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 EXTRACTS 
 
 fROM 
 
 THE D I AR Y 
 
 OF A 
 
 LOVER OF LITERATURE, 
 
 IPSWICH: 
 
 PRINTED AND SOLD BY JOHN RAW ; 
 
 SOLD ALSO BY LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER-ROW. LONDON. 
 
 1810.
 
 Annex 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 At length, after much hesitation, and in an evil hour perhaps, I am induced to 
 submit to the indiilgfence of the Public, the idlest Work, probably, that ever was 
 composetl ; but, I could wish to hope, not absolutely the most unentertaining or 
 unprofitable. 
 
 For the errors and defects naturally incident to a composition successively exhibit- 
 ing the impressions of the moment in the language which the moment prompted, 
 and which must derive any interest it may possess from the ease and freedom with 
 which these impressions are communicated, it would be fruitless and absurd to at- 
 tempt an apology. That remarks, hastily made, will sometimes prove unfounded ; 
 that first views of an author's meaning and spirit, will occasionally be erroneous ; 
 that references, suddenly set down amidst the instant pressure of other matter, and 
 not always open to subsequent revision, will now and then be incorrect ; and that 
 expressions, eagerly seized on the exigency of the occasion, will here and there ap- 
 pear too daring, and frequently uncouth — these, and topics of extenuation such as 
 these, mu'^t spontaneously suggest themselves to every Reader: and as the just al- 
 lowances, on these accounts, will cheerfully be made by every candid mind, so with 
 none but the caadid can I expect that any excuses I could offer on the subject 
 would avail to obtain them. For faults of every other description, and for more than 
 a due proportion of these, I feel that I am strictly accountable; and present myself 
 before the Audience whose attention I have presumed to engage with my babble. 
 under an appalling sense of the responsibility which my rashness has incurred 
 
 2043512
 
 VI 
 
 To the objector, who sliould fiercely demand, why t obtruded on the Public at 
 all, matter confessedly so crude and so peccant, — I have really little to allege which 
 is quite satisfactory to my own mind, or which I could reasonably hope, therefore, 
 would prove so to his: but to an offended spirit of a gentler nature, I might per- 
 haps be allowed to intimate, that, whatever my faults may be, I have not attempted 
 to decoy unwary Readers by an imposing Title, nor to tax their curiosity with the 
 costly splendours of fashionable typography. It has been my earnest wish, at least, 
 to obviate disappointment, by accommodating, as much as possible, my appear- 
 ance to my pretensions. These are simple, and of easy statement. To furnish 
 occupation, in a vacant hour, to minds imbued with a relish for literary pursuits, 
 by suggesting topics for reflection and 'incentives to research, partly from an exhi- 
 bition of whatever struck me as most interesting; in the thoughts of others, -du- 
 ring a miscellaneous course of reading, and partly, too, from a free and unreser- 
 ved communication of the thoughts they gave rise to in my own mind — this is all 
 that I venture to propose to the Reader as my aim in the publication of the fol- 
 lowing Extracts: and if, in the prosecution of this purpose, I should be so happy 
 r.3 to conciliate that good will which is not unlikely to result from the tolerable exe- 
 cution of such a design, I shall fully have accomplished every thing, so far as an 
 A.uthor's feelings are concerned, to which my ambition, or my vanity (if it must be 
 so), aspires. 
 
 With respect to my success in this adventure, if I am not generally very sanguine, 
 there are certain moments — under the encouraging influence of a balmy air, bright 
 sky, and vigorous digestion — in which I am not altogether without hope. When I 
 advert, it is true, to the numerous faults that deform the following pages, all crowd- 
 ing in hideous succession before me — when I reflect on tlie various improvements 
 of which the whole would be susceptible, even under my own mature revisal — above 
 all, when I compute what brighter talents and ampler attainments might have achieved 
 in a similar career — my heart, oppressed with the load of my infirmities, sinks in des- 
 pondency within me : but when I consider, on the other hand, the wretched trash with 
 which the Public is sometimes apparently content to be amused, my spirits, in a
 
 slight degree, revive ; I cannot disguise, from myself, that I am at least entitled ti> 
 equal indulgence with some of these candidates for public favour; and in the mo- 
 mentary elation of this ignoble triumph, am tempted to anticipate a reception, which 
 however moderate and subdued for an illusion of the fancy, may perhaps prove ridi- 
 culously flatteiing compared with the actual doom that awaits me. 
 
 Though the substance of my Journal is merely Literary, other matter occasionally 
 occurs; and perhaps I ought to notice here, from its bulk, what I have purposely 
 neglected proclaiming in the Title, from its quality — the Notes, I mean, taken on 
 difFeient excursions through the picturesque parts of this Island. They are certainly 
 slight and superficial ; and though they recall very distinct images, and are associa- 
 ted with many delightful sensations, in mv own mind, are little likely, 1 fear, to 
 afford much gratification to the general Reader. Those who have visited the same 
 scenes, or who propose to visit them, may possibly derive some pleasure from their 
 perusal : — and, at all events, as the die is cast (though I sometimes wish it back, a- 
 gain), they must now pass muster, and take their chance, with the rest. 
 
 The following Sheets are. of course, only a sample, though a pretty large one, of 
 a more considerable Work : — but the Purchaser of the present Volume (I hasten to 
 add) need not be alarmed, I cannot flatter myself that the materials for a future se- 
 lection, are eminently better than those from which I have thus far drawn ; and with 
 the present Extracts I am so little satisfied, on a review of them in print, that un- 
 less they should experience the most unequivocal symptoms of public favour, they are 
 the last that will appear. An idle experiment, however unsuccessful, may be good- 
 naturedly excused ; but to persist in a piece of folly of this kind, after a fair warning 
 that it is such, would betray an unpardonable disregard of what is due, on theocca- 
 Bion, both to public feeling and my own character. 
 
 Ipswich. April the lOth, 18 10.
 
 EXTRACTS 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 B I A K Y 
 
 OF A 
 
 LOVER of LITERATURE. 
 
 1796. 
 
 SEPTEMBER the -121^ 
 
 ON this day, the twenty-seventh anniversary (as Gibbon, in stately language, 
 would describe it) of my birth, I begin a register of my observations and reflections: 
 —a task which I deeply lament has been so long deferred, but which I am resolved 
 to prosecute with vigour, now it is begun ; anticipating much delight from the 
 review it will enable me to take of my occupations and pursuits, and of the feelings 
 and opinions with which they were accompanied. 
 
 Read, in the evening, " Temple on the Origin of Government :" in which the 
 source of political power is justly traced ; and the doctrine of an original compact, 
 as an historical fact, successfully exploded. He plainly states, what, though very 
 obvious, is often overlooked, that all government is a restraint upon liberty ; and, 
 in all modes of it, the dominion over individuals equally absolute. Pope probably 
 borrowed, from a part of this Essay, his thought — 
 
 '' For forms of government let fools contest;" 
 " Whate'er is best administered, is best". — 
 
 Essay on Man, Epistle 3, v. 303. 
 A position, however, not defensible, since the form may influence the administra- 
 tion. — ^The whole Essay is extremely judicious and unreserved. Temple is a very 
 sensible writer ; and draws more from his own stock of observation and reflection, 
 than is usual with the writers of the present day. 
 
 B
 
 2 
 [1796.] 
 
 Finished, afterwards, Gulliver's Travels. Could this severe satire on poor human 
 nature, be designed to reform it ; or was it the ovei-flowing merely of that " sasva 
 indignatio," which in Swift, it is to be suspected, sprung less from a strong abhor- 
 rence of vice, than the exacerbations of mortified ambition ? I am afraid we cannot 
 hesitate in adopting the latter alternative. — Nothing can transcend the felicity of his 
 contrivance for exposing our follies and our frailties, nor the consummate skill with 
 which he has availed himself of it. 
 
 SEPT. the lAth. 
 
 Looked into the New Annual Register for 1795. The tone of politics in the 
 History of Literature, and in the British and Foreign History, materially differ : 
 but the wonder is, how so much consistency is preserved in works of this nature; 
 and, instead of marvelling, with Johnson, how any thing but profit should incite 
 men to literary labour, I am rather surprised that mere emolument should induce 
 them to labour so well. — ^To review, in a connected series, those events which we 
 caught only by detached snatches as they passed, is very amusing. Even an old 
 Newspaper, in a moment of listlesness, has, with me, its charms. It puts one into 
 something like the condition of a prescient being, perusing the Journals of the day : 
 we see passions agitating, which are now extinct ; reports affirmed, which we know 
 to be false ; alarms sounded, which we are sure had no foundation ; and expectation 
 all alive — upon projects which have ended in nothing. 
 
 SEPT. the igf/i. 
 
 Met Mr. E— »— n at Mr. R.'s. The conversation (in which I took no part) 
 turned, after dinner, on the prophecies aj^plicable to the present period. Both Mr. 
 E. and Mr. R. think there are such. Mr. E. is convinced, from a passage in the 
 Apocalypse, that monarchy and hierarchy will be restored in France for three 
 years. Appearances indicating so little the completion of this event, he was taunt- 
 ingly asked, what he would think of the prophecies, if it did not take place ? I see, 
 said he, so manifestly that many parts of them have been fulfilled, that I should 
 only conclude my application of this part was erroneous, and that it still remained 
 to be accomplished, I should, of course, be disposed to examine very seriously, 
 and to adopt if it was plausible, any other interpretation which tnighl be offered ; 
 but my assurance of the truth of the prophecies at large, would not be in the least 
 impaired.— Though, to a profane eye, the Book of Revelations may seem like the
 
 3 
 
 [1796.1 
 
 wild rhapsody of an enthusiastic and distempered mind, mistaking drieartis for visi- 
 ons, and reveries for inspiration, I was not the less pleased with this temperate and 
 ingenuous reply of one of its warmest devotees. Yet I marvel at his confidence. If 
 prophec) is designed to convince, (and of the force of the proof which it is capable 
 of rendering, no one can be more fully sensible than myself), why is it not clear? 
 To me It seems evident, that unless the event is so distinctly and circumstantially 
 Joretold, that it might be distinctly and circumstantially Joreseen, we can never 
 have satisfactory assurance that a prediction has been fulfilled. Obscurity is so rea- 
 dily accommodated, by a willing mind, to any contingency ; an ardent fancy, bent 
 on the discovery, can so easily find whatever forms it pleases, in the clouds, that 
 any supposed completion must otherwise be received with considerable distrust. 
 What shall we say, then, when there are scarcely two commentators, of any note, 
 on the Revelations, who are agreed in the application of its prophecies to events 
 allowed, on all hands, to be past. — I am aware of the old excuse, that if prophecy 
 were so clear that the event could be foreseen, we should be induced to aj^cribe its 
 accomplishment to art — to conclude that the prediction led to its completion. 
 Such an argument, so far as it applied, would merely go to shew the incompetency 
 of any such species of proof: but sufely it is easy to imagine events foretold, which, 
 as no human sagacity could foresee, so, from the opposite interests or utter igno- 
 rance of the parties concerned in bringing them to pass, we might be morally as- 
 sured no human agency designedly promoted. — The most politic defence of the ob- 
 scurity of prophecy, would be, to regard it as an exercise for our diligence and faith. 
 
 SEPT. the 12d. 
 
 Finished the New Annual Register for 1795. The account of the Religion and 
 Government of the Japanese, is highly curious ; and exhibits that peoj^le, of whom 
 we have known little but through defamatory channels, as considerably more advan- 
 ced in all the refinements of civilization, than we had hitherto supposed. But has 
 not the passion for the marvellous, which luxuriates equally in an excess of cluaro 
 as oscuro, a little overcharged the picture ?—«The Review of Literature, is not enliven- 
 ed by much critical discernment: the praise is far too indiscriminate, and the cen- 
 sures too feeble. 
 
 Attended a Concert, in the evening ; at which Hague, of Cambridge, led the Band. 
 His taste is refined, his tones sweet and rich, and his execution easy and correct: 
 but, if I may judge from the concluding piece, he wants force to transfuse, and 
 possibly genivis to catch, the fire of Handel. — It is a lamentable drawback on mu-
 
 [1796.] 
 
 sical composition, that the author cannot exhibit his conceptions drecth/ to the 
 Public; but must trust, for this purpose, to the agency of others. The Painter, the 
 A'-chitect, the Pciet, address themselves a^ once, and without any intervention, to 
 the senses and feelings of njaukind: — an inestimable advantage! 
 
 SEPT. the 23rd. 
 
 Began with eagerness, and read, with increasing avidity, the first four Chapters 
 ofRoscoe's Life of Lorenzo de Medici. The style is luminous and flowing: not 
 curiously elaborated, perhaps, into exquisite precision ; but utterly free from all 
 affectation. The subject itself is ably treated : the thread of the narrative is steadily 
 pursued; the collateral and explanatory matter, judiciously interwoven; and the 
 images by which particular sentiments are enforced, are generally just, and some- 
 times original and happy. — His strained comparison, however, (C. 3), between the 
 disciples of Plato and of Wesley, I either do not comprehend, or do not feel.— In 
 the atrocious conspiracy of the Pope, the Cardinal, the Archbisliop, and the Eccle- 
 siastics, (C. 4), against the lives of Lorenzo and his brother, a real philosopher, per- 
 haps, might see nothing peculiarly repugnant to the superstition of the times. Our 
 deep abhorrence of the crime of murder, is the offspring, not of devotion, but of a 
 cultivated and refined humanity — of a heart revolting at blood, the shrieks of terror, 
 the convulsive agonies, the ghastliness, and all the horrors of sudden and violent 
 death. The soldier, who undertook the assassination with readiness, yet shrunk back 
 from performing it in church, displayed the genuine feelings of a Layman ; but the 
 Priests were Lords of the Sanctuary, and might surely apply it to any pious purpose. 
 They probably would have shuddered with horror, at the proposal of throwing the 
 consecrated wafer to the dogs. 
 
 Gibbon has touched the interesting' period which Mr. Koscoe treats, with the 
 hand of a master. I am surprised that in Mr. Roscoe's notice of him — for he does 
 refer to him — he did not bestow an ampler measure of applause. Robertson, on a 
 similar occasion, in his Disquisition upon Antient India, paid a just and noble tribute 
 to the comprehensive erudition of this accomplished writer. Certainly in his qualifi- 
 cations as an hi^torian and a critic, he is above all praise: but my opinion of him 
 as a man and as a genius, has rather been diminished by the perusal of his Miscel- 
 laneous Works; and I heartily acquiesce in the very sensible judgment pronounced 
 upon (hem, and upon the author, in the last Monthly Review. — Of Robertson him- 
 self, it is remarkable, that he has written nothmg but History.
 
 [1/96.1 
 
 SEPT. the 24th. 
 
 Read the 5th. Chapter of Rosooe's Life : consisting chiefly of a critical disquisition 
 on the poetical character of Lorenzo de Medici ; injudiciously introduced in the 
 midstof an interesting narrative, and by no means executed with the skill and taste 
 which 1 expected. His exposition of the great end and object of Poetry — " to com- 
 municate a clear aiid perfect idea of the pro[)osed subject," affords, at the outset, a 
 very unfavourable prognostic; though I admit a man may understand well, what he 
 defines absurdly. — Much of the matter which loads the Appendix, might surely have 
 been spared. 
 
 SEPT. the 26th. 
 
 Pursued Roscoe's Work. The petty squabbles of the Italian States, detailed in 
 the 6th Chapter, are much too minute and insignificant to interest attention ; nor 
 can I think that they are related in the most clear and lively manner. Of Lorenzo's 
 abilities as a statesman, but little is made out ; and I begin to question the historical 
 powers of his biographer. — In treating, however, his favourite theme — the rise and 
 progress of Italian Literature — in the two succeeding Chapters, the S[)iritofthc nar- 
 rative revives : yet an incident is now and then very awkwardly lugged in, under an 
 apparent impression of the necessity of telling whatever has been told, however 
 trivial and uninteresting, of the domestic life of Lorenzo. Distinguishing trahs o{ 
 character and incident, are what we require from the biographer. In the great mass 
 of human actions and occurrences, all mankind so nearly resemble each other, that 
 there can be nothing worth recording. 
 
 SEPT. the 2Qth. 
 
 Read the gth Chapter of Roscoe's Lorenzo de Medici; in which the rise (or 
 renovation) and progress of the arts of painting, statuary, engraving, and sculp- 
 ture upon gems, with the merits of the respective artists in each department, are 
 happily delineated. The account of Michael Angelo — his giant powers — and the 
 concussion with which his advent shook the world of genius and taste — is even 
 sublime. — Roscoe is not always exact in the choice of his expressions : for instance, 
 he uses " instigate" in a good sense ; which, where we have another appropriate 
 term, is unpardonable: "compromise", which properly means, the adjustment of
 
 [1796.1 
 
 differences by reciprocal concession, he employs, by what authority I know not, to 
 express, the putting to hazard by implication. A catalogue of synonymes, executed 
 with philological skill and philosophical discrimination, would be a valuable accession 
 to English Literature. 
 
 Read, after a long interval, with much deligiit, the first two Books of Csesar's 
 Commentaries. The States of Gaul are ref«-esented as far more advanced in govern- 
 ment and manners, than I should have expected him to find them; and it would 
 puzzle the Directory of France, at this moment, to frame a manifesto, so neatly 
 conceived, and so forcibly yet chastely expressed, as the reply of Ariovistus, a bar- 
 baric chief from the wilds of Germany, to the embassy of Caesar. — It is interesting 
 to trace the route of this great commander (a .d the similitude of names will some- 
 times fix it with precision) on a modern map. — Nothing can exceed the ease, per- 
 spicuity, and spirit, vvitti which this incomparable narrative is conducted. 
 
 Dipped into Bosvvell's Life of Johnson. Boswell, from his open, communicative, 
 good-humoured vanity, which leads him to display events and feelings that other 
 men, of more judgment, though slighter pretensions, would have studiously con- 
 cealed, has depressed himself below his just level in public estimation. His infor- 
 mation is extensive ; his talents far from despicable ; and he seems so exactly adap- 
 ted, even by his very foibles, that we might almost suppose him purposely created, 
 to be the Chronicler of Johnson. A pleasing and instructive pocket-companion 
 might be formed, by a judicious selection from his copious repertory of Johnson's 
 talk. 
 
 SEPT. the 30th. 
 
 Read the 10th, and concluding. Chapter of Roscoe's Lorenzo de Medici. The 
 last moments of the hero, whom we have so long accompanied, are always interest- 
 ing: they are here related, with a due attention to this feeling, minutely and afFect- 
 ingly ; and the subsequent fortunes of his family are pursued, in a masterly sketch, 
 till they cease to interest. Finis coronat opus — a work, not only highly creditable to 
 the erudition, the taste, and the judgment of its author; but which even bids fair, 
 in a national point of view, very powerfully to advance our literary reputation on the 
 Continent. 
 
 OCTOBER the Ut. 
 
 Began, with a view of comparing notes, Macchiavel's Historic Florentine. Mac- 
 chiavel, under the persuasion^ or pretext, of maintaining the liberties of his coun-
 
 [1796.] 
 
 try, was a determinwl enemy to the family of the Meclicis: he was twice concerned 
 in a conspiracy against them ; and was once consigned to the torture, hut had nerves 
 sufficient to refuse a confession ; — liis fortunes, however, were not spared. Such a 
 writer may be presumed to be prejudiced: yet, as he dedicates his work, to Clement 
 the 7 th, the last representative of the Lorenzo branch of tlie Medicis, there can 
 scarcely be any violent misrepresentation. — His first Book contains a masterlv outline 
 of a long series of History, from the first irruption of Alaric, to the final emersion 
 of the Italian States as they presented themselves at the point of time where his im- 
 mediate narrative commences: — a period nearly commensurate to the three last Vols 
 of Gibbon's History ; and the materials for which, must have lain, at his time, verv 
 widely scattered. Considering when, and where, he wrote, I am amazed at the free- 
 dom with which he treats the successors of St. Peter : — he does not even cast a veil of 
 gauze over their follies or iniquities. 
 
 OCT. the 3rd. 
 
 Pursued Macchiavel's History of Florence. His talents, and the reader's pati- 
 ence, languish at the recital of the petty factions which convulsed the infancy of the 
 Florentine Republic. Davila, I tliink., has evidently studied his manner, in the di- 
 rect narrative: but in the general management of his matter, he is as far superior, 
 as the subject which he treats , nor do I know a more pure and perfect historical 
 composition, than the Historia delle Guerre Civili di Francia. What would we give, 
 for such an account of ours! 
 
 Read the 4th Book of Caesar's Commentaries. There is nothing to determine the 
 point at which Caesar embarked from Gaul, on his first expedition ; but there appear 
 sufficient indications to aff^brd a probable conjecture of the spot where he landed in 
 Old England, were the coast examined for the purpose. Curiosity seems to have 
 been his leading motive in the adventure. 
 
 Looked over the last Monthly Magazine. Though conducted with considerable 
 ability, this miscellany declines in general interest. The medical, mathematical, and 
 agricultural departments, encroach ; and there is little of literary anecdote or disquisi- 
 tion, the most tempting bait to such sort of reading. It is tainted, too, with the 
 bigotry of party ; so far as to induce (what is unpardonable) a misrepresentation, by 
 heightenings and softenings, even in the narrative depailment. — A narrow, viru- 
 lent, heady zeal, usually infests the underlings, it rarely pervades the chiefs and lead- 
 ers, of any respectable party : thei/ see too much on both sides ; and are often compel- 
 led, I believe, to affect greater acrimony than they feel. — The European Magazine,
 
 8 
 
 [1796.] 
 
 though less ably conducted, and not without its bigotrj' of an opposite cast, has con- 
 siderable attractions from its literary anecdote ; with which it is principally supplied by 
 Mr. Read, whose mind is a rich quarry of such matter. 
 
 OCT. the 4th. 
 
 Read the 5lh Book of Caesar's Commentaries, He names the port from which 
 he sailed on his second expedition to England — Itius — : probably, as affording the 
 shortest passage, Ambleteuse ; which, though now choaked up, might then have 
 furnished shelter to his galleys. - Nothing can be determined from the distance, 
 which he loosely guesses at '' 30 millia passuum", but that it was somewhere between 
 Gravelines and Boulogne. From Calais to Dover Pier-Head is 23 miles ; from Bou- 
 loo-ne to Folkstone 29 ; and, midway between these ports, the two coasts approach 
 within less than 20 miles of each other. — As Caesar was carried by the tide in the 
 night, till he found, in the morning, Britain left, sub sinistra, he must have drifted 
 beyond the South Foreland. — Where did Caesar ford the Thames in pursuit of Cas- 
 sivellaunus? Stukely. I think, but on slender documents, fixes the place to Chert- 
 sey-Bridge. — I am glad he found our predecessors so impatient of submission ; and 
 could well wish to mortify his insatiable ambition, by exhibiting to him Rome and 
 London in their present condition. 
 
 Finished the 2d Book of MacchiavePs History of Florence. The account of the 
 adoption and expulsion of the Duke of Calabria, is admirably given ; and most sea- 
 sonably enlivens the dull variety of his narrative. 
 
 OCT. the 5th. 
 
 Pursued Boswell's Life of Johnson. Johnson's coaree censure of Lord Chester- 
 field, " that he taught the morals of a whore, and the manners of a dancing master", 
 is as unjust as it is harsh.- Indeed I have always thought the noble author of Let- 
 ters to his Son, hardly dealt with by the Public ; though to public opinion I 
 have the highest deference. How stands the case? Having bred up his son to a 
 youth of learning and virtue, and consigned him to a tutor well adapted to culti- 
 vate these qualities, he naturally wishes to render him an accomplished gentleman ; 
 and, for this purpose, undertakes, in person, a task for which none surely was so 
 well qualified as himself. — I follow the order he assigns (L. 168), and that which 
 his Letters testify he pursued. Well 1 but he insists eternally on such frivolous 
 points — the graces — the graces! — J3eca?/«e they were wanting, and the onli/ thing
 
 9 
 
 [1796.] 
 
 wanting. Other qualities were attained, or presumed to be attained : to correct 
 those slovenly, shy, reserved, and uncouth habits in the son, which as he advanced 
 in life grew more conspicuous, and threatened to thwart all the parent's fondest 
 prospects in his child, was felt, and justly felt, by the father, to have become an 
 imperious and urgent duty ; and he accordingly labours at it with parental assiduity 
 —an assiduity, which none but a father would have bestowed upon the subject. 
 Had his Lordship published these Letters as a regular System of Education, the 
 common objection to their contents would have had unanswerable force : viewing 
 them however in their true light, as written privately and confidentially by a parent 
 to his child — inculcating, as he naturally would, with the greatest earnestness, 
 not what was the most important, but most requisite — it must surely be confessed, 
 there never was a popular exception more unfounded. But he — I admit it ; he 
 . touches upon certain topics, which, a sentiment of delicacy suggests, between a 
 a father and son had better been forborne : yet those who might hesitate to give 
 the advice, if they are conversant with the world, and advert to circumstances, 
 will not be disposed to think, the advice itself injudicious. 
 
 In the 26th Letter there is a very remarkable prediction, which, as we have lived 
 to see it fully accomplished, is worth curtailing and transcribing, " The affairs of 
 " France grow more and more serious every day. The King is irresolute, despised, 
 " and hated ; the ministers, disunited and incapable; the people, poor and discon- 
 " tented; the army, though always the supporters and tools of absolute power, are 
 " always the destroyers of it too ; the nation reasons freely on matters of religion and 
 " government ; — ^in short, all the symptoms which I have ever met with in history, 
 " previous to great changes and revolutions in government, now exist, and daily 
 " increase, in France.'' This was written Dec. 25th, 1753 ; and, considering the 
 clearness with which the causes are unfolded, and the consequence foretold, I am 
 surprised that it has not been noticed. 
 
 Regarding Lord Chesterfield's Letters as not intended for the public eye, they 
 are probably the most pregnant and finished compositions that ever were written. 
 
 OCT. the 6th. 
 
 Pursued Boswell's Life of Johnson. The distinguishing excellence of Johnson's 
 manner, both in speaking and writing, consists in the apt and lively illustrations by 
 example, with which, in his vigorous sallies, he enforces his just and acute remarks 
 on human life and manners, in all their modes and representations : the character 
 and charm of his sti/le, in a happy choice of dignified and appropriate expressions, 
 
 C
 
 10 
 
 [•796.] 
 
 and that masterly invohuion of phrase, by which he contrives to bolt the prominent 
 idea stronsfly on the mind. Burke's fehcity is in a different sphere : it lies in the 
 diversified allusions to all arts and to all sciences, by which, as he pours along his 
 Tedundant tide of eloquence and reason, he reflects a light and interest on every 
 topic which he treats ; in a promptitude to catch the language and transfuse the 
 feelings of passion ; and in the unrestrained and ready use of a style, the n^iost flexi- 
 ble, and the most accommodating to all topics, " from grave to gay, from lively 
 to severe,'' that perhaps any writer, in any language, ever attained. — " Ipsae res 
 verba rapiunt." As opposed to each other, condensation might perhaps be re- 
 garded as the distinguishing characteristic of the former, and expansion of the 
 latter. 
 
 OCT. the 1th. 
 
