of particular minds the general harmony is composed, and common weal established. Nor satisfied even with public good in one community of men, it frames itself a nobler object, and with enlarged affection seeks the good of mankind. It dwells with pleasure amidst that reason and those orders on which this fair correspondence and goodly interest is established. Laws, constitutions, civil and religious rites; whatever civilises or polishes rude mankind; the sciences and arts, philosophy, morals, virtue; the flourishing state of human affairs, and the perfection of human nature; these are its delightful prospects, and this the charm of beauty which attracts it.

Still ardent in this pursuit (such is its love of order and perfection), it rests not here, nor satisfies itself with the beauty of a part, but extending further its communicative bounty, seeks the good of all, and affects the interest and prosperity of the whole. True to its native world and higher country, 'tis here it seeks order and perfection, wishing the best, and hoping still to find a just and wise administration. And since all hope of this were vain and idle, if no Universal Mind presided; since, without such a supreme intelligence and providential care, the distracted universe must be condemned to suffer infinite calamities, 'tis here the generous mind labours to discover that healing cause by which the interest of the whole is securely established, the beauty of things, and the universal order happily sustained.

This, Palemon, is the labour of your soul; and this its melancholy: when unsuccessfully pursuing the supreme beauty, it meets with darkening clouds which intercept its sight. Monsters arise, not those from Libyan deserts, but from the heart of man more fertile, and with their horrid aspect cast an unseemly reflection upon nature. She, helpless as she is thought, and working thus absurdly, is contemned, the government of the world arraigned, and Deity made void. Much is alleged in answer, to show why nature errs; and when she seems most ignorant or perverse in her productions, I assert her even then as wise and provident as in her goodliest works. For 'tis not then that men complain of the world's order, or abhor the face of things, when they see various interests mixed and interfering; natures subordinate, of different kinds, opposed one to another, and in their different operations submitted, the higher to the lower. "Tis, on the contrary, from this order of inferior and superior things, that we admire the world's beauty, founded thus on contrarieties; whilst from such various and disagreeing principles a universal concord is estab


Thus in the several orders of terrestrial forms, a resignation is required-a sacrifice and mutual yielding of natures one to another. The vegetables by their death sustain the animals, and animal bodies

dissolved enrich the earth, and raise again the vege table world. The numerous insects are reduced by the superior kinds of birds and beasts; and these again are checked by man, who in his turn submits to other natures, and resigns his form, a sacrifice in common to the rest of things. And if in natures so little exalted or pre-eminent above each other, the sacrifice of interests can appear so just, how much more reasonably may all inferior natures be subjected to the superior nature of the world!-that world, Palemon, which even now transported you, when the sun's fainting light gave way to these bright constellations, and left you this wide system to contemplate.

Here are those laws which ought not, nor can submit to anything below. The central powers which hold the lasting orbs in their just poise and movement, must not be controlled to save a fleeting form, and rescue from the precipice a puny animal, whose brittle frame, however protected, must of itself so soon dissolve. The ambient air, the inward vapours, the impending meteors, or whatever else is nutrimental or preservative of this earth, must operate in a natural course; and other good constitutions must submit to the good habit and constitution of the allsustaining globe. Let us not wonder, therefore, if by earthquakes, storms, pestilential blasts, nether or upper fires, or floods, the animal kinds are oft afflicted, and whole species perhaps involved at once in common ruin. Nor need we wonder if the interior form, the soul and temper, partakes of this occasional deformity, and sympathises often with its close partner. Who is there that can wonder either at the sicknesses of sense or the depravity of minds inclosed in such frail bodies, and dependent on such pervertible organs?

Here, then, is that solution you require, and hence those seeming blemishes cast upon nature. Nor is there ought in this beside what is natural and good. 'Tis good which is predominant; and every corruptible and mortal nature, by its mortality and corruption, yields only to some better, and all in common to that best and highest nature which is incorruptible and immortal.


Dr George BERKELEY, to whom Pop? assigned 'every virtue under heaven,' was born a; Thomastown, in the county of Kilkenny, in 1684. He was distinguished at Dublin university for his proficiency in mathematical studies, and became a fe low of Trinity college. In 1709 appeared his The ry of Vision, and in 1710 the Principles of Human Knowledge. In 1713 he published his Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, in which his ideal system was developed in language singularly animated and imaginative. He now became acquainted with Swift, Pope, Steele, and the other members of that brilliant circle, by whom he seems to have been sincerely beloved. He accompanied the Earl of Peterborough, as chaplain and secretary, in his embassy to Sicily, and afterwards travelled on the continent as tutor to Mr Ashe, son of the Bishop of Clogher. This second excursion engaged him upwards of four years. While abroad, we find him writing thus justly and finely to Pope: As merchants, antiquaries, men of pleasure, &c., have all different views in travelling, I know not whether it might not be worth a poet's while to travel, in order to store his mind with strong images of nature. Green fields and groves, flowery meadows and purling streams, are nowhere in such perfection as in England; but if you would know lightsome days, warm suns, and blue skies, you must come to Italy; and to enable a man to describe rocks and precipices, it is absolutely necessary

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that he pass the Alps.' While at Paris, Berkeley visited the French philosopher Malebranche, then in ill health, from a disease of the lungs. A dispute ensued as to the ideal system, and Malebranche was so impetuous in argument, that he brought on a violent increase of his disorder, which carried him off in a few days. This must have been a more than ideal disputation to the amiable Berkeley, who could not but be deeply afflicted by such a tragic result. On his return, he published a Latin tract, De Motu, and an essay on the fatal South-Sea Scheme in 1720. Pope introduced him to the Earl of Burlington, and by that nobleman he was recommended to the Duke of Grafton, lord-lieutenant of Ireland. His grace made Berkeley his chaplain, and afterwards appointed him to the deanery of Derry. It was soon evident, however, that personal aggrandisement was never an object of interest with this benevolent philosopher. He had long been cherishing a project, which he announced as a scheme for converting the savage Americans to Christianity, by a college to be erected in the Summer Islands, otherwise called the Isles of Bermuda.' In this college, he most exorbitantly proposed,' as Swift humorously remarked, 'a whole hundred pounds a-year for himself, forty pounds for a fellow, and ten for a student.' No anticipated difficulties could daunt him, and he communicated his enthusiasm to others. Coadjutors were obtained, a royal charter was granted, and Sir Robert Walpole promised a sum of £20,000 from the government to promote the undertaking. In 1728 Berkeley and his friends sailed for Rhode Island. There they remained for seven years; but the minister proved faithless the promised sum was never paid, and the philosopher returned to Europe. In his forced retirement, he had applied himself to his literary pursuits, and in 1732 he published The Minute Philosopher, a series of moral and philosophical dialogues. Fortune again smiled on Berkeley: he became a favourite with Queen Caroline, and in 1734 was appointed to the bishopric of Cloyne. Lord Chesterfield afterwards offered him the see of Clogher, which was double the value of that of Cloyne; but he declined the preferment. Some useful tracts were afterwards published by the bishop, including one on tar-water, which he considered to possess high medicinal virtues. Another of his works is entitled The Querist; containing several Queries proposed to the Consideration of the Public. In 1752 he removed with his family to Oxford, to superintend the education of one of his sons; and, conscious of the impropriety of residing apart from his diocese, he endeavoured to exchange his bishopric for some canonry or college at Oxford. Failing of success, he wrote to resign his bishopric, worth £1400 per annum; but the king declared that he should die a bishop, though he gave him liberty to reside where he pleased. This incident is honourable to both parties. In 1753 the good prelate died suddenly at his residence at Oxford, and his remains were interred in Christ-church, where a monument was erected to his memory. The life of Berkeley presents a striking picture of patient labour and romantic enthusiasm, of learning and genius, benevolence and worth. His dislike to the pursuits and troubles of ambition are thus expressed by him to a friend in 1747:'In a letter from England, which I told you came a week ago, it was said that several of our Irish bishops were earnestly contending for the primacy. Pray, who are they? I thought Bishop Stone was only talked of at present. I ask this question merely out of curiosity, and not from any interest, I assure you. I am no man's rival or competitor in this matter. I am not in love with feasts, and crowds, and

visits, and late hours, and strange faces, and a hurry of affairs, often insignificant. For my own private satisfaction, I had rather be master of my time than wear a diadem. I repeat these things to you, that I may not seem to have declined all steps to the primacy out of singularity, or pride, or stupidity, but from solid motives. As for the argument from the opportunity of doing good, I observe, that duty obliges men in high station not to decline occasions of doing good; but duty doth not oblige men to solicit such high stations.' He was a poet as well as a mathematician and philosopher, and had he cultivated the lighter walks of literature, might have shone with lustre in a field which he but rarely visited. He wrote some essays for the Guardian' of his friend Steele; and when inspired with his transatlantic mission, he penned the following fine moral verses, that seem to shadow forth the fast accomplishing greatness of the new world:

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Verses on the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning in America.

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime
Barren of every glorious theme,

In distant lands now waits a better time,
Producing subjects worthy fame.

In happy climes, where from the genial sun
And virgin earth, such scenes ensue,
The force of art by nature seems outdone,
And fancied beauties by the true :

In happy climes, the seat of innocence,
Where nature guides and virtue rules,
Where men shall not impose for truth and sense
The pedantry of courts and schools:
There shall be sung another golden age,
The rise of empire and of arts,
The good and great inspiring epic rage,

The wisest heads and noblest hearts.

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay;

Such as she bred when fresh and young,
When heavenly flame did animate her clay,
By future poets shall be sung.

Westward the course of empire takes its way;
The four first acts already past,

A fifth shall close the drama with the day;
Time's noblest offspring is the last.

The works of Berkeley form an important landmark in metaphysical science. At first his valuable and original Theory of Vision' was considered a philosophical romance, yet his doctrines are now incorporated with every system of optics. The chief aim of Berkeley was to distinguish the immediate and natural objects of sight from the seemingly instantaneous conclusions which experience and habit teach us to draw from them in our earliest infancy; or, in the more concise metaphysical language of a later period, to draw the line between the original and the acquired perceptions of the eye."* The ideal system of Berkeley was written to expose the sophistry of materialism, but it is defective and erroneous. He attempts to prove that extension and figure, hardness and softness, and all other sensible qualities, are mere ideas of the mind, which cannot possibly exist in an insentient substance-a theory which, it has been justly remarked, tends to unhinge the whole frame of the human understanding, by shaking our confidence in those principles of belief which form an essential part of its constitution. Our ideas he

* Dugald Stewart.


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