 Read the 6th Book of Caesar's Commentaries, His account of the religion and 
 manners of the Gauls and Germans, is the succinct, but masterly, sketch of a well- 
 informed spectator : his persuasion, however, that the former worshipped many 
 of the same Gods as the Romans, is surely fanciful. That, in many of their attri- 
 butes, the divinities of each might bear some resemblance, is so probable, that I 
 take it to be true; but their denominations covXA scarcely be alike; and what iden- 
 tity has a God, but his name? 
 
 OCT. the 8th 
 
 Read the 7th and last Book of Csesar's Commentaries. The warfior warttis, foi* 
 once, at the recital of the aff^air before Alicia : he kindles at pourtraying the hot 
 assault upon his camp, by the multitudinous forces of congregated Gaul ; he paintSj 
 in glowing colours, the perils of that decisive day ; he even recounts his personal 
 achievements ; and triumphantly exults at the total rout and irredeemable disper- 
 sion of the assailants, with the ardour of a veteran. After having shone with a 
 clear and steady lustre through a long succession of adventures, he expires at last in 
 a blaze of glory. 
 
 OCT. the Qth. 
 
 Read the 3rd and 4th Books of Macchiavel's History of Florence, which deduce 
 the account to the period, when Giuliano, and ^afterwards Cosmo De Medeci,
 
 It 
 
 LI796.J 
 
 silently grew, by their wealth, their wisdom, and their moderation, into considera- 
 ble influence in the Republic. The current of his narrative grows clearer, and 
 deeper, and more diffusive, as it flows. 
 
 Lord C. looked in. Adverting to a late event, I remarked, that Earl Fitzwil- 
 liam was at least consistent ; that he pursued the same steps I should myself have 
 taken, had I originally encouraged the war on its onh' defensible ground ; and that 
 he had put administration in a much more awkward situation than it was now possi- 
 ble for opposition to place them — but that I feared his motives were disappoint- 
 ment and chagrin. Burke and the Earl, his Lordship said, had deserted their po- 
 litical principles entirely. This may, or may not, be true. The principles on which 
 they profess to have seceded from their party, are so distinct from those which 
 originally bound that party together, that the mere act of separation can furnish 
 no conclusion on the subject. To be sure, if they have done it on corrupt motives, 
 they have abandoned all principle; but they may have separated, and retain the 
 common principles which once held them together, still. — Roscoe, his Lordship re- 
 marked, was timid, and therefore probably deficient, in Greek ; and perhaps not 
 quite stable, in Latin, literature. He had been struck with the unusual sense in 
 which R. employs the word " compromise.'' This term seems to have undergone 
 a singular revolution. " Compromissum,'' which could have meant, originally, 
 only a mutual engagement, appears to have been restricted in Roman jurispru- 
 dence, to a " mutual engagement to refer to arbitration :" — to refer to the judg- 
 ment of a third person, in such a way, is " to submit to hazard in conjunction 
 with another ;" and in both these senses the derivative word, in French and Ita- 
 lian, seems to have been commonly and respectably employed : in English, at 
 least in the most accejited use of the term, we seem to have dropped both ibte. 
 "■ reference" and the "jeopardy," and to have applied it to that " reci[)rocal con- 
 cession'' which either Led to admit such an appeal, or which it is probabk an um- 
 pire would award. — The conversation then turned on Burke ; against whom, for 
 his late conduct, his Lord->hip bears an enmity approaching almost to rancour. 
 I ventured, notwithstanding, to remark, that I saw so distinctly the principles of 
 his present opinions scattered through his former works, that could the case of the 
 French revolution have been hypolhetically put to me eight years ago, I should 
 have predicted that he would take precisely the course he has pursued. The rare, 
 indeed, with which this wonderful man, during a long series of strenuous opposi- 
 tion to the measures of government, uniformly occupied his ground, and the cau- 
 tion with which he qaaliified his reasonings — a care and caution which really seemed 
 superfluous on the occasion — might almost indicate, that he foresaw Uie time would
 
 [1796.1 
 
 come, when he should be led to urge a very different strain of argument : as we can 
 scarcely, however, give him credit for such foresight, il unquestionably affords a 
 most extraordinary example, in a mind so vehement and impassioned, of the pre- 
 dominance of philosophical over party spirit. — It would be difficult to find in the 
 English language, of equal variety and length, four such compositions, as Burke's 
 Speech to the Electors of Bristol ; Johnson's Preface to Shakspeare ; Parr's Dedica- 
 tion to Hurd ; and Lowth's Letter to Warburton. 
 
 OCT. the l\th. 
 
 Read Hawkesworth's Life of Swift ; of whose character and conduct but an im- 
 perfect idea is given by the narrative of Johnson. Hawkesworth is much more 
 communicative and interesting ; and the minuteness and simplicity with which he 
 details the few, but deplorable, incidents of the four last years of Swift's life, are 
 highly affecting. The circumstance of his struggling to express himself, after a 
 silence broken but once for more than a year ; and, finding all his efforts ineffec- 
 tual, heaving a deep sigh, quite cleaves the heart. 
 
 OCT. the \3th. 
 
 Finished Sheridan's Life of Swift. Every anecdote of Swift is necessarily inte- 
 resting ; but such matter could scarcely be put in a more uninteresting form. The 
 beginning and end of Swift's life are borrowed from Hawkesworth : the interme- 
 diate materials are capriciously divided and perplexedly arranged ; tales are tedi- 
 ously told and tiresomely repeated ; the same extracts are three times quoted ; and 
 much time is wasted in needless disputation. Sheridan appears rather a weak man ; 
 yet he clearly convicts Johnson of misrepresentation : indeed the many facts mis- 
 tated through negligence, or distorted through prejudice, in several of Johnson's 
 lives, is a circumstance which considerably deducts from their value. I was rather 
 surprized to hear of Swift's fervent piety, and secret devotion ; but Sheridan's de- 
 fence against the crimination grounded on his Yahoos, I can by no means admit ; 
 that this odious animal was designed as a bitter satire upon man as he is, I cannot 
 bring myself for one moment to doubt. 
 
 OCT. the \AtL 
 
 Read the 5th and 6lh Books of Macchiavel's History of Florence. A native of 
 Florence, or an adjoining state, might possibly be interested witli the details of the
 
 13 
 
 [1796.] 
 
 former : but I confess myself heartily wearied with the puny contests of these Lil- 
 liputian republics.; whose very warfare is insipid mockery, and yields, in heroic 
 pathos, to the battles of the pigmies and the cranes. What can we think, at this 
 day, of a combat raging between two adverse hosts, with various success, " dalle 
 20, alle 24 ore" and terminating, at last, in the utter rout of one of them, in 
 which only a single warrior perishes ; and he, unhappy wight ! not by the enno- 
 bling sword, but an unlucky tumble from his horse ! The fall from power, how- 
 ever, and the feelings on that fall, are finely depicted, towards the close, in the 
 person of Francesco. — In the latter book, Florence, indeed, disappears ; but the 
 immediate object of my search approximates and expands. 
 
 OCT. the l6th. 
 
 Read the 7th and 8th (the two last) Books of Macchiavel's unfinished History of 
 Florence ; and found that here, for my purpose, I ought to have begun. Roscoe, 
 I am afraid, makes fewer acknowledgements to Macchiavel, than he ought. Al- 
 most all the historical narrative with which hfe accompanies the life of Lorenzo, is 
 comprised in these two Books ; the general arrangement and texture are frequently 
 the same ; and the two relations sometimes bear a striking resemblance in minute 
 coincidencies. Macchiavel, on the whole, is fair and impartial ; though it is pos- 
 sible, I think, to discover some lurking propensities, with which, if they were really 
 patriotic, I can well sympathise. The atrocious conspiracy against Lorenzo 
 and Giuliano, he relates in his usual cold manner ; not sparing, indeed, the con- 
 spirators, by any mutilation or softening of facts, but not expressing a proper and 
 natural indignation at the attempt ; nor warmly exulting at its failure in the pre- 
 servation of Lorenzo, to whose character, however, at the close, he pays a most 
 respectable homage. I should conjecture, that Roscoe took Macchiavel as his 
 ground work in the historical de[)artment of his work ; and afterwards wrought out 
 the prominent parts from more circumstantial documents. 
 
 OCT. the lAth. 
 
 Finished Jortin's Life of Erasmus. The ease, simplicity, and vigour of this 
 engaging writer (I speak of the biographer), who negligently scatters learning and 
 vivacity on every subject which he treats, are here exercised on a most congenial 
 topic. The chief circumstances of Erasmus' life, are extracted from his letters; 
 and the notices of England in these letters, are peculiarly interesting. I take very
 
 14 
 [1796.] -;;rj 
 
 kindly to Erasmus : circumstanced as he was, I should have conducted myself just 
 as he did, towards the pope and the reformists : — they are only bigots, who will 
 violently condemn his moderation. f 
 
 OCT. the l6th. 
 
 Eead the first two Books of Livy's History. How infinitely superior, to my 
 taste and feelings, is his clear, free, ample, and nervous style of narrative, to the 
 laboured terseness and condensation of Tacitus ; who seems eternally on the stretch 
 to shine, instead of taking his cue from the iheme, and contracting and expanding 
 with his subject. The topics pressed by the Tarquins on Porsena (Lib. 2. c. q) to 
 induce him to assist them in recovering their sovereignty, might neatly be applied to 
 Mr. Burke. " Monebant — ne orientem morem pellendi reges, inultum sineret. 
 Satis libertatem ipsam habere dulcedinis. Nisi quanta vi civitates earn expetant, tanta 
 regna reges defendant, gequari summa infimis ; nihil excelsum, nihil quod supra 
 cetera emineat, in civitatibus fore. Adessefinem regnis — rei inter Deos hominesque 
 pulcherrima?." 
 
 OCT. the 2gth. 
 
 Read the 3rd Book of Livy. To modern habits it appears amazing, how the 
 Patricians, without the influence of great wealth or extensive patronage, could, by 
 a dexterous availment of conjunctures, and the luck)' diversion of wars, maintain 
 themselves for any length of time against the unruly power of the Plebeians, con- 
 glomerated in one city, conscious of their physical strengtli and political authority, 
 and headed by those fearless and turbulent demagogues the Tribunes. The two 
 modern engines of power, the management of the revenue, and the command of 
 the army, could here be of no avail ; where the former was too inconsiderable to 
 be named, and the latter was raised merely for the purpose of the moment, by a 
 hasty and promiscuous levy, which it was in the power of any tribune to forbid. — 
 A curious disquisition might be written {and it is much wanted) on the govern- 
 ment of Rome, from the expulsion of the Tarquins to the accession of Augustus. 
 
 Looked into Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, The prolific fancy of this wild 
 writer, and his power of ready, various, and ajit quotation, are truly wonderful. 
 
 NOVEMBER the 3rd. 
 Read Bp, Watson's Apology for the Bible, in reply to Paine. There is an un-
 
 15 
 
 [1796.] 
 
 charitable and ungracious declaration at the outset, which I coukl earnestly wish 
 had been suppressed ; not for the sake of Paine, whom I loathe, but of Watson, 
 whom I revere. This is certainly a very able defence of Revelation against many 
 old and obvious objections very forcibly urged — (for I set aside the ribaldry, igno- 
 rance, and petulant self sufficiency of the objector, as circumstances which give a 
 manifest advantage to the respondent) : — but there runs through the whole reply, 
 what I have often observed and reprobated in defences of this kind, — a remission of 
 ortliodoxy for the purpose of removing from view the most obnoxious parts of the 
 cause. The inspiration of the I' vangelists, the divinity of Christ, &c. are here kept 
 back ; and the case is argued as if the writers of the Gospels wereordinary biographers, 
 Christ a mere mortal inspired, &c. ; although the author hints that his belief is dif- 
 ferent; and from the situation he holds in the Church, we must presume it to be 
 so. There is in this, to my feelings, a sort of temporising spirit, inconsistent 
 with the warmth and earnestness which we should expect in a sincere believer con- 
 tending for the rock of his Salvation ; and peculiarly repugnant to that strain of 
 simple, manly, nervous, eloquence, which distinguishes the writings of this re- 
 spectable prelate. 
 
 NOF. the 8ih. 
 
 I have been for some days attending lectures on chemistry. Specious as the ad- 
 vantages of the new nomenclature appear, they seem counterbalanced by the re- 
 flection, that on any revolution in the system, which surely stands on ticklish 
 ground, the denominations deduced from it, must undergo a correspondent dis- 
 Torganization. 
 
 Saw distinctly this evening, through a microscope, the circulation of the white 
 and transparent globules of blood, in the pellucid body and members of a water 
 newt — a spectacle which impressed me with a more awful sense of the mysterious 
 operations going on in nature, than the revolution of the planets. 
 
 IS OF. the 12th. 
 
 Read Burke's Letters on a Regicide Peace. I am so satisfied that Burke enters 
 into the true genius and and character of the principles which have operated in the 
 French revolution, that I listen with reverence to whatever he advances on the 
 subject. He has here pursued his original sentiments on these principles, with no 
 abatement of his original vigour. In his cordial detestation of them, I heartily
 
 16 
 
 [1796.] 
 
 conspire ; but by what measures does he propose to rescue us from their contagion ? 
 Were it possible to restore France and Europe to the state they were in before the 
 revolution, or rather to the semblance of that state — (a thing probably inpractica- 
 ble were it ever so earnestly sought ; and which the corruption of courts will not 
 allow us to suppose would for any length of time be sincerely, honestly, and steadily 
 pursued) — still the mind could never be restored ; pernicious habits could not be 
 effaced; prejudices, however useful, could not be revived ; nor could the sacred 
 cause of real liberty be purified from the stains and disgrace of prostitution. We 
 are in the midst of horrible and antagonist disorders ; nor, till they reach something, 
 like a crisis, is it easy to say, what we ought to think, or how we ought to act. 
 His strictures on the war, which certainly never originated in the views he recom- 
 mended, and which, prosecuted as it is, can only tend to accelerate the evils which 
 he laboured to avert by it, or sink us still deeper in the bog of corruption, are ani- 
 mated with a just and lively indignation. He certainly places us, by these Letters, in 
 a shocking dilemma : but I wish to believe that his rampant imagination has mag- 
 nified the peril ; and, at worst, have considerable reliance on that nisus towards 
 a healthy state, which, in the body politic, as well as natural, is often our safest 
 and surest ground of hope, under the visitation of disorder, — The passage in 
 which he brings the situation of the emigrants home to our feelings, and 
 recalls us to a sense of our own danger by thtir example, is sketched with mas- 
 terly judgment, and coloured with a glowing pencil. 
 
 NOF. the 13th. 
 
 Read two translations of Burgher's Leonora; one in the Monthly Magazine for 
 Ivlarch, and one by Mr. Spencer. The latter, I conjecture, more fully conveys 
 the sense; the former more vigorously transfuses the spirit, of the original. In the 
 latter, many vivid images are sublimed into vapid abstractions, much energy is 
 lost by a fastidious rejection of sonorous echoes to the sense, and the general effect 
 is perhaps weakened by the refinement of the language : in the former, the sense 
 is mvigorated by, concentration ; the character of the piece is sustained by corres- 
 pondent, popular, appropriate, and forcible expressions ; and, by the artificial in- 
 crustation of antique phraseology, a congenial gloom is shed over a tale of horror, 
 to which I can allow every merit but retributory justice. I would certainly sooner 
 have written the anonymous translation ; but, had I done so, I should have grieved 
 at seeing, in the rival version, many sentiments and images which I had neglected 
 to transplant ; and I should have shrunk into myself, wliea ■
 
 17 
 
 [mo.-] 
 
 " Full at the portal's massy gaifc 
 The plunging steed impetuous clashed." 
 Lord C. called in. He believes it to be Earl Fitzwilliam, not Fox, as I con- 
 ceived, whom Burke's " dim eyes in vain explored" on the side of administration, 
 at this crisis. — Necessity, he thought, a strange doctrine. The most revolting 
 objection to it, I observed, seemed to vanish, with those who regarded the inflic- 
 tion of punishment as only a means of reformation. He urged the influence of 
 punishment, regarded as an example to others : this, I replied, would only be a 
 link in the chain ; and he seemed to acquiesce. — His Lordship saw no inconsistency 
 between prescience and freedom. God foresees : how he foresees, I know not — 
 certainly not as man does, by arguing from cause to effect : he foresees ; he reveals 
 his foreknowledge to a prophet ; how is the event affected .'' 
 
 NOr. the 21st. 
 
 Read, with much curiosity and interest, Kurd's Life of Warburton. All the 
 offensive characters of Kurd's manner, which Parr has felt with such discernment, 
 and described with such force — the quaint phrase, the cool sarcastic sneer, the 
 flippant stricture, the petulant gibe, the oblique insinuation, the crafty artifice, tne 
 mean subterfuge, the fawning suggestion — are here strikingly manifest. In my 
 opinion of Warburton or himself, which Parr had settled and defined, it has not 
 made a shade of difference. — The art with which Hurd has evaded all notice of 
 Jortin and Leland, is very amusing. 
 
 NOPZ the lAth. 
 
 Finished Maundrell's Journey from Aleppo to Jerusalem : a plain, imaffected 
 narrative; but written with an uncouthness of style, which we should not expect to 
 find in any composition of this century. T can scarcely fancy any thing more 
 interesting to a fervent devotee, than such a journey. What emotions must be 
 feltj at beholding Mount Calvary, the Sepulchre of Christ, &c. ! 
 
 NOF. the 28th. 
 
 Mr. L. spent the morning with me. I was pleased to find, that though of such 
 opposite political sentiments, he fully acknowledged the integrity of Burke's prin- 
 ciples, and the transcendant energies of his mind, which still worked with so much 
 
 D
 
 18 
 
 [1796.] 
 
 vigour under the most overwhelming depression. He Stated that he had pressed 
 Tooke, as I have done, on the ambiguity of his political principles, but without 
 any satisfactory result ; and thinks, as I do, that for the attainment of his particu- 
 lar and limited views, whatever they are, he has connected himself with a party 
 whose aim extends much farther, but whom he conceives it will be possible, when 
 his end is answered, to check in their career. 
 
 Looked into Gibbon's Miscellaneous Works. His ingenious Dissertation on 
 " L' Homme au Masque de Fer,'' if not quite conclusive with respect to this 
 mysterious personage, exhibits a wonderful convergescence of moral probabilities 
 on — a natural son of Anne of Austria, widow of Louis XIII, by Cardinal Mazarin, 
 
 DEC. the 6tL 
 
 Finished Robertson's History of Scotland. In the 1st and prefaratory Book, 
 he skilfully evades a long tract of obscure and uninteresting narrative, by exhibit- 
 ing a brief but masterly abstract of Scotch affairs till the period of Mary Queen of 
 Scots. — The Historv, which properly commences here, and embraces only two 
 reigns, and a term of little more than sixty years, evinces unquestionably very 
 respectable talents in the writer ; but when I recollect Gibbon's exquisite taste and 
 critical discernment, can I believe him serious or sincere, in disclaiming the honour 
 of forming a triumvirate of British Historians, with such a colleague ? 
 
 DEC. the l\th. 
 
 Finished the 1st Vol. of Robertson's Charles the V., obeying the references to 
 proofs and illustrations. I am confounded at the immense researches which fur- 
 nished materials for this preliminary volume: and if Robertson is surpassed, as he 
 politely confesses himself to have been, in diligence, by Gibbon, it mUst be 
 acknowledged, at least, that his industry has been directed to enquiries more 
 immediately interesting to a modern European. The notice of Voltaire at the 
 conclusion, is liberal and handsome ; and, (so little are we in the habit of seeing 
 justice done to this extraordinary man in this country,) was, to me, I confess, quite 
 unexpected. 
 
 DEC. the 15th. 
 
 Le Marquis D' A. dined with me. Had much chat on our different modes of 
 society. At I'aris, in dinner parties, each gentleman brings his servant j calls for
 
 19 
 
 [1796.] 
 
 what wine he chooses, at and between the courses : liqvienrs are intrcluced with 
 the desert ; and when tlie lady of the house says, " je suis a vos ordrrs,'' all with- 
 dra>v together to coffee and cards, or disperse to the opera : after which tlie same, 
 or some other house, is found oy)en for supper, which is usually composed of as 
 great a variety of dishes as the diimer. Young fellows drink only " dans les 
 debauches" with their mistresses, or in set parties ; and to ap[)ear drunk in mixed 
 company, would be an unpardonable offence. — Exce])t in an hour (could it be 
 restricted to an hour) of seperation after dinner, the French have clearly the ad- 
 vantage of us. — He thought people of condition in France, in general, far more 
 affable to the lower orders, than they appeared to be with us. I believe he is right; 
 but then it must be recollected that the French are, constitutionally or by habit, 
 a far more sociable and affable race than ourselves. 
 
 DEC. the 17th. 
 
 Read the 1st Book of Macchinvel's Discorsi sopra Livlo. Is It possible Mac- 
 chiavel could seriously believe (c. 56) that great political revolutions were usually- 
 ushered in by great natural portents, as earthquakes, meteors, &c. ? In the 
 58th chapter, he declares himself very decidedly in favour of Republics over 
 Monarchies, as possessing greater wisdom and steadiness in the administration of 
 affairs, stronger attachments to rectitude, and more constancy in adhering to 
 engagements ; and professes a manly sentiment, which would form a good 
 motto, " lo non giudico, ne giudichero mai, essere difetto difendere alcune 
 opinioni con le ragioni, senza volervi usare o I'autorita o la forza." Who would 
 not think he was reading a sentence of Beccaria } 
 
 Attended, in the evening, the representation of Holcroft's " Deserted Daugh- 
 ter." H. is here very busy at his purpose : his aim, to those who are conversant 
 with the tenets of his sect, is sufficiently manifest ; but he manages and conceals it 
 with a discretion not very consistent, surely, with his principles. 
 
 DEC. the ]Qtk. 
 
 Finished Robertson's Charles the V. ; a sound and able exposition of an interest- 
 ing period, which finely opens the state of Modern Europe : 1 cannot think, 
 however, that as an historical composition, it emulates the lively ease, acuteness, 
 and penetration of Hume ; or the exquisite skill, poignant taste, and profound 
 erudition of Gibbon. Though Robertson's style appears quite unexceptionable.
 
 20 
 [1796.] 
 
 and perfectly well adapted for grave communication, there is an artificiality and 
 want of raciness in it, which disappoints expectation, and ultimately tires: it seems 
 defecated and refined, till it has lost all flavour. — The preliminary Vol. forms a 
 most useful dissertation of itself: it contains much matter not immediately con- 
 nected with the subsequent History, which might well be read without it. 
 
 DEC. the 20th. 
 
 Read the preliminary Book to Robertson's History of America, comprising a 
 history of navigation and cosmography, from the first migrations of mankind to 
 the period of Columbus. R. seems to delight and luxuriate in these prefaratory 
 openings ; which, however, furnish a very tempting precedent for literary osten- 
 tation. The present is executed in a perspicuous, masterly, and pleasing manner. 
 
 Finished the 2d Book of Macchiavel's Discourse on Livy. He shews a consi- 
 derable insight into human nature, as acting on, and acted upon by, political 
 institutions ; and where he does not push the refinements of speculation too far, 
 his remarks are generally just. What he observes on the impolicy of trusting 
 emigrants compelled to fly their country, might have read a lesson to the present 
 administration. It is not often that history furnishes instruction of such sure and 
 obvious application. 
 
 DEC. the 24th. 
 
 Finished the first three Books of Robertson's America, collating it, as I went 
 along, with Burke's "European Settlements;" a work which has never been 
 estimated by the public as it ought to be. Burke's is the hasty, but free and 
 spirited, sketch of a master-artist ; Robertson's the elaborate composition of a very 
 eminent proficient : the one writer, we perceive, by a thousand careless strokes, 
 is capable of more ; the other has done the best he can. 
 
 DEC. the 27th. 
 
 Read the 4tli Book of Robertson's America ; containing an elaborate description 
 of the country and its inhabitants, delivered in too much state and pomp, and upon 
 which, much redundant thought and matter seems disgorged, for fear it should be 
 lost to the world. Burke has treated the same subject, in the four short chapters 
 which form the Second Part of his work, with infinite spirit ; and, contrasted with
 
 21 
 
 [1796.] 
 
 his lively strokes and glowing touches, the laboured perfection of Robertson is 
 heavy. — Compare their descriptions of the torture inflicted upon captives: Robert- 
 son, B. 4. c. 5 ; Burke, P. 2, c. 4. 
 
 DEC. the 2gth. 
 
 Read the Qth Book of Livy and was most powerfully struck with the uncommon 
 public spirit displayed by the army and the state, in the affair of the Caudian 
 
 defiles : from such men we could expect nothing less than the conquest of the 
 
 world, which they alone seem fit to govern. Livy's digression on the probable 
 consequences of Alexander's having turned his conquests towards Rome, from 
 an estimate of the respective resources of each party, is highly interesting ; and, 
 from Livy, quite unexpected. 
 
 JJNUJRY the 1st, 1797. 
 
 Read the 21st and 22nd Books of Livy. How fortunate is it, that the preceding 
 chasm in this history (of ten Books) extended no farther ! His description of Han- 
 nibal's passage over the Alps, is lively and picturesque ; and our interest in the 
 narrative kindles, as the Scourge of Italy advances : yet we look, in vain, for that 
 greatness of soul which should have distinguished the Roman people under such 
 afflicting reverses ; though Livy is disposed to say all he can for them. 
 
 Dipped into Addison's Travels ; of which the chief merit is the classical allusions. 
 Our style has so much improved of late, that many of his expressions appear 
 already uncouth and mean. 
 
 JJN. the 6tk. 
 
 Read the 24th Book of Livy. An astonishing and unaccountable languor seems 
 to have seized both the Roman and Carthaginian forces, after the battle of Cannae; 
 just when we should have expected the mightiest and most decisive achievements, 
 on one side or the other. The spirit of the Romans we may suppose to have been 
 broken ; but what shall we say for Hannibal, in not following up that stupendous 
 victory ?
 
 22 
 [1797.] 
 
 JAN. the 8lk. 
 
 Attended Cluirch in the afternoon. Mr. S. confounded (as amona; all sects of 
 Christians, it is remarkable, has ever been the case) the Christian Lord's Day with 
 the Jewish Sabbath : — a strange blunder, surely, however respectably sanctioned^ 
 We might as well confound Easter with the Passover. 
 
 JJ.N. the Qth. 
 
 Finished the 27th Book of Livy. The forced march of the Consul Claudius 
 Nero through the whole extent of Italy, to form a junciion with his Colleague M. 
 Livius ; their total defeat of Asdrubal ; and the eagerness, the transports, with 
 which the rumour, the report, and, at last, the official statement, of this mo- 
 mentous victory, was received at Rome, are recounted with uncommon animation. 
 Hannibal's inertia, all this time, is perfectly amazing : he seems to have possessed 
 great talents to gain an advantage ; but not to make the most of it, when won. 
 
 JAN. the loth. 
 
 Looked over, by a cursory perusal, Beattie's Essay on Truth. I remember to 
 have been much charmed with this work ; but it has sunk lamentably in my esti- 
 mation, on this maturer review. Its declamation, indeed, is lively and specious : 
 but, as a disquisition, it is miserably deficient in acuteness of discrimination and 
 solidity of judgment; and though we should allow that the author has, on many 
 occasions, ye/i justly, we must confess that throughout he has reasoned very 
 weakly. The great object of this Treatise, is, to prove, to the confusion of Des 
 Cartes, Malbranche, Berkeley, and Hume, — that there are principles intuitively 
 certain or intuitively probable, — that common sense determines what these prin- 
 ciples are, — that all reasoning rests upon these principles, and that to bring such 
 principles themselves to the test of reason, is a measure preposterous in its nature, 
 and highly injurious to the interests of truth and virtue. In answer to all this, it 
 might well be observed, that reasoning consists in nothing but the production of 
 some one or more propositions, from which it follows, as a necessary, or as a 
 probable consequence, that the proposition to be proved or dis[)roved, is true or 
 false; — that the propositions thus adduced, are amenable to the judgment ;— 
 that if the dictates of common sense are consistent, they cannot overthrow each 
 other ;— that all fair reasoning, consequently, must at least be harmless ; and.
 
 53 
 [1797.] 
 
 that to encourage men to adopt any opinion, and shut their ears to all discussion 
 upon it, as a point previously settled by common sense, and beyond the jurisdic- 
 tion of reason, would be to give the privilege of sanctuary to every species of 
 prejudice. 
 
 Read the 34th Book of Livy. The arguments on the Oppian Law, at the 
 beginning of this Book, are highly curious. Valerius's, in favour of the ladies, 
 though ingenious, passes over many topics which we should expect to be pressed 
 with much spirit^ on a similar occasion, at the present day. 
 
 J^N. the 10th. 
 
 Read Moore's History of the French Revolution ; a very inferior production to 
 what I had promised myself from such a writer on such a subject. The causes of 
 that momentous change are loosely investigated ; their progressive operation and 
 developement, imperfectly displayed ; in the reflections on the passing events, there 
 is too frequent an affectation of smartness and naivete of sentiment ; and there runs 
 through the whole narrative, the same debility and languor which pervades his 
 Journal — a composition, which, for any intrinsic marks to the contrary, might 
 have been compiled in Grub- Street. 
 
 The critique on Burke's Regicide Peace, in the last Monthly Review, is ably 
 written : the passage which warms, in defending our national horror at despotism, 
 is uncommonly animated; — it breathes the eloquence of passion. 
 
 FEBRUJRY the \st. 
 
 Finished the 40th Book of Livy. The speeches of Persius and Demetrius, 
 indeed most of those which Livy introduces, bear a strong resemblance to the rhe- 
 torical theses of the schools, and seem formed on that taste. They are, of course, 
 the entire composition of Livy ; and I suppose he thought them fine. 
 
 Read the Castle of Otranto; which grievously disap|iointed my expectations. 
 Tlie tale is, in itself, insipid ; and Mrs. Radclifte, out of possible contingencies, 
 evokes scenes of far more thrilling horror, than are attained by the supernatural and 
 extravagant machinery, which, after all, alone imparts an interest to this Romance. 
 —Let me, however, except from all censure, and honour with all praise, the scene 
 in which Manfred receives the mute messengers of Challenge : — it is capitally 
 supported. — The prefixed strictures on Voltaire, are just, but feeble.
 
 24 
 
 [1797 .J 
 
 FEB. the 5th. 
 
 Read the 43d Book of Livy. The kind of apology which he makes (chap. 12) 
 for recounting, as he regularly does, the portents of the year, marks the state of 
 religious sentiment in his time ; and paganism, about the beginning of our aera, 
 seems to have been in much the same degree of credit, as Christianity is now. 
 
 FEB. the 7th. 
 
 Finished the 45th and last Book extant, of Livy. Literature has never sustained 
 a severer loss, than in the disappearance of the 105 Books, which are wanting to 
 complete this comprehensive and elaborate History. How inestimable, from such 
 a writer, would be the account of Roman affairs, from the passing of the Rubicon 
 by Julius Cgesar, to the establishment of Augustus ! As it is, we leave the Roman 
 empire, perhaps in its most respectable condition : Spain, in part subdued, and 
 throughout in awe; the Macedonian monarchy extinct, and its king a captive ; 
 Carthage, tributary and dependent : and all surrounding monarchies and states, 
 looking up, as to the lords of nature and arbiters of their fate, with gratitude, and 
 fear, and reverence, to the senate and people of a single city — whose integrity and 
 firmness (let me add), magnanimity and wisdom, seem worthy of holding that 
 transcendant sway, which a long succession of these virtues had painfully won. — 
 Livy is a sound and satisfactory historian : he never soars ; nor ever languishes — 
 but with his subject : to this he steadily adheres ; and pursues the stream of time 
 with the same even current that it flows. 
 
 FEB. the gth. 
 
 Read the Dissertation prefixed to Dacier's Horace. The nature of Lyric Poetry 
 is very vaguely defined ; its origin and progress, confusedly traced ; and the epithets 
 " le grand," " la gracieuse," " le sublime,'' fortuitously applied to Horace, where 
 we should expect to find his distinguishing excellencies appropriately marked. The 
 defence of poetry in general, and of the antient poets, against the sophisms of 
 Despreaux and others, is, I think, the soundest part : but, upon the whole, like 
 many a French piece of goods, it is extremely shewy and tasty, but defective 
 both in materials and workmanship.
 
 25 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 FEB. the 12th. 
 
 Looked over the first fourteen Odes of Horace, Lib. 1, with Dacier's and 
 Bentley's Annotations. I am still undecided as to the construction of the twelve 
 lines succeeding the 2dj in the first ode : a verse seems wanting between the 10th 
 and 1 1th. " Siccis oculis'' in the 3rd ode, appears a strange epithet — " rectis" is 
 what one would ivtsh ; but I see no other authority for substituting it : to instance 
 a man's fortitude, by saying that he can face danger without blubbering, is certainly 
 not felicitous : but might not Horace sometimes be unhappy ; and do we not 
 criticise with more scrupulosity than he wrote ? — It would be difficult, any where, 
 to find a cramper construction of words than in the conclusion of the 5th Ode — 
 
 — Me tabula sacer 
 Votiva paries indicat uvida 
 
 Suspendisse putenti 
 Vestimenta maris Deo. 
 Could this ever have been clear, or pleasing ? — Tarteron's prudery in suppress- 
 ing, in Aw edition, the four last lines in the 4th, Otli, and Qth Odes, and the 
 whole of the 5th, is perfectly ridiculous : one can have no opinion of the purity 
 of that mind, which could suspect such verses as unchaste. 
 
 FEB. the IQth. 
 
 Read De Pouilly's Critique sur la fidelite de 1' histoire (Memoires de L' Academic 
 des Inscriptions, Tom 8me.) ; in which, the nature of historical evidence is very 
 ingeniously discussed. Hume, I think, has borrowed from this tract in his Essay 
 on Miracles. — Allowing for the superior spirit of attack over defence, De Pouilly 
 has shewn himself a very superior writer to his antagonist 1' Abbe Sallier, in a pre- 
 vious tract in the same vol., on the uncertainty of the earlier part of the Komau 
 History, which well repays tlie reading. 
 
 Perused, but hastily, Erskine's pamphlet on the Causes and Consequences of 
 the Present War; and was much struck with that part, in which he exposes the 
 mischiefs of the coalition against France, by supposing that a similar confederacy 
 had been formed against England, on the decapitation of Charles L : yet, on the 
 whole, the admirers of this great advocate must surely be disappointed with this 
 specimen of his powers ; and will be tempted to apply to him, what Cicero observed 
 of Galba — " cujus in verbis mens ardentior spirat, ejus in scriptis, omnis ilia vis 
 et quasi flamma oratoris extinguitur." 
 
 E
 
 S8 
 
 FEB. the 24ih. 
 
 W. wboj by a happy choice of characteristic features, and the dexterous use of 
 intermediate ideas, possesses, beyond any man I know, the enchanting art of 
 painting vividly to the imagination whatever he has seen^ has been for some days 
 delighting me with descriptions of what occurred during a voyage along the 
 Western coast of Italy, the tour of Sicily, and a visit to Rome. The ample basin 
 of the Bay of Naples, with its gay shores, surmounted by the awful form of Vesu- 
 vius — the Isles of Lipari, emitting flames and coruscations as he passed them in the 
 dead stillness of night— the first distant view of ^tna, through the clear medium of 
 an Italian atmosphere, tinged with ethereal blue, and lifting his snovv-capt head in 
 solitary majesty — the iron frontier of the coast of Scylla — the ascent of ^tna in 
 the night, by a torrent of liquid lava, surcharged with scoria, reddening the air 
 with its glow, and plunging with a tremendous crash over a precipice equal to the 
 cliffs of Dover — the pillar of smoke, slowly and steadily ascending through the 
 vast concavity of the crater, till it caught the breeze upon the summit, and 
 scudded horizontally away, coldly tinged by the morning twilight — the first sparkle 
 of the long expected sun ; gilding, as he rose, the highest points of the eminences 
 beneath, while all below was buried in a purple gloom — Sicily, through all its 
 extent and waving shores, at length spread under the eye, like an illuminated map; 
 and Calabria and Malta, in opposite directions, rising faintly in the distance — the 
 approach to Rome from the South, descending through a thick forest on the flat 
 and dreary expanse of the Campania — Claudius' aquaeduct, while Rome was yet 
 invisible, shooting athwart the level, in a long line and endless succession of 
 arcades — the first aspect of the Imperial City — the Colisoeum, as be passed it, 
 bleached to the North, and apparently fresh from the architect. — The bare recital 
 of such scenes, fires the imagination, and kindles an eager curiosity to behold 
 them : yet the perplexing difficulties, the vexatious delays, the misery of accom- 
 modation, the fatigue of body, and anxiety of mind, which would in many cases 
 attend the actual inspection of these interesting objects, must considerably deduct 
 from the delight they are calculated to afford ; and it is, perhaps, only under the 
 purif}ing process ol recollection, that the luxury of having seen them, can be fully 
 enjoyed. — W. confessed, that the ruins of Rome, widely scattered as they are, in 
 different directions, choaked up with buildings, and in many instances artificially 
 supported by iron cramps, at the first view, miserably disappointed him ; as they 
 inevitably must do, every one whose expectations have been formed on the sketches 
 of Piranesi, &c. in which, all that is offensive is carefully excluded, and whatever
 
 27 
 
 [17Q7.] 
 
 is most interesting in these remains, selected and combined. — St. Peter's, iliough 
 yielding to its powerful rival in exterior elegance of form, exhibits such vast dimen- 
 sions and surpassing splendour within, that St. Paul's, on a review, appeared like 
 the inside of a deserted tap-room. 
 
 MARCH the lAth. 
 
 Read Freret's Essay on the Evidence of Antient History, Tom 8me., of the Me- 
 moires de L' Academic — a masterly disquisition, which, so far as it forms a general 
 argument, (for of its particular application to certain points of antient history, I 
 am an incompetent judge), has my fullest assent. The concluding part, on the 
 different and inconvertible natures of mathematical and moral evidence, particu- 
 larly meets my ideas. 
 
 Pursued the Odes of Horace, Lib. 1. What does Dacier mean, in his con- 
 cluding note on the 30th, by hinting, with a sort of pregnant brevity, that the 
 reason is obvious why the antients attached Mercury to Fenus ? Had he been 
 criticising a modern, I should have supposed he meant to be smart. — 1 cannot 
 bring myself to think, with him, that the 34th Ode is ironical : it appears very 
 evidently to me, to have been written under a sudden fit of piety, produced, as 
 such fits often are with the dissolute, — by imminent danger escaped. 
 
 MARCH the 21 St. 
 
 Looked over Malone's Enquiry into the Authenticity of Ireland's Shakespearian 
 Papers ; a learned and decisive piece of criticism, which would have settled my 
 doubts, if all doubts had not been already removed by the forger's impudent con- 
 fession. Yet Malone sometimes insists too strongly on slight proofs ; as in his 
 objection from the word " amuse" in Q. Elizabeth's Letter, which affords sense 
 in its primitive meaning, of arresting attention : his violent politics, too, are vio- 
 lently introduced ; and suggest but a feeble argument against Shakespear's Love 
 Letter. 
 
 Read with much delight in the 8me. Tom of Memoires de L. Academic, Gedoyn's 
 Dissertation de 1' Urbanite Romaine, in which the origin and expansion of this 
 quality are delicately traced, its volatile form delineated with elegance and spirit, 
 and its seperate nature forcibly and pointedly discriminated ; nor is there any part 
 of this disquisition exceptionable, but the application of this accomplishment to 
 Homer, Pindar, and others, in whom it surely does not predominate. Amongst the
 
 28 
 
 moderns, 1 should point without hesitation to St. Evrcmond, as exhibiting this 
 qualification in its purest form. — Racine, in a subsequent Essay, resolves the 
 essence of poetry, into the language of passion. 
 
 MARCH, the 25 ih. 
 
 Finished the Italian. This work will maintain, but not extend, Mrs. RadclifFe's 
 fame as a novelist. It has the same excellencies and defects as her former compo- 
 sitions. In the vivid exhibition of the picturesque of nature, in the delineation of 
 strong and dark character, in the excitation of horror by physical and moral agency. 
 I know not that Mrs. R. has any equal : but she languishes in spinning the thread 
 of the narrative on which these excellencies are strung ; natural characters and 
 incidents are feebly represented ; probability is often strained without sufficient 
 compensation ; and the developement of those mysteries which have kept us 
 stretched so long on the rack of terror and impatience (an unthankful task at best) 
 is lame and impotent. Eleanor and Vivaldi, either in their seperate character or 
 mutual attachment (a wire-drawn theme), touched me but little ; but I confess 
 myself to have been deeply and violently impressed, by the midnight examination 
 of the corpse of Bianchi ; by the atrocious conference of Schedoni and the Marquesa, 
 in the dim twilight of the Church of San Nicolo ; and, above all, by what passed 
 in Spalatro's solitary dwelling on the sea shore. If Mrs. Radcliffe justly consulted 
 her fame, she would confine herself to fragments. — She and Miss Burney might 
 compose a capital piece between them — Mrs. R. furnishing the landscape, and Miss 
 B. the figures. 
 
 MJllCH the 26th. 
 
 Finished Gibbon's Memoirs of himself — an exquisite morceau of literature, but 
 which might have been rendered far more interesting by anecdotes of such of his 
 acquaintance as were distinguished characters — a disclosure, properly conducted, of 
 which I cannot see the harm ; and by less reserve on the subject of his progress in 
 infidelity — atopic which the Biographer touches with all the caution of the Histo- 
 rian. — In the Memoirs, and in the Journal, there is one strange and material 
 inconsistency which I cannot reconcile. In the former, he represents himself as 
 overpowered with admiration of the calm philosophy, and careless inimitable beau- 
 ties of Hume's history : in his Journal, descriptive of a period immediately succeed- 
 JQgthat in which he paints himself thus struck, he calls Hume's history, ingenious but
 
 S9 
 
 ri797.] 
 
 superficial. The accuracy of Mr. Gibbon's memory, it is to be presumed, forsook, 
 him, on this occasion, in his Memoirs; and he has been led to ascribe to too early 
 a period, the more enlightened judgment of maturer years. 
 
 MJRCH the 3\st. 
 
 Read Swift's Four last Years of Queen Anne ; a clear, connected detail of facts, 
 exhibited with exquisite art (artis est, celare artem) to give the particular impres- 
 sion he wished. How different do the same transactions appear, under the colour- 
 ing of Swift and Burnet I — The Letter to a Whig Lord (Vol. 24, Nichols' edition) 
 strikingly displays Swift's talents as a party writer : under the shew of serious and 
 earnest admonition, he shrewdly urges, with cutting force, and in galling succes- 
 sion, all the topics which malice could suggest, to bring the opponents of the 
 Oxford administration, at the critical juncture when it was written, into general 
 contempt and obloquy — ■ 
 
 Si Pergama dextra 
 
 Defendi possent, eliam hac defensa fuissent. 
 Read the first five Odes (Lib. 1.) of Horace. Bentley has compleatly puzzled 
 himself with the passage in the 5th, — illi, quos tibi dempserit 
 
 apponit annos : 
 and proposed an emendation, " quod" " annus,'' by which, if there were any diffi- 
 culty, it would doubtless be removed ; but Dacier's explanation, that, to a certain 
 period of life, the passing years may be considered as added, and after that period, 
 as taken away, seems quite clear and satisfactory. 
 
 Gibbon might have applied the remarkable pun, which occurs somewhere in his 
 history, with good effect to Ausonius' epigram, quoted in Dacier's last note to 
 this Ode, 
 
 Dum dubitat Natura, marem faceretne puellam, 
 Factus es, o pulcher, pene puella, puer. 
 
 APRIL the 4th. 
 
 Looked through the European Magazine for last month. I hardly remem- 
 ber to have been more struck, on any occasion, by any composition, than with 
 the remonstrance of one Gibbius, a Quaker, against the proceedings of the 
 Monthly Meeting at Birmingham towards his expulsion, for manufacturing and 
 selling tire arras. It is a masterpiece of sound and close reasoning, forcibly urged in
 
 30 
 
 L1797.J 
 
 the clearest, purest, and precisest language. I hope it will have its intended effect 
 on those to whom it is addressed : such a man, if his integrity is on a par with his 
 ability, would be an irreparable loss to any society. — On what principles do the 
 Quakers reconcile to themselves the payment of war taxes, rather than of tythes ? 
 
 APRIL the 5th. 
 
 Read Swift's burlesque of Collins' arguments against Christianity, in the 24th 
 Vol. of his worics : — some of these arguments will not be burlesqued. — It is related 
 of Swift, in the preceding volume, that it was his custom, before committing his 
 writings to the press, to read them over in the presence of two domestics, demand- , 
 ing occasionally what they understood by such and such passages ; and if any 
 appeared beyond their clear comprehension, that he carefully altered the language 
 till they fully caught the sense. This test could hardly be applied on all occasions. 
 Where the subject matter is understood by an auditor, it is doubtless always prac- 
 ticable to render oneself intelligible to him in the treatment of it ; but surely not 
 otherwise, without such an excess of explanation as would appear tedious and ridi- 
 culous where it was not wanted. 
 
 APRIL the IZtk. 
 
 Looked into the l8th and 19th Vols, of Swift's Works, Nichols' edition. Lord 
 
 B 's, (Qu. Lord Bathurst's ?) Letters are written with the engaging ease and 
 
 playful spirit of one who can afford to trifle without detriment ; Gay's display the 
 cheerful carelessness of his temper ; and Lord Bolingbroke's exhibit that impetuous, 
 indignant, overbearing vehemence of soul, and majesty of diction, which distin- 
 guish all the compositions of this noble writer. 
 
 Pursued Lib. 2. of Horace's Odes. The character ascribed to Bacchus in the 6tb 
 and 7th stanzas of the igth Ode, a poem peculiarly devoted to the celebration of 
 his praises, should have taught Bentley to tremble at depriving him of the epithet 
 " proeliis audax" in the 12th Ode Lib. 1., on the ground of his being an effemi- 
 nate and luxurious deity. The God of wine seems to have been as great in the 
 field, as some of our modern heroes at the bottle. 
 
 APRIL the I5ih. 
 
 Finished a cursory perusal of Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful. The pene- 
 trating sagacity, various knowledge, and exquisite taste displayed in this disquisition.
 
 31 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 are subordinate merits: it is the original and just mode of investigation on such 
 topics, of which it exhibits so brilliant an example, that stamps upon it, in my 
 estimation, its principal value. 
 
 Looked over Swift's Journal to Stella, in the 20th. Vol. of his Works. I can 
 allow for the relaxations of greatness : trifling however, as their general cast and 
 complexion may be, they usually confess, somewhere and by accident, the stock 
 from whence they sprung : but these Letters are, uniformly, and throughout, 
 the most childish things I ever read ; and it is wonderful how such a man as Swift 
 could possibly keep his mind down to such a level, for any length of time. 
 
 APRIL the ]6ih. 
 
 Read Sir William Temple on Popular Discontents, on Gardening, and on 
 antient and modern Learning. Temple, whatever topic he treats, always enter- 
 tains : he has an easy regular stream of good sense, which never overflows, or fails, 
 or stagnates. In his Introduction to the History of England, he has opened our 
 history to the death of William the Conqueror — a dark and confused period — very 
 successfully ; and laid a good foundation for a subsequent narrative. Swift, from 
 a fragment 6f English history which he has left, beginning with the reign of Wil- 
 liam the II., appears to have had an intention, at one time, to follow his patron's 
 career ; but, from the specimen he has given, one cannot regret that he dropped 
 it. I am unable to discover, in this fragment, any traces of Swift, or of superior 
 ability of any kind. 
 
 JPRIL the \gtk. 
 
 Began Lib. 3. of Horace's Odes. We should- have despised such compositions 
 as the 12th, the )7th, and the 18th, had they been written by any one but Horace. 
 That " "privatus" in the 8th, means " throwing aside public cares for a time, and 
 becoming a private individual,'' appears to me to admit no doubt ; nor do I feel, 
 with Bentley, that this construction is harsh. 
 
 Consulted, for a particular purpose, Warburton's Divine Legation. One would, 
 a priori, have supposed it impossible to weave such a miscellaneous mass of know- 
 ledge on all subjects, upon the slender and fragile thread of his Demonstration. For 
 vigour of intellect, and amplitude of information, Warburton is almost without a 
 rival : but his judgment and his taste are both defective. An implicit adoption of 
 the first and hasty suggestions of his prompt and ardent mind, seems to have been
 
 32 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 his predominant foible ; and to this cause, I think, may be referred, that waste of 
 powers and erudition, in the support of untenable paradoxes, which vitiates so 
 large a portion of his literary labours : — the pains which should have been bestowed 
 on the discovery of trnlh, were perversely misapplied to the maintenance of error. 
 
 APRIL the 22d. 
 
 Read Adam Smith's History of Astronomy, in his posthumous tracts, published 
 by Dugald Stewart. — Any unusual succession of events in the appearances of 
 nature, by obstructing the ready passage of the imagination from one to the other, 
 creates the uneasy and restless sensation of wonder ; which we endeavour to remove, 
 by filling up the gap between them, with some connecting element — some middle 
 term — over which the mind can glide from one to the other with customary facility : 
 on this principle he takes his stand, in reviewing the science of astronomy ; and 
 proceeds to consider, the various expedients which have been ofFtred to explain 
 the phoenomena of the heavens, according to the advanced state of knowledge at 
 the time, from the revolving concentric spheres of Aristotle, to the simple and 
 sublime suggestion of Newton. It was Smith's design to have traced a history of 
 all the leading divisions of philosophical enquiry, on the same original and happy 
 idea ; and, from the fragments he has left behind him, one deeply regrets that he 
 did not pursue and complete a task, so congenial to his temper and his habits, and 
 for which he was, in all respects, so admirably qualified. — This phasis of philosophy 
 seems bottomed on Hume's doctrine of cause and effect. There is frequently an 
 earnestness in Smith's manner, arising from an anxiety to exhibit and enforce his 
 opinion, which is very impressive. The preceding Memoirs of Smith, by Dugald 
 Stewart, disappointed me: they are jejune in matter, and lifeless in expression. 
 
 APRIL the 11th. 
 
 Finished the first Volume of Gregory's Essays : a most prolix and diffuse com- 
 position ; from which you may just collect, by wading through 500 pages, that the 
 author meani to establish the liberty of human action, on a distinction between phy- 
 sical cause and intellectual motive. 
 
 Read the 24th of Horace's Odes, Lib. 3. I am not satisfied with Bentley's 
 emendation and explication of the lines, —
 
 S3 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 Si figit adamantinos 
 
 Summis verticibus dira necessitas 
 Clavos : 
 Substituting " sic'' for " si," and reading the whole parenthetically : but Dacier 
 should have understood his construction, before he derided it ; and far from 
 thinking that his own (and the ordinary) interpretation of the passage, exhibits an 
 idea " juste et belle,'' it appears to me that nothing can be more forced or 
 uncouth than the image thus presented. 
 
 APRIL the 30th. 
 
 Ran over Beattie's Elements of Moral Science— a miserable work ; which does 
 not answer to the title, and is deficient even in the wonted animation of its author. 
 B. shines but as a disputant : as a calm disquisitionist, he is nothing. 
 
 Attended Church in the afternoon. It is strange, how differently the same 
 subject appears to the same man at different times — how present ccjisideration 
 magnifies its relative importance ! S. preached a sermon in which he represented 
 " good works," as the substance of religion ; and speculative dogmas, as dust in 
 the balance : yet, I have heard him insist, at other times, on many particles of 
 this dust, as points of supreme moment ! 
 
 Looked over the first Vol. of the Tatlers — a happy design ; which, however 
 unequally executed, claims our esteem, as the venerable parent of a literary pro- 
 geny, that has rendered inestimable service, in quickening the understandings, 
 enlarging the knowledge, refining the taste, and improving the morals, of the 
 people of this country. — ^The character of Orlando, in the 50th. and 51st. Nos., 
 is original and striking. 
 
 MAY the 7th. 
 
 Began Lib. 4. of Horace's Odes. The 1st. Ode opens most gorgeously, but 
 concludes impotently : the 2d. is throughout of consummate excellence : in the 
 4th. Horace loses himself, I think, by attempting to soar too high — his forte is 
 elegance, not sublimity. 
 
 Read Coulthurst's Sermon on the 25th. of Oct. 1796, with Geddes' version of 
 it. The travesty is humourous and happy ; but the original is so truly ridiculous, 
 that it is difficult, by any burlesque, to render it more so. 
 
 F
 
 34 
 [1797.] 
 
 Met Mr. E. He has given up his exposition of the prophecies, as applied to the 
 present period ; and does not seem prepared, or inclined, to adopt any other. He 
 is convinced however, contrary to my opinion, that the old Catholic establishment 
 will start up again in France, as soon as the present hurricane is over. — His liberal 
 views in politics, derived from an ample knowledge of men and things, and purified, 
 by long commerce with the world, from all bigotry, are quite refreshing in these 
 days of party violence. 
 
 MJY the 10th. 
 
 Pursued the Tatlers. The 95th. No. is particularly happy in describing an 
 amiable domestic couple ; — there are touches of truth and unaffected simplicity in 
 it, which are quite pathetic: the Vision Nos. 100 and 102 — (1 am not in gene- 
 ral fond of these visions) — is neatly introduced, and prettily told: the 114th. No. 
 is affecting, connected with the gsth. 
 
 Read the 6th. and 7th. Odes (Lib. 4.) of Horace. The former is disproportioned 
 in its parts, involved, and obscure ; nor do I think Horace successful in his 
 laboured efforts to be great : the latter — a congenial theme — breathes all that sim- 
 plicity, and tenderness, and graceful ease, for which I most admire this captivating 
 poet. How naturally do the trains of imagery and sentiment follow each other ! 
 
 MAY the 20th. 
 
 Finished, by a continued perusal, Burke's Two Letters on a Regicide Peace. 
 They contain as much plenitude of thought, fertility of fancy, and vigour of argu^ 
 mentation, as any of his younger productions ; nor do I perceive any symptoms 
 of that decay of mind, which he so often asserts. How inestimable would be the 
 remnant of such unrivalled powers ! 
 
 Looked over Horace's Epodes — an unmeaning title. The 2d. is eminently 
 happy in selecting and presenting the delights of a country life; an<l, notwithstand- 
 ing its neatness and point, one almost regrets the concluding turn by which the 
 illusion is destroyed. — The incantations in the 5th are very inferior, in grotesque 
 Avildness and horror, to those of the Witches in Macbeth. — How Dacier can con- 
 sider the lines in the 11th., " Simul calentis inverecundus Deus, 
 
 Fervidior mero. 
 
 Arcana promerat loco ;" 
 as meaning any thing else than " when wine (Quid non tbrielas designat ? Operta
 
 95 
 
 [17970 
 
 recludit, Epis. 5., Lib. 1.) has unlocked the heart," or can impute any grossness 
 to this idea, is perfectly amazing : was he never warmed to such disclosures, by a 
 friend and a bottle ? — The 8th. and 12th. are most abominably filthy, and utterly 
 unworthy their author. — On the whole, I am less pleased with the Epodes, than 
 with any of Horace's compositions ; and fancy, at least, that I discover in many 
 of them, a hardness of manner, perplexity of construction, and acridness of spirit, 
 very remote from the usual ease, suavity, and urbanity of this Favourite of the 
 Graces. 
 
 JUJSE the 2d. 
 
 Visited the Eoyal Exhibition. Particularly struck with a sea view by Turner- 
 fishing vessels coming in, with a heavy swell, in apprehension of a tempest gather- 
 ing in the distance, and casting, as it advances, a night of shade ; while a parting 
 glovv is spread with fine effect upon the shore. The whole composition, bold in 
 design, and masterly in execution. I am entirely unacquainted with the artist ; 
 but if he proceeds as he has begun, he cannot fail to become the first in his 
 department. 
 
 JUJSE the Qth. 
 
 I was much amused this evening with a ventriloquist ; the most perfect in his 
 art I have ever met with. He maintained a spirited dialogue with himself, and 
 sung an air, with good effect, in this assumed voice. The deception is highly 
 curious. That it is in the power of the professors of this art, according to the 
 vulgar notion, to cast their voice wherever they please, is certainly untrue : the 
 delusion they produce, may, 1 think, thus be accounted for. Though I cannot 
 admit with Reid (Enquiry into the Human Mind, chap. 4, sect. 1.) that sound 
 does not indicate the quarter from whence it proceeds, since, as 1 have often 
 observed, a dog, with nothing to direct him, will instantly turn towards the point 
 from whence his master calls ; yet unquestionably this indication is very vague 
 and slight, and leaves the mind in considerable suspense. When the ventrilo- 
 quist first inwardly articulates, we are prompted to refer the sound to him ; but 
 observing that not a muscle in his countenance stirs, and hearing a voice entirely 
 different from that in which he had just addressed us, we naturally cast about to 
 some other quarter for the speaker : the ventriloquist always takes care to lead the 
 imagination, with much address, to that quarter from which he wishes us to
 
 36 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 suppose that the ideal speaker is talking : and we eagerly refer thither, those 
 
 accents for which we could otherwise assign no place whatever. 
 
 JULY the Sth. 
 
 Finished the perusal of " Les Lettres Provinciales, de Pascal." In the first ten 
 Letters, he exposes in the liveliest and most striking forms, and aggravates by a 
 vein of the most exquisite and cutting irony, the subtle and mischievous casuistry 
 of the Jesuits : in the nine succeeding ones, he follows up his attack upon the 
 morality and policy of this order, seriously and in earnest : the latter, however, 
 t-hough by no means destitute of force ; though sometimes very powerful ; and 
 though in the 14th., particularly, the writer bursts out into a strain of vehement 
 and impassioned eloquence, which, had it been found in Demosthenes, would 
 have been the admiration of the world, — prove, upon the whole, far less interesting 
 to a modern reader ; and it is to the former, that Pascal will ultimately stand 
 i^ncJebted for the meed of immortal fame. 
 
 JULY the \5th. 
 
 Read in the Star, this morning, the following solemn and affecting account of the 
 death of Edmund Burke. It has all the appearance of coming from authority. 
 
 " On Saturday night died, at his seat near Beaconsfield, after a long and painful 
 illness, which he bore with a pious fortitude suited to his character, in his 6sth. 
 year, the Riglit Honourable E. B. His end was suited to the simple greatness of 
 mind which he displayed through life ; every way unaffected ; without levity, 
 without ostentation. Full of natural grace and dignity, he appeared neither to 
 wish nor to dread, but patiently and placidly to await, the appointed hour of his 
 dissolution. He had been listening to some essay of Addison's, in which he ever 
 took delight : he had recommended himself in many affectionate messages to the 
 remembrance of those absent friends whom he never ceased to love : he had 
 conversed some time with his accustomed force of thought and of expression, on 
 the awful situation of his country, for the welfare of which his heart was interested 
 to the last beat : he had given, with steady composure, some private directions, in 
 contemplation of his approaching death : when, as his attendants were conveying 
 him to his bed, he sunk down, and, after a short struggle, passed quietly and 
 without a groan, to eternal rest, in that mercy which he had just declared, he had
 
 37 
 
 long sought with unfeigned humiliation, and to which he looked with a trembling 
 hope." 
 
 I shall never forget the chilling reply of a French Emigrant of condition, to 
 whom I had communicated this awful event with some considerable emotion ; 
 " Ah ! une grande perte : voila un oialeur de moms!'' 
 
 JUL Y the 10th. 
 
 Finished the perusal of some of the orations of Demosthenes. Upon the whole, 
 I am ralher surprised, I confess, though it be to my shame, at the transcendental 
 fame of this orator; and cannot help ascribing it, in some measure, to traditional 
 veneration. Of the effects of these harangues upon an Athenian audience at the 
 time, I can readily believe any thing : but they exhibit nothing of that artificial 
 construction and rhetorical embellishment, which is calculated to extort the ap- 
 plause of the critic by profession ; nor of that impassioned and overwhelming 
 eloquence, which secures the admiration of the world at large. Sheer sense, 
 urged with masculine force and inextinguishable spirit, is all they have to boast; 
 nor do I meet with any thing in any of them — (and when I say this, I am not 
 unmindful of Partridge's critique upon Garrick) — which a person of sound 
 judgment and strong feeling, long practised to an Athenian auditory, might not 
 very naturally be supposed to urge in the same manner, on a similar occasion, 
 without much premeditation. The speech on the Crown, is evidently the most 
 laboured of any ; yet, how inferior is it in genius, erudition, taste, and pathos, 
 to Burke's matchless diatribe on the attack of the Duke of Bedford and Earl of 
 Lauderdale J 
 
 JULY the list. 
 
 Read the first Satire of Horace, Lib. 1. : a composition of exquisite urbanity: 
 but in which I am unable to discover any adequate connection in the transition 
 from discontent to avarice, even by the light of the " Ilhic, unde abii, redeo," in 
 the 108th verse. It is not merely from the love of gain, and envy of superior 
 wealth, that we are discontented at our own situations, and sigh for those of 
 others : nor do the instances which Horace adduces at the opening of this piece, 
 appear to originate from this cause at all.
 
 38 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 JULY the 23rd. 
 
 Read Kurd's Discourse on Poetical Imitation : a critical disquisition of consi- 
 derable depth and skill ; but debased by a superfluous intricacy, and frequent affec- 
 tation of quaintness. I cannot think that he satisfactorily exculpates Virgil from the 
 charge of borrowing from Homer. — Read afterwards his Marks of Imitation ; of 
 which the canons are just, but the examples not always convincing. — The first 
 dissertation, perhaps, would render us too credulous of originality ; and the latter, 
 too suspicious of imitation. 
 
 Pursued Horace's Satires, Lib. 1. One wishes that he had preserved more con- 
 nection of thought, in many of these incomparable effusions : — it is really difficult 
 in several passages of the 4th. and 5th. to make out and pursue the train of his 
 ideas. The humour of the 7th., I confess myself unable to relish ; but the 8th. 
 is infinitely curious. 
 
 JULY the 27th. 
 
 Read Kurd's Dissertation on the Idea of Universal Poetry — a most impotent 
 attempt to ravish a barren generality. Formally to deduce the necessity of versi- 
 fication to the constitution of a poem, from the abstract principle, that the end 
 of poetry is pleasure, demanded a vigour of powers, and violence of compression, 
 to which only his Master was equal. The fierce attack on novel writing, towards 
 the close, appears unseasonable and unprovoked. — In the subsequent Dissertation 
 on the Drama, Hurd recovers his wonted powers ; and I am inclined to acquiesce 
 in the different provinces which he assigns, with much subtlety of discrimination, 
 to Tragedy, Comedy, and Farce. 
 
 Read the 2<i. Satire of Horace, Lib. 2. The difficulty, is hardly repaid by the 
 pleasure, of understanding this satire on luxurious gluttony. Many of its points 
 are happily adapted to modern circumstances, and neatly urged, in Pope's spirited 
 Imitation. 
 
 u4UGUST the 4th. 
 
 Read Burke's Memorial on a projected secession of Opposition during the Ame- 
 rican War — a most masterly composition ; not breathing the fierce passions and 
 party violence of the day, but temperate, guarded, firm; of measured strength; 
 and adapted, by the largeness of its views, to the reason of unborn generations.
 
 39 
 
 ri797.] ' 
 
 It is brought forward in the Monthly Magazine ; but they do not mean, I should 
 
 hope, to charge this against him as a proof of inconsistency, 
 
 AUGUST the 6th. 
 
 Attended, by particular invitation, a public Meeting of the Quakers, at which 
 P. W, of G. with his suite, and between three and four hundred soldiers, were 
 present. There were four principal speakers ; two men, and two women. The 
 dismal twang, the braying whine, the suspiration of forced breath, the sadden and 
 violent transitions, from oracular slowness to vehement rapidity, and from sibyl- 
 listic fury to colloquial familiarity, in wild rhapsodies without coherence or drift, 
 and perplexed applications of shreds of Scripture, Old and New, with no disco- 
 verable propriety, to no apparent purpose — contrasted with the mute attention, 
 the sobs and tears of their own auditory — were really convulsive. With ever)' 
 disposition to be serious, it was difficult to preserve a decency of deportment. — 
 This sect completely puzzles me. That persons, all above the vulgar, many of 
 excellent good sense and extensive information, most exemplary in their conduct, 
 mingling in the business if not the pleasures ot the world, performing all the com- 
 mon offices of life like other folks, and governing their own society by maxims of 
 the soundest discipline, should, at this time of day, persist in nourishing a fanati- 
 cism so extravagant and revolting to all common sense, is very surprising : that 
 they should wish, as in this instance, to exhibit a public spectacle of their folly, 
 is altogether unaccountable. — On shewing a disposition to withdraw, we were 
 repeatedly pressed to stay till the conclusion ; and thanks were then formally 
 returned for the general silence and decorum maintained by the spectators (which 
 indeed was exemplary), as if they were sensible of the difficulty of preserving it. — 
 I really thought the thanks well merited. 
 
 Read the 3rd. Satire of Horace, Lib. 2. The humour of this piece is rather 
 recondite ; and the personages introduced in the narrative of Damasippus, renders 
 it frequently perplexed. I was at one time, inclined to transpose the transition 
 which Dacier places at the IS/th. verse, to the 182d. 
 
 AUGUST the ISth. 
 
 Finished the perusal of Vattel's Droit des Gens : a masterly work, in which the 
 duties of the Sovereign Power of nations, are ingeniously and ably deduced, in 
 applicable detail, from the simple principle of the general good ; and the rights
 
 40 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 of humanity, forcibly and eloquently vindicated against the maxims and practice of 
 
 ambition. The Editor, an initiate apparently of the New School of Philosophy, seems 
 possessed with a fanatical horror against the idea of punishment, in its ordinary 
 acceptation, as inflicted by equals on equals, by man on man ; and to surprise, and 
 hunt, and combat, this many-headed monster, wherever it starts up in the text, 
 appears the eternal purpose of his tasteless annotations. 
 
 Began the 1st. Book of Horace's Epistles. The first of these Epistles is a most 
 delightful and mellifluous composition, full of natural ease and grace. Dacier, 
 appears to me, to misunderstand the igth. verse, 
 
 Et mihi res, non me rebus, submittere conor: 
 this he considers as a qualification on his relapses to Epicureanism : I am inclined 
 to regard it as opposed to the 17th. verse, and expressive of the effect of such 
 relapses ; which was, that he endeavoured to accommodate things to his mind, 
 like an Epicurean ; and not his mind to the nature of things, like a Stoic. Pope, 
 in his spirited iraitation, seems to have viewed it in the same light ; and " subjun- 
 gere," I obseF\e, is substituted for " submittere," in the text. 1 am disposed to 
 adopt Bentley's emendation of " lenta" for " longa" V. 21., as " piger" is the 
 varied epithet to " annus." — The 3rd. Epistle is written with uncommon ease 
 and spirit. — If the 4th. was addressed by way of consolation to TibuUus, on his 
 ruin, — as Dacier plumes himself on having discovered, — never were topics more 
 unhappily selected. — Dacier has translated the Qth. in the true spirit of a French- 
 man under the old regime. 
 
 AUGUST the 25tL 
 
 Read the 1st. Epistle of Horace, Lib. 2. (the celebrated Epistle to Augustus) 
 with the aid of Dacier's notes, and Hurd's Commentary. I am not entirely satis- 
 fied with the explanations of either of these critics. Dacier is less happy than 
 usual in his auxiliary lights ; and Hurd extracts an order and coherence, which 
 I am unable to recognize in the original, the true connection and bearing of 
 which, in various passages, eludes all my research. Bentley, tempted perhaps by 
 the difliculty of the subject, is more than usually audacious in his conjectural 
 emendations : he appears on this occasion, in the elation of conscious su])eriority, 
 to give the full reins to his genius ; and where it is impossible to force our assent, 
 he at least extorts our admiration, by the extent of his learning and the vigour of 
 his fancy. Hurd, complexionally of a very difl^erent temperament, is always acute, 
 ond ingenious^ and plausible, even in his most eccentric aberrations. His expla-
 
 41 
 
 [1707.] 
 
 nation, in a note on the 14th. verse, of Virgil's Allegory at the opening of the 3rd. 
 Georgia, if it be chimaerical, is gradually wrought out with exiquisite art, and ulti- 
 mately displayed with matchless effect ; and his disquisitions on the double sense of 
 verbs (note v. 97.) and the rules of criticism (note v. 214.), though in both cases 
 depraved by too extreme a subtlety of refinement, are unquestionably, in substance, 
 at once profound and just. For his fulsome adulation of Warburton ; for the servile 
 application of his minute and microscopic researches, to justify the casual glances of 
 his patron, he well deserves the burning lashes of Parr : yet, when I estimate his 
 critical achievements, I could wish his fierce assailant had given weight to his censures 
 of them, by having previously asserted to the world the strength of his own powers 
 in this congenial department of literature. — Pope's Imitation of this Epistle to 
 Augustus, though sometimes flat, is fi-equently felicitous. He is still more unequal 
 in his Imitation of the next — a composition in which Horace particularly shines : his 
 account however, of the obstructions in London-Streets, is eminently happy;— 
 Horace's description fades beside it. 
 
 AUGUST the 28th. 
 
 Read Horace de Arte Poetica. I eagerly adopt Bentley's substitution of " adflent" 
 for " adsunt," v. 101.; of " qui" for " quag," v. 277-; and incline to read, with 
 him, " praesectum" for " perfectum" v. 294.: but cannot bring myself to embrace 
 his emendation, however strenuously enforced, of " ter natos" for " tomatos" v. 
 441. — I wish to believe, that " tomatos" maybe translated " rounded" as well as 
 '' turned." His restoration, in a note on v. 402,, of a corrupted passage in Ampe- 
 lius, is very masterly : it flashes instant conviction ; and does him greater credit, in 
 my judgment, than all his other emendations put together. — With regard to this 
 celebrated Epistle to the Pisos, if it has any method, I confess I am unable to dis- 
 cover it ; and, considered as a didactic tractate on the art of Poetry, I cannot help 
 regarding it as a miserably lame and defective composition. 
 
 JUGVST the 2Qth. 
 
 Read Hurd's Commentary on Horace's Art of Poetry. Kurd's idea is, that this 
 Epistle is nothing but a critique on the Roman Drama , and he spins out on this 
 principle, sometimes with difiiculty enough, a sort of loose epistolary connection 
 through all its parts. But what must we think of a Poem, whose subject, method, 
 and drift, though anxiously investigated by the ablest critics, have defied detection 
 
 G
 
 42 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 for seventeen centuries and a half. The Annotations appended to the Commentary, 
 .are replete with critical entertainment, — On v. 47., he successfolly illustrates, from 
 Shakespear, his idea of Horace's direction, " so to order old words, that they shall 
 have the effect of new." — On v. 94., he justly deduces, that poetry is the language 
 of passion ; that each passion presents its peculiar images, and suggests its appro- 
 priate expression ; that these are modified by the situation, habits, age, profession, 
 &c. of the person thus affected ; and, that the just exhibition of the passions thus 
 modified, constitutes the excellence of dramatic composition. — On v. 99., he very 
 ingeniously traces the signification of " pulchrum" from its original and appropriate 
 sense of" beauty in visible form," to " every species of pleasurable image whatever," 
 and finally " to whatever excites any pleasurable feeling through the imagination :" and 
 he then proceeds to set the sense of the terms " pulchra" and " dulcia," as opposed to 
 each other in this verse, in a very happy light ; restrictiiig the fornner, which might 
 singly have denoted poetical excellence in general, to beautiful imagery ; and assign- 
 ing the other to pathos. — On v. 103., he endeavours to solve the celebrated question, 
 why we are pleased in representation, with what would shock us in reality ; but 
 omits the grand cavise, which has been justly assigned by Burke (Sub. and Beaut. Pt. 
 l.Sect. 13, 14, 15). — On v. 244. he very happily evolves the charm of pastoral 
 poetry ; and traces its progress from the-Idyllia of Theocritus, to Milton's Comus. — 
 On V. 273., he refers the coarseness of antient wit, to the free and popular govern- 
 ment of their states, and, to their festal licenses. — And, on v. 317-, he very ably 
 explains, and illustrates Horace's recommendation for attaining truth of expression 
 in Dramatic Poetry — to study the human mind in general, to know what conduct, 
 from the predominancy of certain qualities, the imputed charactei* requires ; and, to 
 study real life as it prevails, to know with what degree of strength that character 
 will, on particular occasions, most probably display itself — How lamentable is it 
 that such erudition and acuteness should be occasionally polluted, by a superfluous 
 and crafty semblance of intricacy and depth, by a detestable affectation of quaint 
 expression, and by a pert provoking petulance, a cool, sly, contemptuous jeering, 
 even of the most respected characters, the intended mischief of wliich can only 
 recoil in shame and disgrace upon the author. 
 
 SEPTEMBER the 3rd. 
 
 Read Terence's Andria. I cannot applaud the construction or conduct of the plotj 
 but the dialogue is, throughout, supported with inimitable ease and spirit. Only one 
 passage made me smile ; and that was, where Pamphilus says to Davus, in a pet,
 
 43 
 [17970 
 
 on the unlucky conclusion of his first scheme, and the projxjsal of another, Act 
 4th, Sc. 1st. 
 
 Imo etiam : nam sati' cralo, si advigilaveris, 
 Ex unis, geminas mihi amficies nuptias. 
 The expression " hinc illaj lachrymse" comes from the 1st. scene, act 1st,: the 
 source of these proverbial quotations is frequently unknown. 
 
 Read Sir Horace Walpole's Mysterious Mother. There is a gusto of antiquity, 
 and peculiar raciness in this piece, which is quite to my taste : the terrible graces are 
 finely maintained, and the passion of horror is ably prepared, and successfully excited ; 
 but the catastrophe is at last worked up to a crisis of distraction, for which no 
 power of thought or language can find adequate expression. 
 
 Perused Gibbon's lively attack (Letter Q.) on the Government of Berne ; which 
 evinces that he had early imbibed just political notions. 
 
 SEP. the 8th. 
 
 Finished, with much interest, the Pursuits of Literature. The text is fref|uently 
 stiff and intricate ; but the prefaces and notes perstringe with acute criticism and 
 poignant wit, whatever has, of late years, obtained celebrity in politics or literature. 
 The Author is isnquestionably a good scholar, and has formed his taste on classic 
 models : his knowledge of modern works, and of the leading characters of the day, 
 and the secret history of both, is extensive and curious; in politics, he seems a tem- 
 perate Burkite ; but with a strange obliquity from this standard, in a ridiculous alarm, 
 which he cherishes, of the return of Popery into this country, through the influence 
 of the French emigrant priests: his jealous orthodoxy he evinces in a fierce attack on 
 Dr. Geddes for questioning the inspiration of the historical parts of the Bible : he 
 appears fully to understand, and decidedly loaths, the New S)'stem of Morals, with 
 all its votaries: and he displays a mortal antipathy to the frippery of affected refine- 
 ment, fi-om the Delia Cruscas, to hot-pressed vellum paper. — With an affectation of 
 concealment, he throws out many hints, which, if not designed to mislead, might 
 surely conduct to his detection. — His character of a true Poet, in the 4th. Part, is 
 itself animated with a high spirit of poetry, very different from the general texture 
 of his Satire. 
 
 Read Terence's Eunuch. The characters of Gnatho and Thraso, the Parasite 
 and his braggart patron, are delineated with considerable humour and spirit. The 
 difference of manners, particularly in whatever respects the intercourse of the sexes, 
 between the antients and the moderns, is very striking ; and I think greatly to the
 
 44 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 disadvantao-e of the former. Love, it is observable, with them, seems not at all to 
 have cooled by a premature and surreptitious enjoyment — at least if the representa- 
 tions here given, arc just. 
 
 There is a very happy ridicule of the prevailing system of terror in certain modern 
 novels, by a " Jacobin Novelist," in the last Monthly Magazine. It seems hard, but 
 it is true, that original excellence in any department of writing, by provoking scurvy 
 imitation, has a natural tendency to bring disgrace upon itself. 
 
 SEP. the Qth. 
 
 Read the 1st. Book of Cicero De Finibus ; in which the moral system of the 
 Epicureans is ably expounded and justified. The licentious air of this philosophy 
 entirely results from the equivocal sense of the terms, pleasure, and pain, on which 
 the system hinges — terms, which w^ere perhaps adopted a little in the spirit of 
 paradox, and which have been industriously perverted by the malevolence of party. 
 In truth, the system itself very sensibly makes happiness the end of action ; and the 
 means of obtaining it, the business of wisdom ; the rules which \A'isdom prescribes for 
 this purpose, constituting the virtues. 
 
 Read the first two of Burke's Memorials on French Affairs. The latter, strongly 
 marks the distineuishinjr character of the French Revolution ; illustrates its influ- 
 ence in producing new and most important interests in the surrounding states, by 
 the analogous cases of the aristocratic and democratic factions in Greece headed by 
 Lacedasmon and Athens, the parties of the Guelphs and Ghibbelines in Italy, and 
 the Reformation of Luther ; and perpends, in a masterly sur\'ey, its probable course 
 through all the States of Europe. We see in this grave composition, pure and 
 unadorned, the native force and vigour of Burke's mind ; and have a taste of the 
 immense stores of information, from which he drew in his more popular works. 
 
 SEP. the 10th. 
 
 Read the 2d. Book of Cicero de Finibus : in which Cicero himself dexterously 
 attacks the Epicureans; taking the term " voluptas" in its more obvious and 
 restricted sense, and bantering them on their not daring to expose publicly the 
 pretended motives of their actions. Cicero, I think, tacitly confesses some dif- 
 ficulty in this attack, by insisting so copiously on an absurd doctrine which the 
 Epicureans held, probably to avoid scandal, that privation of pain, is pleasure; aild 
 that all positive pleasures, are only modifications of tills negative good.
 
 4.5 
 [1797.] 
 
 Read the 3r(l. and 4Lh. of Burke's Memorials on French Affairs. The latter open?, 
 in a masterly style, the true interior of France ; and points out, with infinite force 
 of mind, antl a consummate knowledge of the human character and the case before 
 him, the only feasible, and the only honourable, course for the allied powers to 
 pursue, in their endeavour to restore a regular government in France — which is, 
 to consider the Emigrants, each in his department, as the only true representatives 
 of the French State; to treat them as their Ally; and to reinstate them in their 
 property and their authority, as they advance. One grieves to see a man of Burke's 
 genius and intentions, conflicting against a giant evil with such intractable instru- 
 ments! — What a hopeless case, do these Memorials, written in 1791, 1792, and 
 1793, 710W make out! 
 
 SEP. the lUL 
 
 Read the 3rd. Book of Cicero de Finibus, in which he unfolds the Stoic system, 
 in the personage of Cato. The grounds and qualifications of this system are intricate 
 and obscure ; but its leading feature consists in placing, not merely the " sum- 
 mum" with the Peripatetics, but the " solum" " bonum," not the chief only but 
 the We good, in the " honestum," the virtuous and praiseworthy: the superkuma- 
 nity of which scheme is finely exposed by Gicero in the next Book. The truth is, 
 these different sects of philosophers, though they varied prodigiously in words, \\ere, 
 with some slight shades of real difference, for which it would be easy to assign a 
 philosophical reason, substantially agreed. 
 
 I was much pleased with some anecdotes of Buffon, in the last Supplement to the 
 Monthly Magazine ; though they lower this fine writer, unintentionally perhaps, 
 into a French atheistic coxcomb in private life. 
 
 Finished Terence's Heautontimorumenos, with which I am not much deligVitcd. 
 One becomes weary with the cajoled father, amorous son, cunning slave, and fond 
 mistress. Were the Romans deficient in variety of character, or their poets in the skill 
 to mark it. 
 
 SEP. the 20th. 
 
 Read the EPASTAI and ET0Yc^PnN of Plato.— In the former, Socrates, in liis 
 interrogatory way, leads these Lovers — a suspicious appellation in Greece— to con- 
 cede, that Philosophy consists, not in attaining secondarj- eminence in all the arts, 
 but pre-eminence in the art of life, in governing oneself, one's household, and man-
 
 46 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 k[ncl. — In the latter, he attacks the fastness of pagan priestcraft ; and reduces Euthy- 
 phron, who maintains that there are duties pecuharly due to the Gods, and who is 
 engaged on this principle in the prosecution of his own father for murder, to a non 
 plus. The toil is thus artfully spread. Euthyphron, on Socrates' pretended wish 
 for information, lays down, that what is pleasing to the Gods is sacred, what is 
 otherwise, profane: a position which he is obliged to abandon, on considering the 
 acknowledged difference of sentiment among the Gods ; when he adopts, at 
 Socrates' suggestion, the amendment, that what is pleasing to all the Gods, is 
 sacred, what is displeasing to all, profane, and the rest indifferent. On which, 
 Socrates, who has apparently gained little advantage in this first round, but the credit 
 of giving his antagonist a fall and setting him on his legs again, proceeds to involve 
 him in perplexity, this way. As, when any thing acts or suffers, it is active and 
 passive because it acts and suffers, and does not act and suffer because it is active and 
 passive ; so, when any thing pleases, it is pleasing because it pleases, and does not 
 please because it is pleasing ; but that which is sacred, confessedly pleases the Gods, 
 because it is sacred, and is not sacred because it pleases the Gods ; therefore, that 
 which pleases the Gods cannot be sacred, nor that which is sacred pleasing to the 
 Gods, the one being pleasing because it pleases, while the other pleases because 
 it is pleasing : — An entangling subtlety, which can hardly be exhibited but in Greek ; 
 and" which we might wish, perhaps, with Jolinson, not difficult merely, but impose 
 sible, of exhibition in any language. Socrates then leads Euthyphron to assert or 
 to allow, that sanctity is a part of duty ; that it is that part which relates to the 
 service of the Gods : that it consists in rightly giving, and rightly asking ; and that 
 it may be regarded consequently, as a sort of commerce between Heaven and Earth. 
 But, in commerce, what is useful is given for what is useful. Do we give, for their 
 favours, what is useful to the Gods? Euthyphron, witli a sort of pious horror, 
 instantly rejects this idea, and says — not what is useful, but what is agreeable. 
 He is thus brought round to the point from whence he started, since what is agreeable 
 is synonymous to what is pleasing; — and, feigning an awkard excuse, abruptly 
 breaks up the conference. —There is in all this, surely, much solemn trifling — a 
 childish attempt to puzzle and confound, by considerations entirely foreign fi-om the 
 merits of the question ; and the best apology for Socrates, if justly represented on 
 this occasion by Plato, is, that he fought the Sophists with their own weapons, and 
 endeavoured, in a good cause, to — " win his way, by yielding to the tide." 
 
 SEP. the 26th. 
 Finished Gibbon's Correspondence. I envy him his splendid acquaintance ; his lite-
 
 47 
 L1797.J 
 
 rary labours, tempered by the most elegajit habits ; the first appearance of his His- 
 tory ; and his introduction to the House of Commons. He seems to have consum- 
 mated, all that the accomplished gentleman and scholar could desire: nor can I 
 complain of his insensibility to his happy fortune — he frequently speaks of his condi- 
 tion with much complacency. The motives which lie assigns for his silence in the 
 House, are addressed directly to the heart. — His Letters to Deyverdun are interesting 
 as they open a little the interior of his domestic oeconomy : — he seems to have enter- 
 tained high and expensive notions of living. The concluding Letters, addressed to a 
 Right Honourable Lady, are of consummate elegance. 
 
 SEP. the 2gtk. 
 
 Read the History of Literature, and the British and Foreign History, in the New 
 Annual Register for 179^- The materials for the former, though slight and of easy 
 access, are judiciously managed, and with tolerable fairness : but the latter is con- 
 ducted in a strain of partiality, highly unbecoming any thing which assumes the 
 semblance of historical narrative; and even disgusting, I should think, to those wlio 
 might be disposed to make similar reflections on the events related. 
 
 Began the 2d. Vol. of Gibbon's Miscellaneous Works. I was disappointed witli 
 his remarks on Hurd's Horace, which, though certainly ingenious, possess little 
 interest, and give no satisfaction. His final sentence on Hurd's Essay on Poetical 
 Imitation — " Mr. H. thinks these circumstances, all or some, necessarj' to form a 
 suspicion; I allow they are very useful to confirm one," is pointed and just. 
 
 OCTOBER the \3th. 
 
 Finished Longinus on the Sublime; to which I had been led, by Gibbon's critique 
 .in his Extrajts Raisonnes. Notwithstanding, the unquestionable merits of this 
 critical composition in many points of view, I doubt exceedingly, from its want of 
 method and exactness, whether it would have been favourably received, had it now 
 made its appearance for the first time, as the production of a modern Author. Lon- 
 ginus seems to have possessed a nice sensibility and just taste ; but to have wanted 
 penetration and discernment to ascertain the causes by which he was aflfected. His 
 conception of his subject, is confused, since he places it in whatever so violently 
 agitates and transports the mind, as to overpower reflection ; his five sources of the 
 sublime, are neither distinctly assigned, nor distinctly kept ; and he evidently ascribes 
 to expression, what is due to sentiment.
 
 48 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 OCT. the \bth. 
 
 Read Boileau's Reflections, prefixed to his translation of Longinus; with which, 
 however, they have very httle connection. The first nine are levelled at Perrault, 
 for degrading the antients ; and the three last at Messrs. Huet and Le Clerc, for 
 contesting the sublimity of the celebrated passage in Genesis — " And God said, let 
 there be light ; and there was light." He has the advantage on both occasions ; but 
 uses it arrogantly. Read, aftei-wards, the Examen of this disputed passage, by 
 Messrs. Huet and Le Clerc ; and Le Clerc's Reply to Boileau's strictures on his 
 Remarks. — After all, there seems little substantial ground of difference in the conflict 
 so fiercely worked up between them : Le Clerc and Huet acknowledge the senti- 
 ment, though necessarily and unintentionally, to be sublime ; and what can Boileau 
 want more ? — With respect to the other theme of Literary Warfare — the merits of 
 the antients — in our judgment of them, there seems one prejudice to be guarded 
 against — a fond admiration of whatever is antique, which leads us to treat old writers 
 like young children, and to be transported with an overweening delight at any excel- 
 lence they may display, and one presumption most deliberately to be weighed — that 
 what has extorted applause for so many generations, from such varieties of tastes 
 and tempers, and through such changes of ephemerous fashion, must possess intrin- 
 sic merit deserving permanent esteem. 
 
 OCT. the 18th. 
 
 Finished Gibbon's Extraits Raisonnes. His critique on Burke's Sublime and 
 Beautiful, evinces that he had not sufficiently entered into the spirit of that disquisi- 
 tion. He expresses a surprise at the difference between Longinus and Burke, on 
 the ejict of the sublime ; the former, describing it as calculated to rouse and elevate 
 the mind; the latter, to overpower and depress it: but this is not a just representa- 
 tion of Burke's sentiments. B. makes the sublime turn, indeed, on pain and danger, 
 which, tvhen near, overpower and oppress ; but on pain and danger Temoved ; in 
 which case, the mind, arrogating to itself some portion of the importance which 
 these qualities confer, feels that swelling and triumph, that glorying and sense of 
 inward greatness, which he expressly quotes Longinus as ascribing to the Sublime. 
 
 Read Boileau's Arret Burlesque — Discours sur la Satire, — Lettre au Due de V. — 
 and his reconciliatory Letter to Perrault. The first, is an exquisite piece of irony on the 
 obstinate adherence of old foundations to exploded error: — the second, a neat defence 
 of personal allusions in satire: — the third, a happy sample of French flummery: — - 
 and the last, a delicate execution of a difficult task; containing a judicious mixture 
 of firmness and concession.
 
 4d 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 OCT. the 23,(1. 
 
 Looked over the Postulata prefixed by Saundersnii to his Algebra. I should have 
 expected from him a better explanation ol" the Rule of Proportion ; with the 'atiunale 
 of which, I have found even proficients unacquainted. The object of this Rule is 
 to find a number bearinj^ a proposed ratio to a given number. In the Rule of Three 
 Direct, it is to find a fourth number, bearing the same ratio to the third, as the 
 second does to the first. What is the process which reason prescribes for this 
 purpose ? Divide the second number by the first — this will ascertain the ratio bet\\ ecn 
 them ; then multiply the third with the quotient, which must necessarily produce a 
 fourth number bearing precisely the same ratio to the third. In the Rule of Three 
 Inverse, the object is the same ; only, from the iiatu.re of the question, the terms 
 are so transposed, that the 4th No. sought, must bear the same ratio to the 2d. as 
 the 3rd. does to the 1st.: so that, putting the 3rd. No. in the place of the 1st. 
 the process becomes the same. The intent of the Double Rule of Three Direct is 
 to find a 6th. No. which shall bear the same ratio to the product of the 4th. and 
 5th., as the 3rd. does to the product of the 1st. and 2d.: make those products 
 therefore, and proceed as in the Single Rule of Three Direct. The intent of the 
 Double Rule of Three Inverse, is to find a dlh. No. which shall bear the same ratio to 
 the quotient of the 4th. divided by the 5th., as the 3rd. docs to the quotient of the 
 1 St. divided by the 2d. : form these quotients therefore, and proceed as before. — Such 
 are the processes which common sense prescribes for the attainment of these ends : 
 but, as in practice it is more convenient to multiply first and then divide, we have 
 adopted accordingly an inverted method, leading precisely to the same result, but 
 obscuring the principle on which the proceeding is founded, 
 
 OCT. the 26lh. 
 
 Finished the 1st. Vol. of Sir George Staunton's Account of Lord Macartney's 
 Embassy to China. There is an ostentatious prolixity in the explanation of common 
 events, and a solemn pomp of phraseology in the narration of trifling occurrences 
 (particularly exemplified in the opening of the 3rd. chap.), which cast an air of ridicule 
 on what, had it been touched with naivete, (for I love detail), would have been suffi- 
 ciently interesting : but the author seems to have considered it as a necessary point 
 of duty, to swell himself out to a bulk suitable to the proposed amplitude and 
 magnificence of his publication. The first Volume only just conducts us, after a long 
 
 H
 
 50 
 
 L1797.J 
 
 (I will not say, a tedious) passage, to the promised land, — the object ot our eager 
 
 curiosity, — China. 
 
 OCT. the igth. 
 
 Finished the 1st. Book of Quinctilian " De Institutione Oratoria." The first 
 three chapters evince, that good sense is the same in every age and country : — the 
 o-reater part of his observations are of as perfect application now, as they could have 
 been at the time they were written. The four succeeding ones are occupied with 
 matters of grammar and philology in the Latin language, of little present use. In 
 the 8th. and Qth. judicious directions are given respecting the first reading and elo- 
 cution of the infant orator : and in the three last, he enforces the subsidiary aid of 
 various collateral studies, particularly geometry and music, to the attainment of 
 perfect eloquence. That the more the mind is stored with knowledge, the more 
 materials it must possess for thinking and for speaking, is sufficiently obvious ; but 
 I have never been satisfied with the particular directions which rhetoricians have 
 prescribed on this subject: heated by the intense and exclusive consideration of their 
 fevourite theme, the qualifications they require in a consummate orator, are usually 
 extravagant and absurd ; and they are too apt to neglect enforcing, with due earnest- 
 ness, matters of more essential practical import, in the vain pursuit of unattainable 
 perfection. 
 
 ISOFEMBER the id. 
 
 Began the 2d. Vol. of Sir George Staunton's Embassy to China. The account of 
 the stupendous wall of China, probably the greatest work of man, is highly interest- 
 ing ; and the narrative of the first audience with the Emperor, in whose court art 
 seems to have exhausted all its powers in investing the royal personage with awful 
 dio-nity, is impressively worked up. I confess, on this solemn and august occasion, I 
 felt treitiblingly for the honour of my country. 
 
 Read Burkes Letter to Elliot on the D. of N.'s Speech in the House of Lords : a 
 most animated, festive, and poignant philippic, against those leaders of the aristo- 
 eracv, who, by their own conduct, precipitated that cause, which with little personal 
 interest in it, he had been struggling to uphold in their favour, in despite of themselves. 
 This piece exliibits Burke in somewhat a new %ht — frolicsome in satire ; with a mind, 
 unbroken by disappointment though stung with indignation, and sportive though 
 afflicted ; mingling contempt and scorn and laughter, at the defection of those, on
 
 [1797.] 
 
 whose policy, if not their Nirtue, he had relied for support, in the great question 
 now at issue between the advocates for antieiit order and sweeping innovation, oft 
 which his whole soul seems suspended. — The latter part, where he exhorts his young 
 correspondent not to des])air ; and animates him to lake an active part in tlic contest, 
 is prodigiously spirited and fine. 
 
 NOF. the 7tk. 
 
 Finished Sir George Staunton's Account of the Embassy to China. The disqui- 
 sition on the Chinese language in the 6th. chapter, is highly curious. By this it 
 appears, that the Chinese words arc all monosyllables ; that they have no inflections 
 to express contingent circumstances, as time, plurality, &c. ; that the characters, 
 expressing words, amount to 80,000, to which there are assigned only 1500 distinct 
 sounds ; that the characters are originally hieroglyph ical ; that upwards of 200 of 
 these characters are radical, and denote a radical idea, and as such are arranged at 
 the beginning of their dictionaries ; that the species under each genus, are formed 
 by additional strokes ; that there are no auxiliary artieles expressive of relations, but 
 that the qualities arising out of such relation, become frequently the foundation of the 
 names by which the relations themselves are denoted; and, that to study the 
 language {such is its peculiar structure), is, in effect, to study the Encyclopedia of 
 the Country. In all this, there is an artificial contrivance, which indicates a system, 
 rather struck out in the maturity of reason for the purposes of communication, 
 than gradually growing np, as in other languages, with our exigencies and ouf 
 means : but when could such a system have been organised ; and by what power 
 ■could it have been imposed on the swarming population of this extensive empire ? 
 
 JSIOF. the iQlh. 
 
 Began the 2d. Book of Ouinctilian's Institutes. Having taken his pupil from the 
 nurse, instructed him in grammar elocution and composition, and imbued him 
 with the elements of subsidiary knowledge, in the preceding Book, he in this 
 delivers him over directly to the rhetorician. The two first chapters contain some excel- 
 lent observations on the morals, temper, and manners, to be wished for in a rheto- 
 rical preceptor, which may still be very usefully consulted with this view. In the 
 3rd. he judiciouslv recommends, with much earnestness, the choice of the ablest 
 and the best, in the first instance, quoting the well known anecdote of Timotheus, 
 who always required double fees from a pupil who had been previously instructed. 
 The 4th. delivers much sensible advice on the subject of preliminary exercises, such
 
 52 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 as historical narratives, historical disquisitions, common place arguments on general 
 questions, &c. ; and he here takes occasion to display, with the happiest fertility of 
 imao-ery on his own part, the advantage of that exuberance in youth, which may be 
 pruned, over that sterility wliich can never be fecundated. In the 5th. he recom- 
 mends, in a way that cannot be sufficiently praised, the reading over together the 
 most celebrated oratorical and rhetorical compositions ; the master commenting on 
 their nature, their structure, their excellencies and defects : and he closes his obser- 
 vations on this subject, with noting two opposite faults to be guarded against — the 
 passion for antiquity, which leads, through imitation, to a hardness of manner — and 
 a love for the flowery and cphemerous productions of the day; exhorting us to 
 give our first attention to those compositions, on which time has set his seal of 
 approbation, without defacing their beauties. In the 1 1th. and 12th. chapters, the 
 casual advantages of untutored genius in declamation, over a mind refined by culture, 
 and ihe final ascendancy of the latter from the equalization of its po^'ers, are 
 happilv stated. The 13th. shews very forcibly the subordination of precepts to their 
 end, which may sometimes supersede their observance. The remaining chapters are 
 consumetl in frivolous and idle disoussions on the etymolog}' and definition of rhetoric, 
 its utility, morality, he. The antients often trifle in this way. Who can bear, with 
 -temper and patience, to be detained on the threshold of the art of eloquence, while 
 it is formally debated, whether a good orator must necessarily be a good man ? — Parr 
 in his Pi-efoce to Bcllendenus, has evidently borrowed a sentence from the 12th. c. 
 " verum illis, quidcm, gratulemur, sine labore, sine ratione, sine discipline, 
 disertis," says Quiuctilian : " gratulemur illis, quidem, sine litteris, et sine disciplina^ 
 ■disertis," says Parr. 
 
 NOr. the 2^d. 
 
 Read, by a rapid perusal, Burke's Third Letter on a Regicide Peace. I am mer- 
 
 ■ powered with this stupendous effort of Burke's mind; whose genius never flamed so 
 fiercely, as in this expiring conflagration. He seems to gambol, at his ease, in a 
 multitudinous ocean of matter, obedient to his will ; and to sport with a pressure, 
 under Avhich Atlantean shoulders would have groaned. The passage in which he 
 
 ■exposes the impolicy of Lord Malmsbury's first humiliating mission, has irresistible 
 
 ■force; and that in which he arrays \shat he should have supposed would have been 
 
 tlie Minister's-conduct, on this scornful repulse of Britannia's humble suit, is most 
 
 ■ awfully and transcendantly sublime. Really, compared with this astonishing effli- 
 sion, all the most celebrated specimens of autient or modern eloquence, appear like
 
 S3 
 
 [1797.J 
 
 child's play. — The hiatus in that part in which he has drawn a cheering picture of 
 our resources, is well supplied by the Editors : — I confess I cannot exactly trace it. 
 It was a very delicate task. 
 
 Looked over the Beggar's Opera. The slang of low iniquity, is happily given in 
 this strange drama ; divested of its repulsive coarseness, and brightened with appro- 
 priate wit. It must have been of most difficult execution. 
 
 DECEMBER the 6th. 
 
 Read the 3rd. Book of Quinctilian's Institutes. The first chapter gives a sviccinct 
 history of the art of rhetoric : the greater part of the remainder, are consumed in a 
 vain endeavour to reduce to precise limits, what is of too vague and arbitrary a nature 
 to be accurately defined, — the constituent parts, and different kinds, of declamation: 
 he involves himself, accordingly, and his reader, in the entangling intricacies of 
 multifarious divisions, -which only darken what they were designed to illustrate ; and 
 perplexes the subject still more, by giving an account of the attempts of others in 
 tliis way. 
 
 Was much pleased with Burke's Letter to Murphy, inserted in the last European 
 Magazine, in which he strongly inculcates, the adopting that easy natural style in 
 Avriting, which we pursue in conversation ; in opposition to the prevailing aiFectation 
 of modern authors. His own example powerfully strengthens this recommendation. 
 
 DEC. the nth. 
 
 Read the 4th. Book of Quinctilian's Institutes; in which, mingled with other less 
 instructive matter, are some excellent observations on the opening, the narrative, 
 and the distribution, in speeches on judicial causes. After all, however, precept on 
 this subject is of little efficacy; and Quinctilian is never more judicious, than when 
 •he leaves the practice, to good sense guided by the circumstances of the case. 
 
 Looked over Brown's Essays on Satire, prefixed to Pope's Moral Poems; in which 
 the nature and end of Satire is happily pourtrayed ; and its history deduced from the 
 earliest ages to its consummation in Pope, with uncommon spirit and correctness. 
 These Essays contain some of the best verses I ever met with — but their excellence 
 is of one kind. Dipped afterwards into Pope's Essays : his manner is infinitely more 
 •diversified, and delights with a thousand varied charms. 
 
 I have been for some time amusing myself with the Arabian Nights Entertainments, 
 to whose fascinating influence I am tiuite ductile. Nothing can be happier than the
 
 »54 
 
 [1797.] 
 
 leading plan of these tales ; the stories themselves, though physically extravagant, 
 are such, to which we yield, without scruple, what smoothes, without effort, all 
 physical difficulties — a willing fancy ; and their variety keeps expectation perpetu- 
 ally alive. 
 
 DEC, the lid. 
 
 Read the 5th. Boole of Quinctilian's Institutes ; in which he discusses the manage- 
 ment of proofs and arguments. His incidental remarks are often excellent ; hut, 
 here again, he loses himself and perplexes his readers, in endeavouring to distribute into 
 some sort of classification, a multifarious subject which seems to disdain such chains. 
 —I was much pleased with the close of the 10th. chapter, in which he derives pre- 
 cept from the observation of excellence, and places the perfection of its power in its 
 unobserved operation; and of the 14 th. in which he strenuously defends the com- 
 bining eloquence with logic. 
 
 Read som.e of Addison's translations from Ovid, which I thought but cold and stiff; 
 his notes on these pieces, which are neat and just; and his Essay on the Gcorgics, 
 a very exquisite piece of criticism. Addison's style is incomparably limpid. 
 
 DEC. the lAtk. 
 
 Read the 6th. Book of Quinctilian's Institutes ; on the peroration, and the moving 
 of the passions. The Prooemium is pathetic, and reminds one of Burke's complaints 
 on the loss of his only surviving son ; but I cannot help thinking it aflectedly prefixed 
 to this part of his subject. With regard to moving the passions, I was much pleased 
 with what he earnestly urges as his own peculiar advice — to kindle them first in our- 
 selves, before we hope to transfuse them into others : but Horace had said nearly the 
 same thing before; of which betakes no notice. From the 3rd. chapter, " de risu", 
 I expected some entertainment ; but was disappointed : the antients do not appear 
 to have understood the practice, much less the theory, of wit and humour — a subject 
 perhaps, after all, too aerial and volatile to be submitted to rigid analysis.
 
 S3 
 
 [I79S.] 
 
 JJJSiUARY the 'Jlh., 1798. 
 
 Read the 7 th. Book of Quinctiliau's Institutes, in which he treats of tlic arrange- 
 ment of the materials which he presmnes to be provided ; and loses himself in endless 
 subtleties, in endeavouring to establish general rules a priori, for what in every 
 instance must be governed by the particular circumstances of the case, but he 
 vindicates his judgment by confessing this, by citing examples, and by repeatedly 
 recommending " ducem naturam." I was particularly pleased with the close of the 
 last chapter, in which, after strenuously inculcating a reliance on our own enlightened 
 sagacity, rather than on any positive precepts, he gives to good sense the first, 
 the second, the third place ; and describes its happy eftect in melting the various 
 materials of composition into one uniform and consistent mass. The whole passage 
 is exquisitely conceived and delightfully expressed. — His examples by way of illustra- 
 tion, are often rendered obscure, by their particular reference to the Roman Law. 
 
 Attended Church in the afternoon. Mr. S. endeavoured to make faith a matter 
 of duty ; and deprecated licentious, with a salvo (exacted by the spirit of the times) 
 in favour of free, enquiry. In the way he took it, it was a distinction without a 
 difference. The defenders of religious dogmas, where there is a contrariety of per- 
 suasions on the subject, are placed in an awkward dilemma. They cannot shut the 
 door upon enquiry, without affording an impregnable asylum to adverse tenets; and 
 they cannot open it, without letting in the common enemy and endangering their 
 own. To stop at a certain point of enquiry, would be convenient to all parties ; but 
 . this limit would vary in different sects ; and for stopping at all, there is nothing but 
 convenience to plead, 
 
 JJN. the S(k. 
 
 V, 
 
 Read the 8th. Book of Quinctiliau's Institutes. I was much pleased with that part 
 of the Prooemium (confirmed by various subsequent passages) in A\'hich he condemns 
 an overweening attention to the style, to the neglect of the sentiment ; inducing 
 the vices of affectation, tumour, unnatural contorsions, and obscurity. He seems, 
 in the 3rd. chapter, to dwell, with a sort of prurient pleasure, on that particular 
 ambiguity of language which equi\ocates obscenely. His strictures, in the 5th., 
 on the sententious style, composed of luminous points, without coherence or con- 
 tinuity ; perpetually sparkling, without breadth of shade or of effulgence ; rough, 
 without grandeur of inequality, and level without easy smoothness, are admirable.
 
 56 
 
 JJN the gih. 
 
 Began, and read the first section of, Wollaston's Religion of Nature. He here' 
 proijounds and maintains his hypothesis, " That moral rectitude consists in a confor- 
 mity between our actions and truth ;" and evinces, how much may be advanced by 
 learning and ingenuity, in favour of the most fantastical notion. 
 
 Read the gth. Book of Quinctilian's Institutes, in which he treats, with great 
 judgment and refined taste, of figures of style and sentiment: though he con- 
 descends sometimes to needless and perplexing divisions ; and does not sufficiently 
 discriminate between these two species of figures — which peihaps ought not to be 
 distinguished at all, the whole being referable to sentiment, without which language 
 is " vox et prctcrea nihil." 
 
 JJN. the 13th. 
 
 Read the lOtli. Book of Quinctilian's Institutes. The 1st. chapter, in which, in 
 recommending authors to the perusal of the young orator, he takes occasion to 
 perstringe, with consummate skill and exquisite taste, all the most celebrated works of 
 Greece and Rome, is above measure delightful. It is quite enchanting to hear an 
 antient thus discussing the merits of the antients. The remaining chapters contain 
 many judicious and excellent remarks — coming home directly to the bosoms of men 
 —on the use and abuse of imitation, the formation of style, correction, composi- 
 tion, and extemporary speaking. — " Cito scribendo, non fit, ut bene scribatur : 
 bene scribendo, fit, ut cito," says Quinctilian ; directly contrary to the advice of 
 Johnson, who recommends rapid, as preparatory to correct, composition. — " Vix enim 
 bonae fidei viro convenit, auxilium in pviblicum polliceri, quod in prsesentissimis 
 quibusque periculis desit," is the reflection which induced me to relinquish my pro- 
 fession. — " Qui stultis videri eruditi volunt, stulti eruditis videntur," reminds one 
 of " a wit among Lords and a Lord among wits." — Parr, in his Preface, has been 
 busv with the first chapter : one imitation is very striking, *' ille se profecisse sciat, 
 cui Cicero valde placebit," says Quinctilian : " In litteris ipsi se sciant plurimum 
 profecisse, quibus Burkius valde placuerit," says Parr. 
 
 J^N. the -iAth. 
 
 Read the llth. Book of Quinctilian's Institutes, on the adaptation of eloquence to 
 the cause, the parties, and the audience ; on memory ; and on pronunciation and 
 gesture— the last of which topics he discusses with surprising minuteness.
 
 o7 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 Ld. C. called in. Had much conversation on Fox ; some j)assages of whose late 
 conduct we deeply deplored: " If I may venture to say it," his Lordship exclaimed 
 with much earnestness, " of so great a man, he appears sometimes strangely de- 
 fective in judgment." But for the alarm which his excessive candour and occasional 
 indiscretion had excited, we must, he thought, ere this, have seen him Minitter. 
 He feared he was sometimes overlwrne hy Grey. 
 
 JJN. the \5th. 
 
 Read the 12tii. and last Book of Quinctilian's Institutes, in which, in giving the 
 supreme finish to the accomplished orator, he insists essentially on his knowledge 
 and observance of moral duty; recommends an intimate acquaintance with civil lawantl 
 history ; delivers various directions with regard to the practice of his profession ; dis- 
 cusses the different kinds of eloquence— the sublime, the temperate, and the grand; 
 advises a seasonable retirement, before a decay of power ; and concludes with an 
 animating exhortation to the young aspirant, not to sink under the prospect of the 
 difficulties he has to surmount.— Thus closes a work which establishes Quinctilian's 
 character as one of the ablest Critics, at least, of his own, or of any age. A 
 Translation of the best and most applicable parts of these Institutes, enriched with 
 modern illustrations, judiciously and ably executed (for it is a task which could be 
 trusted to no vulgar artist), would form a most useful and valuable publication. — 
 The Preface to Bellcndenus, so far as it relates to Burke (for I have attended, on a 
 particular account, to that part alone), is much indebted to the 10th. chapter of 
 this last Book : one imitated sentence is very glaring, " meliils de hoc nomine 
 sentiant, credantque, Attice dicere, esse optime dicere," is Quinctilian's expression ; 
 " sed meliils de hoc nomine sentiant * * * * : Burkium si quis imitetur, eum cre- 
 dant et Attice dicturum et optime," is Parr's. — I am not aware on what principle Parr 
 sometimes gives, and sometimes withholds, his authorities for sentences and expres- 
 sions ; nor am I competent to decide on the propriety of this st}le of composing in a 
 dead language. The effect which it would have upon a Roman eye or ear, might 
 easily be tried, by forming an English composition from shreds of Addison, Johnson, 
 Swift, Bolingbroke, and Gibbon : — I suspect the texture would resemble a Harle- 
 quin's jacket. 
 
 JAN. the 17th. 
 
 Read the 2d., 3rd., 4th., and 5th. sections of Wollaston's Religion of Nature. 
 In the two former he endeavours to demonstrate, with great parade, that pursuing 
 
 I
 
 68 
 
 [1798-] 
 
 happiness, and following ihe dictates of right reason, coincide with his own grand 
 
 principle, of acting conformably to truth. In the 4th., conformably with his system, 
 he makes the extent of moral obligation commensurate with the knowledge of truth. 
 In the last, he proves the existence, the perfection, and the superintending provi- 
 dence, of a First Cause ; and deduces our peculiar duties towards that Cause, very 
 ingeniousl}', from our true relations to each other. 
 
 Finished the Baviad and Maeviad ; an exquisite satire on the loathsome affectations 
 of the Delia Crusca school of poetry. The Pursuits of Literature, though bearing- 
 some marks of resemblance, is however, of a inuch higher cast ; and I think clearly 
 not from the same pen. 
 
 J^JV. the 18th. 
 
 Finished the four remaining sections of Wollaston's Religion of Nature; in which 
 lie deduces, sometimes from his leading principle indeed, but often, too, from right 
 reason, general utility, and the passions and affections of our common nature, the 
 rights and duties of man, considered as a rational animal, as a member of commu- 
 nity, as a member of a family, and, lastly, as a private individual : concluding, with 
 proofs of the immortality of the soul, from its immateriality, the necessity of a 
 future life to execute the ends of retributive justice, and the general prepossession in 
 favour of such a belief: to which he subjoins some curious speculations on the nature 
 of our state hereafter, with a view of the advantages attending a belief in it ; and 
 closes with a final reference to his fundamental principle, as the great guide of 
 human conduct in all its relations. — The passage in the Qth. section, in which, 
 though he admits and enforces, that the tendency of virtue is to happiness, and of 
 vice to misery, he shews that this is only a tendency, which external circumstances 
 may counteract, or, if they do not counteract, may otherwise overbalance, struck 
 me as perfectly just; and another, in which he describes the wretchedness and impo- 
 tence of the present life, if that is the " be all and the end all," as extremely eloquent. 
 
 Looked over, afterwards, a Supplement to Wollaston, by a French translator of his 
 work. It consists of three Parts ; in the two first of w hich, "he defends the principle 
 and scheme advanced by his original ; and in the third, sets in a fog, in endeavour- 
 ing to reconcile what he calls " premotion physique," with the liberty of man. He 
 seems a weak superstitious character, and I am surprised at his hardihood in adopting 
 Wollaston's Hypothesis.
 
 [1798.J 
 
 JJN. the 2] St. 
 
 Finijilied Barritigton's ObseiTations on the Antient Statutes ; a well conccWl-d and 
 elaborate work, containing much valuable atitiquarian lore, and matiy amusing anec- 
 dotes and allusions ; but through which the old woman occasionally peeps out. In 
 page 489. lie mentions, that a particular rock is shewn in Merionethshire, between 
 Dolgcllc and Tal-y-llyn, called Craig-y-llam, from which, by the laws of Athelstan, 
 thieves were formerly precipitated. This Tarpeian height is the awful crag which 
 impends over the eastern side of the Pool of Three Grains : and I can attest that it i^ 
 admirably adapted to give these laws the fullest effect. 
 
 Read Jasper Wilson's celebrated Letter : a temperate, liberal, well informed, and 
 eloquent address ; deficient in nothing, I think, but an adequate consideration of 
 the spirit militant In France. 
 
 JJN^. the lAth. 
 
 Finished Warton's Life of Pope prefixed to his edition of Pope's Works ; and 
 compared Wakefield's Preface to his Observations on Pope. These two critics differ 
 essentially in their judgment of Pope. Wakefield ascribes to him, in a transcendant, 
 and, it should seem, an equal degree, all the superior qualifications of a consum- 
 mate poet ; while Warton regards him as deficient in the characteristic one-=— imagi- 
 nation.— The latter sometimes takes great liberties with his Principal ; as where he 
 compares Pope's version of the Iliad, to Townley's bust of Homer in a bag-wig. — 
 A quotation from Cicero's Orator, which Warton applies, with some justice but 
 more severity, to Johnson, " * * qui nihil potest tranquille, nihil leniter, nihil defi- 
 nite, distinct^ potest dicere, is * * * furere apud sanos, et quasi inter sobrios 
 bacchari temulentus videtur," reminds me of a corresponding passage in the Preface 
 to Bellendenus, " qui nihil solet leniter, nihil explicate, nihil definite dicere, is 
 stomacho plus dare, quam consilio videtur, et prope abesse a quadam orationis 
 jnsaniA." Were this Preface stripped of its borrowed plumage, might I judge from 
 the slender part to which I have attended, it would be bald indeed ; but I am not 
 sure of the right we have, to pluck it in this way. 
 
 JAN. the '26th. 
 
 Looked over Warton's notes on the two first Volumes of Pope's Works, compar- 
 ing occasionally W akefield's Observations. Warton's character of Johnsoji, as pos-
 
 60 
 
 [1708.] 
 
 sessed of strong judgment, and keen discrimination of whatever regards life and 
 manners (his favourite quarry), but deficient in a true taste and relish for poetry, is, 
 I think, just. — Notwithstanding Johnson's decision, backed by Warton, there is 
 snrely a striking echo to the sense in Pope's line, in the Essay on Criticism, 
 
 " When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw." 
 — " One of the best musicians of the age," who informs Mr. Warton, that Mr. 
 Pope's remark (Essay on Criticism, v. 144.) " that there are nameless graces in 
 music which no methods teach," is unfounded, I should suppose, is Dr. Burney ; 
 yet I can hardly believe him so " correctly dull." There, are occasional repetitions 
 in Warton's notes, indicating slovenly execution ; as in the quotation from Ouinc- 
 tilian appended both to the 213th., and 570th., v. v. of the Essay on Criticism. 
 
 The peculiarities I have observed in these notes, tending to develope Warton's 
 character and sentiments, are, his repeated and warm expressions of admiration at 
 Milton's Lycidas, and Gray's Poems in general ; his high praise of Aristotle ; his 
 quotations, with applause, from Harris and Beattie ; his compliment to Lord Mon- 
 boddo; his exaltation of Dionysius, and depretiation of Longinus; and his frequent 
 censure of Johnson's critical decrees. With Wakefield he sometimes exactly coin- 
 cides ; but cautiously abstains from any thing like allusion to his labours in the same 
 vineyard. Warton has one felicitous expression with which even the exuberant lux- 
 uriance of Mr. Wakefield's style would have been enriched — " prose fringed with 
 rhyme.". 
 
 JAN the ink. 
 
 Looked over some of Gray's Poems. I am almost tempted to agree in Johnson's 
 character of these compositions. There is an encumbered heaviness in them, an over- 
 laboured obscurity, and vehement straining — even where he affects to trifle, very 
 revolting to my taste. 
 
 Read Dryden's Dedication of his Fables to the Duke of Ormond. One is amazed 
 that such undisguised, overwrought, extravagant and fulsome flattery, could ever have 
 been endured: the most voracious appetite for praise must surely have been gorged 
 by such a dose. 
 
 JAN. the 3l5<. 
 
 Read Boileau's Preface to his Works. Pope's sentiment in his Essay on Criticism, 
 " True wit is nature to advantage dress'd; 
 What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd :
 
 61 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 Something, whose trutli convince! at sight we find, 
 Tiiat gives us back the image of our mind." v. 297 •> &c. 
 is evidently borrowed from an incomparable passage in this Preface. " Qu'est-ce qu'une 
 pensee neuve, brilliante, extraordinaire ? Ce n'est point, comme se le persuadent les 
 ignorans, une pensee que personne na jamais cue, ni du avoir : c'cst, au contraire, 
 une pensee qui a du venir a tout le monde, et que quelqu'un s'avise le premier d'ex- 
 primcr. Un bon mot n'est bon mot qu'en ce qu'il dit une chose que chacun pensoit, 
 et qu'il la dit d'uue maniere vive, fine et nouvelle." This Preface was written in 170O: 
 tlie Essay, I think, in 171O. 
 
 Pursued Warton's Pope. I am disappointed in the critical information and enter- 
 tainment I expected from such an Editor of such a Work. Innumerable slips attest 
 liow carelessly he has executed the task ; and he has^ taken such unconscionable liber- 
 ties in stealing from himself, that a reader well versed in the Essay on the Genius 
 and Writings of Pope, will find little of novelty to glean, from the apparently 
 abundant harvest of anecdote and criticism with which he is here presented in the form 
 of scattered annotations. 
 
 FEBRUARY the Isl. 
 
 Read several of Dryden's original Poems. The sudden transition from his Fune- 
 ral Lines on Oliver Cromwell, to his Astraea Reclux on the Restoration, the two 
 first pieces in the collection, has a curious effect : one grieves to see genius thus 
 prostituted. In his Political Poems (where he sometimes becomes impotent from' 
 rage) may be found most of the arguments which have furnished out the party pam- 
 phlets of the present day. — Hjs Hind demonstrates, what I have often thought, but 
 tremble to express, that the first step of seperation from the Church of Rome, was 
 the first step to infidelity. — ^The Religio Laici, is the most finished and equally sus- 
 tained, of any of these pieces ; and, as an argumentative poem, has infinite merit. 
 For disputing in rhyme, Dryden has certainly no equal : his spirit is inextinguishable. 
 
 Began Boileau's Satires: compositions of exquisite wit and urbanity; and surpassed 
 by nothing but Pope's productions in the same way. His 5th. Satire, on Hereditary 
 Rank, might now be recited with applause at Paris; and shews how the same thing 
 may differ, when urged as a corrective, and when adopted as a principle. The 10th., 
 on Woman, is inferior in spirit to Pope's Satire on the same subject. In the 1 1th. 
 and lith. he is evidently out of his depth. 
 
 Was much pleased, in the European Magazine for last month, with Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds' masterly character of Reubens' style. The comf)arison of his pictures to 
 " bunches of flowers,"' struck me as eminently happy.
 
 0-2 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 FEB. the 4th. 
 
 Pursued Warton's Pope. On v. 408. of the Probgud to the Satires, Warton has 
 feelingly described the delightful transition, from the austerities of acrimonious cen- 
 sure, to the meltirig scenes of donjestic tenderness. — On V. 31. of Pope's Imitation 
 of the 1st. Epistle of Horace, he expresses a surprise, that Pope should have 
 omitted the strong sentiment, 
 
 " Et mihi res, non me rebus, subjungere conor:" v. I9.: 
 I conceive that Pope has endeavoured, and not unsuccessfully, to rende* it by the line 
 
 " And win my way, by yielding to the tide." 
 The original indeed is more pointedly significant ; for Plorace (if we rfiay be allowed tff 
 dilute his spirit so unmercifully) intitnates, that revolting from the Stoic doctrine, 
 which in effect renders its votaries slaves to external circumstances by exacting an 
 incessant and vain struggle against them, he found himself insensibly sliding back to- 
 the system of Aristippus, which, by a full admission of their influence on our happi- 
 ness, pursued the only course to reduce these stubborn principles into a subjection to 
 our pleasure: — See August 18th., 1797- — It is amazing that Warton should have 
 passed, without censure, and even with some sort of retrospective approbation, the 
 flattest line Pope ever published, v. 40., 6th. Epis. of Horace, B. I.: 
 
 " So known, so honoured, at the House of Lords." 
 To make amends, he violently reprobates as coarse and vulgar, an expression, 
 which, in its place, is felicitous enough, v. 131., 2d. Epis. of Horace, B. 2. 
 
 " Each had a gravity would make you split." 
 The colloquial form of the phrase, here adds greatly to its spirit. 
 
 FEB. the 7th. 
 
 Read Boileau's Epistles. The 3rd., on False Shame, is eminently happy.; and the 
 ()th., in which he describes his mode of life, above measure interesting. His advice 
 to Racine in the 7 th., to convert the efforts of malevolence into instruments of good, 
 bv extracting improvement from the carpings of his envious critics, is at once neat 
 and judicioiis. The Qth. is an excellent lecture against affectation : the 10th. exhibits 
 an engaging portrait of the writer: the 11th. displays the pains of literary labour, 
 and the pangs of idleness, with the easiest and most felicitous address : while the 
 12th., though dexterously managed, and treating on a fruitful subject, is polluted 
 with tlie rancour, and clouded by the darkness, of polemical theolog}'. Had Boileau 
 written nothing but this la tter piece, as he declares that he sometimes wished in good
 
 63 
 [1798.] 
 
 earnest liad been the case, where would have been the remembrance of him now? 
 His addresses to the King, however neatly turned, .arc necessarily fulsome: the 
 leading idea in them all, is, tliat tlie Monarch conquered faster than the Muse 
 could celebrate. 
 
 Read Pope's Preface to the Iliad, and Postscript to the Odyssey ; both pieces, but 
 particularly the latter, replete with most judicious critical observations, and illumi- 
 nated with some of the happiest and most striking similes I ever met with. I doubt 
 whether his Epic Poem of Brutus, though ingeniously conceived, would, under any 
 management, have succeeded ; the consummation of the plot, is to destroy those 
 illusions from which the fable must have derived its principal interest. 
 
 FEB. the Slk. 
 
 Read Boileau's Art Poetique, jind Lutrin. In the former, he has copied too closely 
 the desultory manner of Horace ; though to much better purpose. The latter is, 
 I think, superior as a mock heroick poem, to the Rape of the Lock ; excepting 
 always the conclusion, which is extremely lame and impotent. 
 
 Pursued Wakefield's Observations on Pope. I exactly agree with him in the 
 species of preference which he gives to Pope's over Boileau's Imitation of Horace, in 
 the account of the Visionary, (v. 192., Epis. 2,, B. 2., and Sat. 4., v. 103.) ; but 
 do not see how he mends the matter in his proposed improvement of v. y. 74. and 
 75., in the 2d. Dialogue by way of Epilogue to the Satires. — Wakefield possesses 
 exquisite taste, and a most luxuriant fancy, as a critic ; and one grieves that he 
 should ever have misapplied his powers to politics and religion. 
 
 f 
 
 FEB. the Wth. 
 
 Read the Dunciad, with Warton's and Wakefield's Annotations. Lord Orford's 
 stricture on Swift and Cervantes, mentioned by Warton, with such high respect, in 
 his note on v. 21. of the Dunciad, Book 1st., strikes me as tasteless and groundless. 
 Supposing the vices and follies satirised to be precisely the same (a gratuitous conces- 
 sion), in the Voyage to Lilliput they are rendered ridiculous and odious, by being 
 placed in so diminutive and contemptible an animal ; and in the Voyage to Brobdinag 
 this animal is, by an opposite contrast, distinctly and forcibly shewn to be ourselves : 
 while, with respect to Don Quixote, though the general character of his madness is 
 sufficiently exhibited at the Wind-mill and the Inn, its peculiar turns and qualifica- 
 tions (putting all the entertainment derived from it out of the question) are finely
 
 64. 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 wrought out by the subsequent adventures. — Warton has'one very happy, and one 
 very forced, image, in his critique between the 3rd. and 4th. Books : — one happy, 
 in comparing the subjects of the Dunciad, to monsters preserved in the most costly 
 spirits ; and one forced, in resembling the violence of its satire to " that mar\'eUous 
 column of boiling water near mount Hecla, in Iceland, thrown upwards, above 
 ninety feet, by the force of subterranean fire." — Wakefield's attempts at humour, 
 under the character of Scriblerus to the Dunciad, are very frigid and uncouth : he 
 seems to have caught the grossness of Pope without his spirit; and occasionally dis- 
 plays the bigot. — ^The expression of Poybe'* Scriblerus, on v. 6., B. 4., that "they 
 have chosen rather to turn the dark lanthorn of Lycophron, tlian to trim the everlast- 
 ing lamp of Homer," is forcible and fine. — In a note on v. 150. Warton treats Locke 
 very disrespectfully — another of his characteristics. Swift he calls " a true w'hig," 
 who was certainly a very high churchman, and in his zenith strictly connected with 
 the tories : I reckon him a very moderate whig indeed. — The Dvmciad was undoubt- 
 edly more perfect as a Poem, in its first form of three Books ; but one cannot marvel 
 at Pope's yielding to the temptation of enlarging this Limbo for his enemies. 
 
 FEB. the \Ath. 
 
 Read Garth's Dispensary ; a lively and pleasing poem, sparkling with considerable 
 wit ; but defrauded of its just fame by the Dunciad, so much its superior in correct- 
 ness, conduct, spirit, and lustre. 
 
 Finished the Memoirs of Scriblerus ; an exquisite piece of satire, of which the 
 separate parts of Swift, Pope, and Arbuthnot, are sometimes very distinguishable. 
 I am not surprised that the 13th. chapter was suppressed in the 2d. edition : — it is 
 grossly indecent, and does no credit to Warton in the republication. Had Burke's 
 Sublime and Beautiful been in existence at the time of these Memoirs, I should have 
 been fully assured that the 10th. chapter was a burlesque upon some parts of it. — 
 Warton's application of Horace's " Sublimi feriam Sidera vertice/' " striking his 
 head against the Stars," to Johnson's 
 
 Should the fierce North, upon his frozen wings 
 
 Bear him aloft above the wond'ring clouds, 
 
 And seat him in the Pleiad's golden chariot : 
 
 Irene 
 in a note on Scriblerus' Art of Sinking, c. 9., is very happy, but very contemptuous.
 
 65 
 [1798.] 
 
 FEB. the 2ith. 
 
 Read Macfarlane's Histoi7 of George the III. : a strange amalgama of vulgarity, 
 impudence, and scurrility, compounded into a specious and shewy mass, by a morbid 
 vigour of intellect, which rather scares from its ferocity, than impresses with admiration 
 by its force. Though ostentatiously the advocate of the present ministry, the 
 author ill disguises strong traits of the unprincipled and dangerous political desperado. 
 Who can he be? 
 
 Perused Johnson's London, and Vanity of Human Wishes. His m m'lers are 
 strong in sense, and smooth in flow ; but xA'ant that varied grace, and ine.xtiaguish- 
 able spirit, which constitute the essential charm of Pope's. 
 
 MARCH the \st. 
 
 How deceptive are titles. I finished, this morning, Campbell's Journey from India 
 '' partly by a route never gone before by any European." The whole of this unex- 
 plored route consists, in our Traveller's own words, of an eighteen days ride of 1400 
 miles (from Aleppo to Bagdat) through " a tract of country distinguished by nothing 
 that could serve even as a circumstance to mark and remember our daily journeys." 
 The whole volume contains nothing interesting but the narrative of the author's 
 shipwreck and imprisonment at Bedanore. 
 
 Began Pope's Letters, Vol. 7 ., Warton's Edition. — ^Wycherley appears aconceited old 
 coxcomb. Pope's 24th. Letter to him, in which the young censor gravely complains, 
 that the repetitions in his poems, which Wycherley had desired him to cancel, grew 
 so fast, and encreased beyond expectation, upon him, each perusal, that he scarce 
 knew what they would leave, is truly ludicrous. One would like to have seen the 
 old gentleman's countenance on the perusal of this paragraph. — Dean Berkeley's 
 Letter, giving an account of the island of Inarime, in the Bay of Naples, p. 330., 
 is beautifully descriptive: — what an inviting picture does he exhibit of that Elysian 
 spot. — A taint of affectation, more or less strong, runs through the whole of Pope's 
 Letters : those to the ladies, particularly, are stuffed with miserable and frigid at- 
 tempts to be gallant and gay. 
 
 MARCH the 3rd. 
 
 Concluded a second reading: of Roscoe's Lorenzo de' Medici , ^^ Inch fades consi- 
 derably on a reperusal. The author, as is natural, partakes of the general debility 
 
 K
 
 66 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 of his subject ; and, for want of better matter, is sometimes led to trifle most elabo- 
 rately. In tlie 2d. chapter, he expends more serious and solemn pains in settling 
 the period of a tournament, than would be allowable to an historian of the Roman 
 E npire in ascertaining the date of the sack of Rome by the Goths. — We feel, after 
 all, no interest in the life of his hero, but as it is connected with the literature of 
 the period ; we can conceive no other motive, but what this connection presents, 
 which could have led to the selection of his Life as a subject of biography : why not, 
 therefore, have made that literature at once the theme ; and written a History of the 
 Revival of Learning in Italy } 
 
 MARCH the gth. 
 
 Finished the first volume of Tooke's EnEA OTEPOENTA, 4to. edition. The 
 purpose of language is to communicate thought : it is not however by singly con- 
 templating this purpose, that we can account for the various contrivances in lan- 
 o-ua"-e, any more than we can explain the various conveniences of a chariot, its 
 springs, its glasses, its blinds, &c. from regarding it merely as a vehicle to transport 
 us from one place to another. For the purpose of communicating thought, the 
 noun and the verb would alone be sufficient ; but we wish to communicate it with 
 despatch, and with this view employ three kinds of abbreviations; 1st. in terms ; 2dly 
 in sorts of words ; and 3rdly in construction. To the first of these descriptions of 
 abbreviations, Mr. Tooke considers Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, as 
 the best guide ; what is there called the composition and abstraction of ideas, being 
 iTierely a contrivance of language, and relating solely to terins : he himself under- 
 takes the investigation of the second. It being impossible to have a particular term 
 for every individual idea, the use and operation of the article consists, in limiting 
 a "eneral term to some particular idea ; or, in other words, pailicularising a general 
 term. In the same way, as it is impossible to have a distinct comfjlex term for every 
 different co//ec/7'ow of ideas, the use and operation of the preposition consists, in 
 denoting ♦'he adding or subtracting one or more ideas to or from that collection which 
 the complex term embraces. Lastly, what the preposition effects with respect to 
 sini^le words, the conjunction, as it is termed, performs with respect to many; 
 adding or subtracting whole sentences. Each of these Parts of Speech, as they are 
 called, is neither without meaning, as some have supposed, nor possesses the various 
 meanings which others (misled by imputing to them some part of the meaning of the 
 terms with which they stand connected) have ascribed to them ; but has a distinct 
 and constant signification of its own, and may be traced to some original noun or
 
 67 
 
 L1798-] 
 
 verb ill the language from which this signification is derived. — Such, as far as I can 
 
 collect, is the sum and substance of this celebrated volume : in which, combined 
 with much address in insinuating and impressing his doctrine, Mr. Tooke has 
 evinced considerable skill in the art of awakening admiration, irritating curiosity, 
 and iiiflaming appetite, by partial concealments, intricate evolution, and coy re- 
 serves. For one, I am very impatient for him to go on. He expi-essly states his- 
 object to be, the laying a foundation for a new theory of language: and from various 
 passages in the work, expressive of a supreme contempt for all the systems of meta^ 
 physics which are, or which ever have been, in the world, and for all the controver- 
 sies respecting them, as founded on the grossest ignorance of words and the nature 
 of speech, we are led to expect, from the complete developement of his scheme, a 
 new theory of philosophy, too. — One grieves to find the same memorials of personal 
 and political altercation which disgraced the former edition, retained in this ; and 
 even more of the same dross added. They exhibit strong and disgusting indications 
 of a perverse, acrimonious, and vindictive spirit : yet in private life, lam told, Mr. 
 Tooke is amiable and bland ; and I can attest that he is a most entertaining and 
 agreeable companion. 
 
 MARCH the \Qih. 
 
 Began Campbell's Rhetoric. I doubt whether his quadruple division of the ends 
 of eloquence, 1 st. to enlighten the understanding, 2dly. to please the imagination, 
 3rdly. to move the passions, and 4thly. to influence the will, can be supported as 
 separate and distinct purposes. The last, at any rate, embraces the other three 
 as means. 
 
 Looked into Young s Night Thoughts : debased throughout with many poor and 
 puerile conceits ; such as making, " the night weep dew over, extinct nature ;" the 
 revolving spheres, " a horologe machinery divine;" " each circumstance armed with 
 an aspic, and all a hydra woe;" " each tear mourn its own distinct distress, and each 
 distress heightened by the whole." Frigidity and tumour, obscurity and glare, are 
 the two apparently opposite but striking faults of this popular and imposing poem: 
 yet parts are in good taste : he glows with a natural and genial wai-mth in describing 
 the charms of social intercourse and the blessings of friendship, towards the close of 
 the 2d. Night ; and the passage in the 4th., beginning, " O my coaevais, remnants 
 of yourselves," is animated and sublime. Johnson perhaps caught his, " panting 
 time toiled after him in vain," from Young's, " and leave praise panting' in the dis- 
 tant val^."
 
 6» 
 L1798.J 
 
 MARCH the 12th. 
 
 Read Watson's Address and Wakefield's Answer. The bishop is certainly wrong 
 in supposing that an equal depression of all ranks would be a matter of no concern, 
 as each individual would preserve his relative place in society ; since, though the rich 
 would in consequence suffer only a positive privation of supeiiluities, this privation, 
 with the poor, would extend to the necessaries of life : he is equally wrong in sup- 
 posing it possible to discharge the national debt by deducting a proportionate 
 quantum of property from each individual, since a vast class of individuals have no 
 property besides their annual, monthly, weekly, or even daily income: but I cannot 
 forgive Wakefield's attempt, in his reply, to depretiate the national character ; nor 
 his ill concealed complacency at our subjugation by France. I have no opinion of 
 the man who has lost the love of his country in more remote regards, 
 
 MARCH the I3th. 
 
 Pursued Campbell's Rhetoric. Inthe5th. chapter, B. 1 ., he distributes the sources of 
 Evidence into, 1st. Intuitive, and 2dly. Deductive. Under the former he includes, 1st. 
 Mathematical Axioms, 2dly. Consciousness, 3rdly. Common Sense. The latter (the 
 Deductive) he divides into, 1 st. the Scientific, 2dly. the Moral ; comprehending under 
 the latter, 1st. Experience, 2dly. Analogjr, 3rdly. Testimony, and 4 thly. Calculation of 
 Chances. — In the 6th. chapter he shews the futility of syllogistic reasoning : — nothing 
 farther seems necessary to expose the impotence of this instrument of reason in the 
 advancement of truth, whatever may be its use in the detection of error, than to 
 obser\e, that the premises, in a correct syllogism, must always comprise the con- 
 clusion. 
 
 MARCH the Uth. 
 
 Finished the Qth. and last volume of Warton's Pope. Swift, in the 1 1th. Letter, 
 opens the true motives of his Gulliver's Travels : after mentioning that work, he 
 says, " — but the chief end I propose in all my labours, is to vex the world, rather 
 than divert it;" and again, " when you think of the world, give it one lash more on 
 my account ;" and, afterwards, " but principally I hate and detest that animal called 
 man, although I heartilv love John, Peter, Thomas, &c." Pope's rebuke of this 
 misanthropy, in the next Letter, is forcible and dignified. — Bolingbroke has a noble 
 thought in the 40th. Letter : " Fame is the wise man's means — his ends, are his
 
 69 
 
 ['708.] 
 
 own g:ood and the good of society :" Burke, 1 think, has somewhere borrowed tliik?- 
 
 sentiment. 
 
 MARCH the \Sth. 
 
 Finished the Memoirs of Grammont ; which exhibit, with less wit and spirit than 
 I expected, a shameful picture of the voluptuousness, intrigues, and abandoned pro- 
 fligacy, of the Court of Charles the IL; and exalt, in a comparative estimate, the 
 purity of modern manners: yet perhaps it would be as wrong to form a judgment of 
 the morals of the nation at large at that time, by this Work, as it would be to ap- 
 pretiate the present by the Newgate Calendar. 
 
 Began CoUey Gibber's Life; and was much delighted with his minute yet masterly 
 account of the principal actors who figured previously to the Revolution: — their cha- 
 racters are really very finely drawn. — Cibber's vanity and easy good humour promise 
 to be highly amusing. He reminds one of Boswell. I hope he will not ramble too 
 wide in his wild and eccentric excursions; and perplex, by their means, the narrative 
 ^ they were designed to enliven. 
 
 Read Kurd's Dialogue between Cowley and Sprat, on Retirement. Cowley, who 
 is an advocate for retirement, has manifestly the advantage throughout ; and Sprat 
 makes but a very sorry figure in defence of mingling with the world. After all, there 
 is something offensive to correct feeling, and just taste, in thus imputing fictitious' 
 conversations to real personages; and though Mr. Hurd has executed his task with 
 delicacy and address, I cannot help thinking that he has set a mischievous example. 
 
 MARCH the 23rd, 
 
 Read Adam Smith's Disquisition on the Imitative Arts, in his Posthumous Works.. 
 He observes. That a production of art seldom derives any merit from its resemblance 
 to another object of the same kind, except where it promotes vmiformity in corre- 
 sponditig parts ; That the pleasure derived from imitation, is greater, in proportion to 
 the disparity between the imitating and the imitated object ; That on this account the 
 representation of indifferent or even offensive objects, is allowable in painting, but not 
 in sculpture ; and that /Jamf^ci statues, artificial fruits, &c. where this disparity dis- 
 appears, immediately disgust after they have surprised, while very inferior represen- 
 tations in tapestry and needle work continue to delight ; That the idea of expense, 
 enhances the value of imitation, as in tapestry ; and tliat of cheapness depretiates, 
 as in cut trees ; That the pleasure arising from imitation in statuary and painting, is
 
 70 
 [1798.] 
 
 incompatible with deception, since it is founded on a self-evident perception of the 
 disparity between the representing and the represented object ; That, for this reason, 
 a slight imitation in vocal, and a still slighter in instrumental, music, is gratifying; 
 That the chief power of vocal music, as an imitative art, consists in its imitation of 
 those repetitions in which passion so much delights to indulge ; That the principal 
 delight of instrumental music (independently of the proper and peculiar charms of all 
 music — melody and harmony) arises, not from its power of imitation, but of exciting 
 different tempers and dispositions of mind ; and its principal aid in dramatic exhibi- 
 tions, from its exciting such tempers and dispositions as are congenial to the scene ; 
 and, That, in dancing, as the disparity of the imitation is less, its merit is less, than 
 that of statuary and painting ; though, from its power of representing a continued 
 history, it rrlay really affect us more.- — These remarks are as just, as they are ingeni- 
 ous and new. 
 
 MARCH the loth. 
 
 Read Adam Smith's Account of the External Senses. He seems to think, that the 
 sense of Touch, is the only one which primarily and necessarily excites the idea of 
 external substance, by pressure from without ; though he appears disposed to believe, 
 that the other senses suggest some vague idea of this kind, by an instinct subservient 
 to other purposes. I do not exactly apprehend the distinction ; and suspect that he 
 was not very clear and firm in it, himself, — Smith has a pretty remark, in his His- 
 tory of Astronomy, on Philosophical Systems. These, says he, in many respects, 
 resemble machines : a machine, is a little system, created to perform, as well as to 
 connect together in reality, those different movements and effects which the artist has 
 occasion for ; a system, is an imaginary machine, invented to connect together, in 
 the fancy, those different movements and effects which are already performed. How 
 happy an illustration! 
 
 Pursued Hurd's Dialogues. A note in the 4th., ridiculing the reduction of the 
 Church of Christ to its pure and primitive state of indigence and suffering, strongly 
 reminded me of a corresponding passage in Burkes 2d. Letter on the Revolution in 
 France, addressed to a Member of the National Assembly, where he reprobates, with 
 cutting severity, the entrustmg the concerns of the Gallican Church to Mirabeau. 
 
 MARCH the IJth. 
 
 Finished Hurd's Dialogues. In the 7th. and 8th., in disfavour of foreign travel, the 
 parts of Shaftsbury and Locke^ but particularly of the latter, are sustained with in-
 
 71 
 [17C)8.] 
 
 comparable spirit. In the twelve Letters on Chivalr)' and Romance, the origin of 
 the spirit of chivalry (the distinguishing spirit of modern times), as it exhibits itself 
 in the characteristics of prowess, generosity, gallantry, and religion, is satisfactorily 
 traced to feudal institutions ; the heroic and gothic manners are ably compared ; and 
 the superiority of the latter, in a poetical view, successfully asserted. — Parr's impu- 
 tation on Hurd, given on the .authority of a friend, who, by the description, must 
 be Porson, " that he had softened the aspect of certain uncourtly opinions, in the 
 different successive editions of these dialogues," I can affirm, from a minute colla- 
 tion, to be unfounded. Alterations have indeed been made : but they are chiefly 
 such, either as were necessary when the writer exchanged the character of Editor 
 for that of Author ; or which evince his good taste and discernment in removing the 
 blemishes of first composition. Those which respect the strictures on Hume's His- 
 tory, are the most material and the most curious. 
 
 APRIL the Wtlu 
 
 Looked over King's Origin of Evil. He divides Evil into, 1st. Evil of defect, or 
 the want of those perfections which exist elsewhere ; 2dly. natural Evil, or the pains 
 and incommodities arising from physical causes ; 3rdly. onoral Evil, which he places 
 in the vicious election of natural good and evil : and endeavours to shew, that infi- 
 nite wisdom, power, and goodness, could not have constructed the best possible system 
 without them, or with less of them than appears ; on the principle, that not one of 
 these evils could have been prevented or diminished, without incurring a greater 
 evil than that which was removed. Pope has evidently borrowed his doctrine of 
 ^' whatever isj is best," ft-om this work. 
 
 APRIL the 15th. 
 
 Mr. L. breakfasted and spent the day with me. Had a long and interesting con- 
 versation on the subject of Rousseau. He had brought a volume of the Nouvelle 
 H^loise in his pocket; and spoke of its author, notwithstanding his known partiality 
 for classic literature, as, without any exception, the greatest genius and the finest 
 writer that ever lived. I can impute this only to a temporary fascination — to a fervid 
 but transient glow of feeling, which of all men, his favourite is the most calculated 
 to impart, and himself to catch. 
 
 Rousseau is a character who has by turns transported me with the most violent 
 and opposite emotioasj of delight and disgust, admiration and contempt, indignation
 
 72 
 [I7p8.] 
 
 and pity : but my ultimate opinion of him, drawn as it is from a pretty attentive 
 consideration of his writings and his actions, will not, I think, easily be changed. 
 
 This extraordinary man, it is evident, was constitutionally of an ardent spirit, vivid 
 imagination, and most acute feeling. A mind thus attempered, is naturally prone to 
 brood over its own visions ; to hang, with fond complacency, upon a scene where 
 every thing is arrayed at the disposition of the will and in the tinct of fancy ; and to 
 turn aside with soreness and disgust from the spectacle of real life, in which good 
 and ill are so intimately and stubbornly mingled ; where apathy succeeds enjoyment ; 
 interest and self-will dissolve the charm of social intercourse ; avarice and pride dis- 
 turb the dreams (the endearing dreams) of sentiment and passion ; and even the sweet 
 sympathies of pity itself, are chafed and exasperated into anguish, by the coarse man- 
 ners, squalid rags, and loathsome horrors, that too often accompany the wretched. 
 Expelled at a tender age fi-om those domestic habitudes which mitigate the natural 
 fierceness of man ; a sort of outcast from his family, his country, and almost from 
 his species ; a wild and needy adventurer, cursed with a fastidious delicacy, and ex- 
 posed to that scorn and contumely and insolent neglect, which the pride of genius 
 most impatiently endures ; he contracted a distempered sensibility, which forms the 
 distingviishing feature of his character, and animates almost every passage in his 
 writings. He wrote from the heart; but fi-om a heart excoriated by real or imputed 
 wrongs, stung with a maddening sense of the depravity and sufterings of his species, 
 and inflamed with an implacable indignation at the causes of these evils, as he viewed 
 them, through his perturbed imagination, in the civil social and domestic institu- 
 tions, the received opinions, and prevailing practices of mankind. Upon these ac- 
 cordingly he pours out, in consuming fire, the vials of his wrath; while he arrays in 
 all the glowing hues of impassioned eloquence, romantic modes of being, dear indeed, 
 and delightful to the fancy, but lUterly incompatible with the real and unalterable 
 condition of our nature. 
 
 His maiden essay was an attack upon civilized society. It was an attempt, by 
 exposing and aggravating the follies the vices and the stifFerings which phigue us in 
 refinement, and by deepening the horrors of this gloomy spectacle with the glowing 
 contrast of a visionar}' state of unlettered innocence and freedom, to make us loathe 
 ourselves and every thing around us, and to look for no amendment in our unliappy 
 condition, but through the entire dissolution of the social system we live in. Had 
 Rousseau written nothing but this piece, or had he written aftenvards in a diflerent 
 strain, we might have ascribed the extravagance of its doctrines to a sportive sally of 
 the imagination, or an eager ambition of distinction ; but from tlie whole tenor of
 
 73 
 
 [17980 
 
 his subsequent compositions, from the solemn confessions of his own mouth, these 
 doctrines were the serious and settled conviction of liis mind. Let us look at his 
 Nouvelle Heloise. 
 
 Of all the modes of inculcating opinion, that which brings before us a vivid repre- 
 sentation of real life, where every thing lives and moves and breathes at the disposi- 
 tion of the fancy; which indirectly enft)rces its sentiments by the energy of charac- 
 ter and action, and impressively stamps them on the mind by the interest and fasci- 
 nation of circumstantial narrative, — has unquestionably the fairest chance for rapid and 
 popular effect. Feeble and impotent is the most animated exhortation, lifeless and 
 inert are the most authoritative precepts, compared with the powerful and seductive 
 influence of a well conceived and well conducted novel ; which, while it awakens 
 breathless curiosity and enchains expectant attention by the magic of its fable, wliile 
 it agitates at pleasure and in modes most conducive to its purpose all the varieties of 
 passion, silently liquifies and moulds to its will, the taste, the turn of thought, the 
 moral sentiments, and the moral character of its reader. Of compositions like these, 
 I shall always take the liberty to collect the aim, from the final and predominant im- 
 pression which they leave upon the mind. If their tendency is, upon the whole, 
 to relax the obligations to virtue and smooth the declivities to vice, by means which 
 it is so entirely in the power of the writer to employ and to conceal, it is not any 
 declaration on his part, nor any corrective he may put in his own mouth, or in those 
 of the personages he brings forward, no, nor any lenient qualification he may deem 
 it prudent to introduce in the moral government of his drama, which shall soothe 
 my unguarded unsuspecting simplicity into a persuasion of the innocent spirit of the 
 work, or the virtuous views of the author. The effect it is irnpossible to mistake ; 
 the intention, at best, is equivocal. With \\hat impressions, then, do we rise from 
 the perusal of Julia? With a considerable abatement, I think, in our exquisite sense 
 and high estimation (to say no more) of three most important regulations in life : 
 regulntions, which engrafted as they are, upon the dearest of our personal and bosom 
 interests, strike deep into the composition of our several characters, mingle with the 
 whole texture of our domestic oeconomy, and aflfect, remotely indeed, but power- 
 fully, the entire fabric of civil society ; — those, I mean, which enjoin the purest 
 chastity in females before marriage ; a deference to parental authority, in the disposal 
 of their affections and their persons ; and a sacred horror to whatever may tend, after 
 marriage, to alienate their conjugal regards. Love, which it is the object of these 
 regulations to check from diffusion or perversion, and to conduct into its regular 
 fructifying channels, has so universal and absolute an influence, enters into our com- 
 position at so green an age, and agitates the tender geriji with such an impetuous 
 
 L
 
 74 
 [1798.1 
 
 and fervid impulse, that in the cultivation of the human mind, it cannot be too 
 vigilantly watched, or sedulously trained. This imperious passion, from which we 
 derive our being and transmit it, and in a great degree our characters too, it has 
 been the endeavour of Rousseau to exasperate into an impatience of all control ; and 
 to convert into an engine for overwhelming its natural guardians and protectoi-s, as 
 tj-rannical usurpers over the rights of nature. What is the story he brings before us ? 
 A young lady, the only and darling child of a man of rank, and proud of that rank, 
 conceives a passionate attachment for a youth entrusted with the delicate charge of her 
 education ; a clandestine intercourse is carried on ; the impossibility of union rever- 
 berates the flame, and kindles intolerable ardour; the youth is modest and reserved ; 
 the enamoured maid invites him to her bed, and rewards his passion with the last 
 favour a virgin can bestow : an improper sympathy is suspected by the father ; he 
 proposes and presses an equal match on which he had long set his heart; she reluc- 
 tantly consents ; she dismisses her lover ; she marries ; she resumes her old corre- 
 spondence with her favourite paramour ; she admits him, with her husband's permis- 
 sion, an inmate in the house; she is indulged with opportunities of renewing with 
 him the passionate scenes, and reviving the harrowing remembrances, of former days; 
 and expires in this unnatural intercourse. When these things are fairly set before 
 us, in all their naked deformity, we want no monitor to prompt our aversion and 
 disgust. We see by an intuitive glance, we feel by an instinctive thrill, all the pes- 
 tilent disorders which would flow in upon us, from our encouragement, from oui'' 
 toleration, of such practices ; from our not driving them, as we do, by common con- 
 sent, from society, with shame and scorn and detestation. It requires no logic to 
 convince us, that if the settled restrictions on these subjects were once removed, and 
 nothing substituted but loose personal discretion swayed by every gust of appetite 
 and passion, that all domestic security and comfort, all parental care, all filial duty, 
 all pure and hallowed affection, all conjugal confidence and endearment, would be 
 ovenvhelmed under a flood of gross adulterous lust and corrupted sentiment. What 
 shall we think then of a writer, who, by the fascination of his fable, the melting 
 fervour of his sentiments, and the vivid force of his thrilling descriptions, induces us, 
 not to palliate as venial errors, not to approve as amiable failings, but to enter into 
 and adopt as our own, to cherish as consolatory expedients, and embrace as a sort of 
 sanctuary and refuge from despair, these flagrant violations of delicacy, decency, and 
 chastity ? Is it enough to say, that the actors in this scene, are beings of a peculiar 
 order : that in the present depraved condition of human manners, such practices 
 might not be perfectly prudent ; but that when the same purity of sentiment is found, 
 and the same difficulties occur, the same pastoral freedoms may innocently be
 
 r>7Q8.] 
 
 indulged ? Love, to which these edifying lectures are addressed, is, to be sure, a 
 most distinguishing passion, and extremely cautious and deliberative in all its pro- 
 ceedings. No boarding-school young lady, after such an admonition, can be giddy 
 enough to fancy herself a Julia; nor her dancing master, a St. Preux ; nor her 
 barbarous father, who may, from groveling prejudice, oppose the dear scheme of 
 Arcadian felicity, a Baron D "Etange ; nor her future husband, should he prove 
 not quite so indulgent as M. Wohnar, a naj'row-minded, hard-hearted, illiberal 
 tyrant ! 
 
 His professed plan of education, is just In the same strain. It is an ingenious sclieme 
 to rear up a sort of enlightened savage ; a being, who, in the midst of social habi- 
 tudes, is to act upon the strength of his own judgment, in the pursuit of his owa 
 pleasure, with a perfect contempt for all the opinions and all the practices of the 
 world he lives in. " Voulant former I'homme de la nature, il ne s'agit pas pour 
 cela d'en faire un sauvage, et de le releguer an fond des bois ; mais qu'enferme dans 
 le tourbillon social, il suffit qu'il ne s'y laisse entrainer, ni par les passions, ni par les 
 opinions des hommes ; qu'il voye par ses yeux, qu'il sente par son coeur, qu'aucune 
 autorite ne le gouverne hors celle de sa propre raison." It is an insane attempt to 
 infiame that generous warmth of feeling, which inspires an ingenuous frankness 
 of temper and erect independence of spirit, into a devouring conflagration against 
 the system which these qualities seem peculiarly destined to purify and to adorn. 
 Without entering into a direct refutation of paradoxes which their warmest 
 admirers have never ventured to adopt, it is sufficient to remark, that supposing 
 beings attempered to our v/ishes, constituted and trained up just as we would have 
 them, such a plan of culture would be miserably defective, as forcing each indivi^ 
 dual to subsist on his own separate stock of observation and experience, instead of 
 resorting to the common accumidating fund derived from the observation and experi- 
 ence of ages : but, taking human nature as we really find it, and as it ever has been 
 found ; assuming that mankind are subject to excesses and defects of passion, which 
 it is the object of laws, morality, and manners, to restrain, supply, and regulate; 
 it requires no powers of prophecy to foresee, and common prudence has ever felt, 
 into what horrible confusion and mischief the abrogation of all this discipline from 
 without, by encouraging each individual, on the principle of taking nothing upon 
 trust, " to be the only law unto himself," must, whilst man continues man, inevi- 
 tably lead. It is the spirit of the writer, which I have chiefly in view. 
 
 That keen and morbid sensibility which may be regarded as the root of all these 
 seductive but pernicious visions, produced in the unhappy writer himself, amidst 
 much specious and hyperbolical virtue, many of the worst effects of a malignant and
 
 7S 
 
 depraved disposition. To man, as he would have had him, Rousseau overflowed 
 with tender, generous, and endearing emotions ; to man, as he is, he was above 
 measure querulous, captious, sour, perverse, and discontented: as a friend, he was 
 clouded with dark and preposterous suspicions ; and, as a lover, he quenched the 
 fervours of a delirious fancy in the most coarse and revolting sensuality. The rubs, 
 the insults, the acrimonious attacks, and petty persecutions, to which the singularity 
 of his opinions- and practices of course exposed him, though borne apparently with 
 sufficient vexation by his irritable spirit, became, in time, the only element in which 
 he could satisfiietorily subsist : they not only fed the cravings of an insatiable vanity, 
 and fanned a zeal which might otherwise have languished in support of his favourite 
 paradoxes, but seem, by degrees, to have acquired the force of an habitual stimula- 
 tive, eagerly sought by the unhappy victim to irritate a distempered sensibility into 
 pleasurable action ; till, disqualified at length for all the regular quiet enjoyments 
 of life, and utterly alien, abhorrent, and ferocious, to the whole system of its manners 
 and habits, by the united operation of these causes, if it was not at the bottom of 
 them all, he exhibited in his latter days, and particularly, I think, on his visit to 
 this country, the most unequivocal symptoms of a disordered intellect. 
 
 I have thrown together these thoughts on Rousseau, while my mind is still warm 
 with our conversation respecting him : but I did not venture to bring forward to Mr. 
 L. all that I have stated, since every thing is frequently lost by endeavouring to ac- 
 complish too much. 
 
 We agreed far better in our opinion of Richardson and his Works. He admitted 
 that the character of Sir Charles Grandison was by no means of such unnatural ex- 
 cellence, as not to furnish a very captivating and most instructive example. However 
 consummately accomplished this moral hero is represented, he appears, on all occa- 
 sions, actuated by the real passions, corrected by the genuine sympathies of our 
 nature. What must be deemed romantic, I fear, are the effects ascribed to his 
 conduct. Were virtue of such sure efficacy in actual life, who (we are tempted 
 to exclaim) would not be virtuous ? It is the perpetual and vexatious disappointment 
 to which our good intentions are exposed, from the perverse and intractable nature 
 of the system on which they are doomed to act, which really forms the great discou- 
 ragement to virtuous exertion ; — a discouragement far more operative, than any 
 exacted conflict (of which we hear so much) with our appetites and passions. Other 
 difficulties may brace our moral resolution, even when they overpower it ; this relaxes, 
 by despondency, the virtuous principle itself: nor am I surprised or offended, if, in 
 tiie anguish of a soul overwhelmed by this intolerable affliction — the more discom- 
 tiiing, the more generous the nature which it visits — Brutus should have exclaimed.
 
 77 
 [1798.] 
 
 as lie is said to have done, in his last moments, That the virtue he had so long adored, 
 was but an empty name ! In fiction, these untoward obstructions may be either 
 entirely suppressed, or if brought forward, so managed as only to irritate our sensi- 
 bility to a keen reli.sh of their triumphant demolition ; and it is here, accordingly, 
 where a departure from trutli is at once the least perceptible and the most efficacious, 
 that a well written novel usually deviates the most widely from real life. The en- 
 dowments, moral and intellectual, of Sir Charles Grandison, however transcendant, 
 present a fiiir field for generous emulation : but sanguine indeed must be his temper, 
 who, with a competent knowledge of the world, should expect from them the same 
 prosperous issues in practice, which they produce, with so much plausibility, in 
 fiction; and which, if they were found to obtain in real life as they do in fable, 
 would soon, by the congenial encouragement thus held out to beneficence, reduce 
 tlie market price of the virtues far below the standard which they at present so justly 
 maintain in the estimation of mankind. — Our duties limit each other. It was im- 
 possible to exhibit the perfect pattern of an accomplished gentleman, without appear- 
 ing to stint some of those qualifications which the world is most disposed to admire ; 
 and it is curious to observe the pains which Richardson has taken to palliate this 
 inevitable ditliculty, by seizing every opportunity to bring out and set off, as much 
 as he consistently could. Sir Charles' gallantry and spirit : he evidently felt w here 
 the popular objection to such a character would lie; but, after all, I am afraid he 
 has not satisfied the ladies. — L., very acutely and perhaps justly, ascribed the supe- 
 rior popularity of this work over the Clarissa (which he regarded as much the more 
 masterly performance), to its enforcing rather the lesser manners, which form the 
 charm and safeguard of civilized life, than the higher morals, engrafted on the 
 fiercer passions. 
 
 Finished the 2d. Vol. of Russell's History of Modern Europe. I agree with this 
 sensible writer, that the spirit of persecution did not spring, as many have endea- 
 voured to represent, from a decay of Christian piety ; and that the first preachers 
 of Christianity would have been persecutors if they could. Nothing, to be sure, can 
 be more adverse to persecution, than the suavity and benignity of soul which Christ- 
 ianity inculcates : but the peculiar and exclusive character of its doctrines, acting on 
 such a creature as man, has a natural and invincible tendenc}', I fear, to generate 
 intolerance. If we see, in modern times, but little of this spirit, it arises from the 
 general languor and indifference which prevails on afl religious subjects; the pertina- 
 city and zeal, however, with which the distinguishing tenets of their creed are still 
 maintained among sectaries, strikingly evince, what sort of temper and disposition, 
 precise articles of faith, not loosely professed in compliance with general opinion.
 
 78 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 but fervently embraced as the essential conditions of salvation, will infallibly engender 
 in the human mind. — ^This is an extremely useful and well written Work. 
 
 APRIL ihe l6tk. 
 
 Read the first Book of Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, — in refutation 
 of the doctrine of innate principles. One now wonders, how it could ever have been 
 thought necessary to say so much, on so very plain a point. The main argument lies 
 in a narrow compass : — general principles must be conversant with general ideas ; but 
 particular ideas must enter the mind before general ideas, and consequently general 
 principles, can be formed. 
 
 Finished the Novel of Nourjahad in the evening. Nothing, I think, can be more 
 happily conceived for its purpose, than the plan of this little romance ; and it is very 
 prettily executed. It goes much farther than Swift's Struldbrugs ; since thei/ only 
 perpetuated the infirmities of age, while Nourjahad possessed, in fancy, immortal 
 
 APRIL the 21(1. 
 
 Read the 34th. and last Letter of the 2d. Part of the History of Modern Europe, 
 i — on the progress of society in Europe during the present century : — the work of a 
 superior mind, very intimately conversant with the literature and elegant arts of that 
 period. The account of the contest between the King and Clergy and Parliaments of 
 France, opens, in a very striking manner, the germ of the subsequent Revolution :^ 
 we see that event distinctly in its first movements. 
 
 Lieut. G. P. of the 4gth. Regt. of Foot, very unexpectedly came in. He 
 statetl, that he had as a private in his Company, the late usurper captain of the Lan- 
 caster. Admiral Paisley, he said, assured him, that they had not been able to trace 
 the naval mutiny to any correspondence with shore; but that the prime instigators 
 of itj there was every reason to believe, had escaped under the general pardon. 
 
 MAY the gth. 
 
 Finished Bertrand De Moleville's Memoirs of the Last Year of the Reign of Louis 
 the l6th. Tliey contain much curious, and I presume, authentic information relative 
 to the crisis of the Revolution ; and clearly shew, that the King, though certainly 
 not attached by affection to the New Constitution which he had accepted, was con-
 
 79 
 
 [1799.] 
 
 scicntiously determined to maintain it : but that a spirit had gone forth, hostile to 
 all monarchy; and that his contest with this spirit (an unequal struggle), furnished 
 the grounds of all the charges against him. Even before the meeting of the States, 
 it appears, that the people at Rennes in Britanny, and probably in other towns, 
 were quite ripe for the Revolution in its fullest extent.— The King's character is placed 
 by this work, upon the whole, in a very amiable light ; and there appears, in general, 
 to liave been a far greater ease, graciousness, and condescension, in the French 
 Court, than our own.— Some of the facts developed in this tract, are very surprising. 
 Who would have supposed that Danton, and some of the fiercest Jacobins, were 
 actually at one time in the pay of the Court, for the purpose of giving, even in their 
 most outrageous speeches and addresses, a desirable turn to the public mind ! I do 
 not see hoAv the King could honestly deny all kno\Aledge of such corruption. 
 
 MAY the 13th. 
 
 Began Dalrjiuple's Memoirs of Great Britain and Ireland ; and read the two Intro- 
 ductory Sections ; containing a masterly review of our political affairs, from the 
 Commencement of the Monarchy to the Restoration ; and thence to the Dissolution 
 of the last Pariiament of Charles II. — the period when the Memoirs immediately 
 commence. There seems much originality of thought and expression, and (what I 
 like still better) a true Whig spirit, in this Work. One passage in the first Sect, 
 struck me as pointedly applicable to the present times ; — " Men forgot, in their 
 danger from foreign invasions, the precedents \a hich were established at home against 
 the liberties of their posterity." 
 
 Looked over the Correspondence between the American Envoys and the French 
 Directory ; which exhibits the latter — those chosen representatives of stem republican 
 virtue — in a new character,— as the unprincipled and groveling votaries of the most 
 low and sordid corruption. I suppose such a scene of Old Bailey Diplomacy, in 
 which common honesty is denied the decent homage of hypocrisy, was laever before 
 presented to the world. 
 
 MAY ihe 17th. 
 
 Finished the 1st. Vol., comprising the two first Parts, of Dalrymple's Memoirs. 
 In the structure and turn of the sentences ; in the close and laboured compression 
 of the matter ; in vivid delineation of character and scene ; in deep, original, and 
 sagacious remarks on human passions and sentiments, generally just and happy,
 
 80 
 
 [1798-1 
 
 but sometimes far-fetched and misplaced, and often abruptly urged in the shape of 
 
 pithy sententious declarations, — these Memoirs bear a striking resemblance to the 
 compositions of Tacitus; of whose beauties and blemishes, but (as in all imitations) 
 chiefly of the latter, they strongly partake. The character of the Scottish Clans, at 
 the close of B. 2., P. 2., is drawn with uncommon force and spirit ; and may fairly 
 be opposed, I think, to any descriptive painting which Tacitus has given. — But 
 vi'hatever may be thought of the manner of this Work, the matter, which may be 
 considered as embracing the immediate causes and effects of the Revolution in l688, 
 is unquestionably of the deepest importance to every lover of the constitution ; and 
 it is treated in a way, I apprehend, adapted to give a very just impression of this 
 interesting portion of ourliistory. — So strong, it is obsen'able, is our sympathy with 
 the o-reat, that notwithstanding the obstinate bigotry, arbitrary spirit, and infatuated 
 perverseness, of James the II., and our full assurance that his deposition was abso- 
 lutely necessary for the preservation of our liberties, we still cannot help commi- 
 serating his fallen fortunes, when distinctly brought before us: nor is the coldpetrific 
 character of our deliverer, William, at all calculated to diminish this interest. The 
 traits of national spirit in the former, in spite of his strict connections with France; 
 particularly at the battle ofLaHogue, so fatal to his hopes, where he could not 
 regtst exclaiming " none but my brave English could have done this", — 'are very 
 touching. — Some of tlie Whigs at the Revolution, appear to have leaned more 
 towards republicanism, than I had sujjposed. — The Appendix, forming the 2d. Vol., 
 contains many interesting documents, which exhibit several points in our history in 
 a very different light from that in which the speculations of our historians had previ- 
 ously placed them. What a different tale would History tell, had we always access 
 to such materials as these ! 
 
 JUNE the 3rd. 
 
 Attended Queen-Square Chapel in the morning. The Sermon was an undisguised^, 
 but declamatory, defence of the doctrine of the Trinity ; founded, as its text, upon 
 the exploded passage in John, of the " Three that bear record in Heaven;" respect- 
 ing the authenticity of which, not a suspicion was hinted. Was this ignorance, or 
 pious fraud, or merely a total want of candour ? 
 
 Looked afterwards into the Roman Catholic Chapel, in Duke-Street. The thrilling 
 tinkle of the little bell at the elevation of the Host, is perhaps the finest example 
 that can be given,, of the sublime by association : — nothing, so poor and trivial in
 
 81 
 [1798.] 
 
 itself; nothing so transcendantly awful, -as indicating the sudden change of the con- 
 secrated Elements, and the instant presence of the Kedeemer. 
 
 JUNE the 5 th. 
 
 Read Haslam on Insanity. This dreadful visitation he ascribes, not to a false per- 
 ception, or morbid intensity, but to a wrong association, of ideas. There surely, 
 however, must be more in it than this. — I once asked a professional gentleman, who 
 had particular opportunities of experience on the subject, whether he always found 
 the brain of maniacs in a preternatural or disordered state. He said that he frequently, 
 perhaps generally, did ; but that in many cases where the faculties were most com- 
 pletely deranged, that organ had every appearance of being in a perfectly sound and 
 healthy condition. 
 
 Looked over Godwin's Memoirs of Mrs. Woolstonecraft ; which strikingly evince 
 that love, even in a modern philosopher, " emollit mores, nee sinet esse feros." 
 This austere moralist, from whose forbidding frown we should expect that Cupid 
 would shrink away abashed, becomes quite bland, obsequious, and gallant, under 
 his fascinating influence. 
 
 Attended the Opera in the Evening: — II Barbiere di Seviglia. Morelli was 
 admirable throughout : but in a cadenza introduced in a Trio at the close of the 
 first Act, surpassed in clearness, depth, and volume of tone, and facility, brilliancy, 
 and correctness of execution, what I had supposed possible for the human voice ; 
 especially, so far as execution is concerned, a voice of that calibre. The ge- 
 neral charge alleged against him by the cognoscenti, that he is sometimes out of 
 tune, I confess escaped my observation ; and I listened to him very attentively.— 
 After all, the continued, and (as for the greater part it necessarily must be) im- 
 meaning, recitative of the Italian Opera, by degrees wearies the patience : the sudden 
 transition, on the other hand, from dialogue to song, in the English Opera, is, I 
 allow, too abrupt: might not a compromise take place; and the airs in the latter 
 be introduced by an accompanied recitative of an impassioned sentence leading to the 
 song, with goodetFect? I should like, at any rate, to have the effect tried. 
 
 JUNE the loth. 
 
 Detained at Kingston, on our way to Portsmouth, by finding every vehicle and 
 every norse engaged in the forwarding troops to Ireland at this exigent crisis. The 
 Duke of Clarence actively and intently occupied in superintending the requisite 
 
 M
 
 82 
 
 '[1798.] 
 
 anangements.-'-Escaped out of the croud and bustle, and strolled to llichmond. 
 Passed on our way, by Uam Common, an extraordinary Elm, called Ham Church: 
 two-thirds of its enormous trunk decayed a\vay; the remainder pierced through; but 
 the top still exuberant. Ascended Richmond Terrace, and enjoyed perhaps the most 
 richly variegated scene in English Landscape. Returned by the Thames, and paused, 
 with much interest, opposite Pope's villa and garden : his favourite willow on the 
 lawn, propped up by stakes; and exhibiting, abstractedly considered, an unsightly 
 spectacle. — Great men should plant trees of longer duration : we might still musa 
 under tne broad and majestic shade of Shakespear's Oak. 
 
 JUNE the iMh. 
 
 Reached Portsmouth. Between the 40th. and 42d. mile from Town, climbed, 
 by a long ascent, having a vast hollow called the Devil's Punch Bowl on our right, 
 to the top of Hindhead Hill, commanding a glorious retrospect of the country we 
 had traversed. A bleak and di-eary heath around : its wildness heightened by a gibbet 
 with the remains of three bodies on it ; and a stone, memorialising the spot of a " barbar- 
 ous murder" committed by these wretches on an unknown sailor. — Between Petersfield 
 and Horndean, pursued a devious course round the bases of smooth and lofty downs, 
 rising steeply above on both sides, and producing a singular effect on an eye habitu- 
 ated to a level and enclosed country. Beyond Horndean, entered a luxuriant sylvan 
 scene, rendered agreeably wild, simply by there being no separation offence or hedge- 
 row between the woodlands and the road ; — a circumstance not common in English 
 Landscape; and on this account, perhaps, as well as from its intrinsic recommenda- 
 tions, particularly pleasing. — Grand burst from the brow of Portsdown Hill, over an 
 intervening level, of Portsmouth and its harbour; the streights beyond, sprinkled 
 with men of war and shipping of all kinds ; and the Isle of Wight, stretching away 
 finely in the distance. 
 
 JUNE the 13tL 
 
 Rowed over to Cowes in a small open Skiff: — 'the sea calm, still, and smooth as 
 a mill-pond, " looking tranquillity." Singular and picturesque effect of the town of 
 West Cowes ; hanging on a steep acclivity at the mouth of the Medina ; the houses 
 and streets rising one above another in rapid succession. — Strolled to the poor remains 
 of the Castle, and along a sweetly sequestered lane, opening occasionally on the Inner 
 Passage, sweeping like a mighty river, to the right; till wc caught a grand view uf
 
 83 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 it, extending in a long visto, and bounded by the opposite projecting points of Gary 
 Sconce and Hurst Castle ; — the Western Downs rising in huge ridges to the left. 
 
 JUNE the 1 4th. 
 
 Ferried over the river to some agreeable shady walks upon its Banks ; and climbed 
 the opposite heights, exhibiting a beautiful retrospect of the town, the harbour, and 
 the shipping, inlaid below in bright enamel. Pursued the road to Alverstone till we 
 attained an expansive view over the rich and diversified vale of Newport, spreadino- as 
 far as Sir Richard Worsley's Obelisk at Appuldurcombe ; — the naked ridge of Arreton 
 Downs extending, about midway, to the left. Returned round by Barton, an an- 
 tique stone niansion ; and at the back of Osborne House, to the highest point of 
 ground in this direction : from whence a magnificent prospect of the Streights, and 
 the English coast, as far as the aching sight could carry. 
 
 JUNE the \5tk. 
 
 Had an agreeable sail to Newport, about five miles up the river Medina. Visited 
 Carisbrook Castle, proudly crowning the summit of an eminence ; but deficient in 
 eftect, from the want of picturesque accompaniments. Missed my friend Ogden, 
 the old soldier, who on a previous excursion acted as Cicerone to the place ; and was 
 accustomed, at the conclusion, to exliibit himself as the greatest curiosity there, 
 being the person in whose arms the immortal Wolfe expired. Found, on enquiry 
 of his son, who has succeeded him in the office of guide, and who still preserves 
 with religious veneration the General's cane, that the gallant veteran was gone to 
 the grand and final muster, at wliich, sooner or later, we must all appear. On my 
 former visit, I was of course solicitous to enquire respecting the last moments of a 
 Hero, on whose fall, the arts of painting, poetry, and sculpture, have conspired to 
 throw so bright a blaze of glory. The old fellow assured me, that far from displaj^- 
 ing the lively interest ascribed to him, in the fate of the day, he appeared absorbed 
 in his own sutFerings, oppressed with debility and languor, and nearly insensible to 
 what was passing around him. It is not pleasant to have illusions of this kind 
 destroyed : but as the natural propensity of my informant would be, rather to 
 aggrandise, than depretiate, the fame of one with whom he must feel his own so 
 nearly connected, there can be little reason to question the truth and accuracy of 
 his representation. — Ascended to the highest point of the Keep, commanding an ex- 
 tensive but uninteresting prospect over the whole interior of the Island. Viewed
 
 84. 
 11798.J 
 
 ao-ain the celebrated Well, 200 feet deep to the water ; 30 of which are walled 
 with stone, and 1/0 pierced through rock: and 70 feet more of water at the 
 bottom. Its prodigious depth best shewn by dropping down a lighted sheet of paper, 
 which, as it whirls round and round, in i^s spiral descent, emits a sound like the 
 roarino- of a furnace ; and, at length, when it touches the water, casts a transient 
 gleam over its surface, which appears about the compass of a silver penny. A naval 
 officer lately, in bravado, jumped across the well, and forgot the transverse spindle, 
 round which the bucket winds : — he escaped ; but the blood curdles at the immi- 
 nent and horrible danger to which his rashness exposed him. 
 
 After dinner, strolled to the sequestered village of Arreton, lying snugly at the 
 foot of the Southern declivity of the Downs ; and, climbing to their summit, 
 pursued the extreme ridge, which runs transversely. East and West, about midway 
 athwart this portion of the Island, and sloping steeply and smoothly down on both 
 sides, presents, in either direction, a prospect almost equally attractive : extending, 
 to the South, over a rich and variegated hollow, tufted with trees, sparkling with 
 streams, and enli\ ened with villages and spires, to the heights of Appuldurcombe ; 
 and, to the North, over the whole expanse of this division of the Island spread like a 
 sylvan wilderness beneath, and across the vast arm of the Outer Passage distinctly 
 studded with the men of \\'ar at Spithead, to a long line of the English Coast, on 
 which, through a transparent atmosphere, Gosport, Portsmouth, Havant, even the 
 city of Chichester, and headlands stretching far beyond on the Sussex Coast, were 
 clearly discernible. 
 
 JUNE the l6ik. 
 
 Drove to Shanklin Chine, a perpendicular rift in a lofty clifF: formed probably by 
 the rush of waters, a torrent still gurgling in hollow murmurs at the bottom. The 
 sides of this tortuous clefl, richly feathered with trees and underwood ; and an en- 
 chanting peep from the deep shades and secluded recesses of this romantic glen, on a 
 brightly illumined segment of the ocean, caught, in distant perspective, through its 
 aperture. From the top, a fine bird's e}'e view of the grand sweep of Sandown Bay, 
 extending to the white cliffs of Culver. Dismissed our carriage at Luccombe ; and, 
 winding down under the steep sides of St. Boniface's Down, walked the whole extent 
 of Undercliff — about six miles — an extraordinary, and, as far as my observation 
 extends, an unparalleled scene, A continued line of heights, towering precipitously 
 not less than 400 feet above, to the right, inhibits all access or egress in that direc- 
 tion; and eftl'ctually excludes the "tyrannous North" from the favoured region
 
 8o 
 
 ri798.] 
 
 below : the strip of ground thus secluded and sheltered, and which receives its deno- 
 mination of Undercliff on this account, var)ing from about a quarter to half a mile 
 in breadth, tossed about in the happiest forms, and richly diversified with rock and wood 
 and verdure, forms itself, the crown of another ClifF, which breaks down boldly to the 
 sea. Here are all the ingredients of romantic landscape ; and they are most pic- 
 turesquely combined, in every possible variety. Passed St. Boniface's cottage, lying 
 snugly in a delicious recess under the shelving steeps to the right ; and afterwards 
 Mr. ToUemache's, luxuriantly embosomed in wood. Leaving Sir Richard Worsley's 
 celebrated cottage and vineyard to the left, the scene gradually assumes a character of 
 solitude and wildness : — the verdure becomes more scant)' ; foliage disappears ; the 
 heights to the right, break down in rugged masses of bare rock ; nor is any thing 
 heard, in this sequestered region, but the deep murmur of the sea, and the hoarse 
 cawing of innumerable ravens that nestle in the Cliff. Struck to the right, through 
 a pass in the Cliff", and resumed our carriage at Niton. 
 
 JUNE the 18th. 
 
 Had an uninteresting drive yesterday to Yarmouth, passing under the dreary foot 
 of Shalcombe Down. This morning crossed the Yar, and leaving Mr. Binstead's 
 beautiful cottage, embowered in trees, to our left, turned the point of Cary Sconce, 
 and pursued the shore to the narrowest part of the channel between Hurst Castle and 
 the Island — scarce a mile over : had a fine prospect, from an adjoining cliff", of the Fresh- 
 water Downs terminated, by the Needles, to the left ; the Hampshire Coast receding 
 towards Christ Church, to the right; and the open sea spreading between them. Pleas- 
 ing views, on our return, of the whole length of the Inner Passage, stretching as far as 
 the headland by West Cowes ; and of the luxuriant scenery up the Yar, bounded by 
 Afton and Freshwater Downs, wrapped in shade — a sullen, but fine back ground. 
 
 In the evening perambulated Yarmouth ; which has a neat and quiet, but anti- 
 quated and rather melancholy air. Many of the houses, the worst of which seem far 
 from wretched, are formed of blocks of unsquared grey stone; — much more grateful 
 to the picturesque eye (so little does beauty depend on convenience) than the mean 
 squares, and harsh dingy colouring, of brick. The prison, a singular insulated little 
 building ; not calculated, apparently, for more than half a dozen tenants ; and at 
 present, I believe, not occupied by one. — ^The cottages in the Island, which are 
 mostly built of stone, have in general a very comfortable aspect ; and the peasantry 
 and small farmers, we incline to think, appear better dressed, and in better condi- 
 tion, than the same class with us.
 
 86 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 JUNE the ^gth. 
 
 Took boat up the Yar, About a mile and half from the Town, passed, by 
 permission, through Mr. Rushworth's p'easure grounds ; — richly wooded, and form- 
 ing a most sequestered retreat : myrtles flourishing luxuriantly in them, as ordinary 
 shrubs, quite unprotected. Proceeded up the river to Freshwater; where its source 
 is separated only by a narrow strip of pebbles from the sea, so that the two waters, 
 I believe, are sometimes mingled. Sat down and enjoyed the rocky scenery of Fresh- 
 water Gate, animatetl by a brisk gale. Ascended by a long and steep slope to the 
 summit of Freshwater Downs, 685 feet above the level of the sea; the Light-House 
 Downs, separated by an intervening hollow, rising beyond. All to the North ob- 
 scured by storms ; but a grand retrospect of the Southern shores, extending as far as 
 St. Catharine's Hill, at the Western extremity of Undercliif, — the highest ground 
 in the Island, being 752 feet above the level of tlie se^. — Struck, by a steep descent, 
 down the Northern slope of the Downs; and returning through a rich and luxuriant 
 country, finely relieved by the naked ridge we had traversed, resumed our boat at 
 Freshwater. Observed, on our voyage back, a remarkably well-defined double rainbow ; 
 and that the sky around the interior curve, was considerably and uniformly darker 
 than that ivithin it: — a phaenomenon which I have noticed before, but do not 
 remember to have seen explained. 
 
 JUNE the 24th. 
 
 Walked at the back of Mr. Rushworth's grounds to the foot of Freshwater Downs, 
 near the point to which we had descended on the IQth. ; and ascended, by a long 
 acclivity, to the summit of the Light-House Downs, about twenty or thirty feet 
 lower than the former ; — accurately, it is said, by a late measurement, 663 feet 
 above the level of the sea. Gloriously expansive prospect from the Light-House, 
 embracing the whole Western division of the Island, with its indented bays and 
 winding shores ; and an immense diffusion of the English Coast, from the spires of 
 Southampton, to St. Alban's Head; and even, faint in the distance, as we were 
 told, the Isle of Portland. Hurst Castle, at the extremity of its narrow, curving 
 spit of sand, and the contracted mouth of the Inner Passage, spread apparently close 
 under our feet. A boundless extent of Ocean to the South.— Cautiously descended, 
 by a shelving slope, to the brink of the Cliff at the Western extremity of the Downs , 
 dropping pUunb-down into the sea which laves its base : — a far more giddy height 
 than that of Shakespear's Cliff at Dover. The Needles shooting out beneath, in a line
 
 87 
 
 [1798-] 
 
 of white pyramidal wedge-like rocks ; the clear blue waves boiling round their bases, 
 
 and curling up their sides. Listened fearfully, in this scene of solitude and wildness, to 
 
 the hoarse murmur of the surges, raging under us in the depths below ; and the dismal, 
 
 piercing screams of the sea fowl, hovering around ; — sounds finely accordant with 
 
 the genius of the place. — Descended, through a cleft, to the beach of AUum Bay ; and 
 
 enjoyed, for an hour, the singular and beautiful scenerj' of its fantastic cliffs, trickling 
 
 with rills, and stained, by their mineral depositions, with every variety of vivid hue. 
 
 — Returned to Yarmouth by an intricate course across the Common. 
 
 JUNE the iQth. 
 
 Had a remarkably quick passage, to Lymington, — a distance of seven miles, in 
 less than fifty minutes. Crossing the river by a causeway, pursued its course by an 
 agreeable walk along its banks, up to Boldre ; and returning by the upper road, 
 struck down into a woody dell at the back of Vicar's Hill, Mr. Gilpin's parsonage, the 
 object of our pilgrimage ; shrouded, together with its gardens, in thick foliage. Con- 
 templated with much interest the residence of a gentleman, by whose pen and whose 
 pencil I have been almost equally delighted ; and who, with an originality that always 
 accompanies true genius, may be considered as having opened a new source of en- 
 jo)-ment in surveying the Works of Nature. — In the evening strolled down to the 
 Salt Works ; amidst dreary and melancholy marshes, with teazing views of the 
 Isle of Wight, extending from Gurnet's Bay to the Needles, but not a single emi- 
 nence from which the whole could be satisfactorily enjoyed. Felt deeply the sad 
 exchange of wretched clay hovels, for the comfortable cottages of the Island. 
 
 JUNE the igth. 
 
 Reached Salisbury yesterday. This morning visited the Cathedral for the second 
 time, and was again struck with the magical effect of its architecture ; though light 
 and elegant, above measure solemn and impressive. Whatever may be the questi- 
 onable superiority of the more regular Orders over the Gothic, in religious buildings, 
 seen from without, ail doubts are hushed when they are contemplated within ; nor 
 can the majestic simplicity of the former be compared, for architectural pathos, with 
 the intricacy, variety, and awfiil grandeur of the latter. The spire of the Cathedral, 
 which beautifully tapers to a greater height than the Cross of St. Paul's, apj)ears to 
 have declined from its original perpendicularity, about seven inches to the N. E. by 
 E. A magnificent, shewy monument to a Duke of Somerset, — but in wretched
 
 88 
 
 L1798.'] 
 
 taste : allegorical figures are bad on canvas ; but detestable, stuck up in stone.— The 
 Close, spacious and handsome ; and most happily adapted for the abode of reverend 
 ease and learned leisure. — The town itself, chiefly remarkable for the straightness of 
 its streets ; and the singular luxury of a salubrious stream of pure water, running with 
 a brisk current through each of them. 
 
 JUNE the 30th. 
 
 Visited Wilton House. Noble Cedars of Lebanon adorning the approach. The 
 Palladian Brido-e (an absurdity in architecture) under repair. In front of the grand 
 entrance, a beautiful column, the shaft of which was transported to the Temple of 
 .Venus by Julius Caesar ; — one side of it manifestly worn by the weather. The House, 
 of stone ; built, according to the sullen taste of our ancestors, round a quadrangular 
 area, dark, damp, and cheerless. Gorgeous display of antique magnificence within. 
 The Hall spacious and grand, and most appropriately decorated with antient armour: 
 a curule chair in it ; which, if genuine, is indeed a curiosity. The great Drawing- 
 Room, a double cube, sixty feet by thirty ; another, exactly cubical, — a most incom- 
 modious and unsightly shape. Much struck with a copy of the Apollo Belvidere, 
 in an attitude, and with an air, of grace, dignity, and spirit, more than mortal : — 
 a bust of Pompey; the face distinctly and thickly pitted, as if with the small-pox : — 
 ihe Dying Gladiator, wonderfully and touchingly expressive, in position and counte- 
 nance, of the languor of approaching death: — Vandyke's Pembroke Family, and 
 Charles the I.; the colouring not warm, indeed, with the mellow hues of Titian, nor 
 dazzling with the resplendent glow of Rubens, but true to the chaste and sober 
 tints of ordinary nature : — and an inimitable head of the Virgin by Carlo Dolce, 
 encircled with flowers ; in every part most elaborately and exquisitely finished, but 
 the flesh rather inclining, from excessive polish and lubricity, to what Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds calls, an ivory hardness. 
 
 JULY ihe 2d. 
 
 Reached Winchester, twenty-four miles, by Stockbridge, fifteen, yesterday even- 
 ing : — an uninteresting drive through a dreary country destitute of houses and trees, 
 till we reached a wood of antient yews, producing a very solemn and pleasing eftect, 
 about three miles from Winchester. Visited the Cathedral: very defective on the 
 outside, for want of a spire to give a relief and finish to the pile : the inti 'iv"-, massy 
 Saxon ; contrasting strikingly with the airy lightness of that of Salisbury. . ' '^g
 
 89 
 
 L1798.J 
 
 monuments of William of Wyckham, Bishops Gardiner, Fox, and Hoadley ; and 
 the recumbent skeleton effigies of a nameless prelate, who perished in attempting to 
 imitate our Saviour's fast of forty days; — the last of his order, I suspect, who will 
 be guilty of this species of Lenten extravagance. To the East of the Choir, an antient 
 chapel, paved with Roman Bricks, in which Philip and Mary were married. Saw, 
 in a side-aisle, the vaults of the Saxon Kings ; and chests, on an opposite skreen, 
 in which their bones are reposited. The Font, very antient, with rude sculpture: — 
 the whole hewn out of one block of dark-coloured stone. The Altar Piece, the 
 Resurrection of Lazarus, by West ; — a fine subject, but feebly treated. The skreen 
 to the Choir, most exquisitely carved in stone. 
 
 Viewed, on the brow of a hill to the West of the City, the unfinished palace of 
 Charles the IL — an immense pile, presenting a double row of twenty-seven large 
 windo\^'s in the grand front, and seventeen in depth : — now converted into barracks, 
 holding 4000 troops. The ditch, and some remains of the antient walls of the City, 
 visible at the bottom of the hill, in this direction. The streets of the present towru, 
 very narrow and i)icommodious. 
 
 JULY the 2d. 
 
 Reached Farnhain, twenty-seven miles, by Alresford eight, and Alton ten. — 
 Ascended to the Castle, now the Bishop's Palace, and walked the extent of the 
 grand avenue of the park ; commanding a variegated and delightful prospect over 
 Farnham, and a luxuriant country richly intermingled with hill and dale, to distant 
 heights towards the South : Moor-Park House, the favourite residence of Sir William 
 Temple, and near which his heart lies buried,— a spot rendered still more interesting 
 by having been the frequent abode of Swift when visiting his patron, — peeping 
 sweetly out of its wood-skreened vale. — Pursued our way to the Heath behind 
 the Park ; and gained, by a long but gentle ascent, the top of Brigsbury Hill, a 
 projecting head-land to the North ; enclosed on every side but that (where the 
 steepness of the descent made such a defence unnecessary), with the remains of 
 an antient fortification, consisting of a double ditch and ramparts. Expansive 
 view from hence in every direction but to the West : Hindhead Hill bounding 
 the prospect to the South ; but high ranges, far more remote, to the South West : 
 an immense plain extending towards London ; faintly marked on its extreme verge 
 by St. Paul's Cupola, which cannot be less than thirty-five miles distant In a 
 straight line. Struck across the Heath to the left, and upon its Western edge 
 'had a glorious burst, in that direction, over a boundless expanse of rich and 
 
 N
 
 90 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 level country, shooting In capes of enclosure and cultivation, into the bleak and barren 
 moor below, — marked by Fleet Pondj and intersected by the Basingstoke Canal. 
 
 JULY the 6th. 
 
 Viewed an Exhibition of Italian Pictures, near Leicester-Square. Principally 
 struck with a St. Catharine, by Carlo Dolce; her head encircled with a wreath of 
 flowers, and attended by a cherub displaying wings brilliantly be-dropt with every 
 vivid hue, yet the " purpureum lumen" of her countenance still triumphant : — a 
 Lucretia, by Guercino, finely drawn and coloured, without any of his usual coarse- 
 ness of manner :— a Fortune and Cupid, by Guido ; with his accustomed grace, and 
 sweetness of tone : and a Pope, by Titian : a noble portrait, full of life, character, and 
 simple unaffected dignity. Not much delighted with several saffron-coloured paint- 
 ings, by Raffael, in his first hard, laboured, stiff manner ; something after the style 
 of the figures we meet with, in illuminated missals. — Examined the tints of Dolce 
 and Guercino. Five very distinguishable ; — the bloom of flesh, — a bright high- 
 light, — a warm transparent reflex light, — a clear brown shadow, — and a soft greenish- 
 blue middle tint ; — exquisitely blended with each other. These colours are all per- 
 ceptible in nature, critically viewed ; but seem not sufficiently attended to by modern 
 artists, when thev paint ironi life. 
 
 JULY the Wtk. 
 
 Viewed Miss Linvvood's Exhibition of Needle Work; which might be mistaken 
 for painting, but for the excessive deadness of the surface, and the stiffness and 
 harshness of some of the contours. The Woodman, from Barker, struck me as 
 the best piece. The Madonna, from Raflfael, is, 1 dare say, exact ; but, with all 
 his excellencies, RafFael must, in this case, have retained something of the hardness 
 of manner of the first artists. — After all, this is a species of ingenious imitation which 
 one does not wish to see prevail. The principal delight it affords, arises from the 
 difficulty surmounted : the needle, though it may laboriously copy-the effects, can 
 never emulate the free, spirited, and masterly execution, of the pencil ; and its pro- 
 ductions are most grievously exposed to the molestations of moth and dust. 
 
 JULY the \2th. 
 Finished Bissett's Life of Burke. He has a right view and just estimation of this
 
 91 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 wonderful man ; and his work derives an additional interest, from the contemporary 
 characters introduced : but it by no means precludes, what I have sometimes medi- 
 tated, " A Dissertation on the Genius and Character of Edmund Burke," — a subject 
 rich in interest, but for which the public mind, agitated as it has been by recent 
 events, is yet far from prepared. 
 
 Met Mr. I. Pleased with an anecdote he gave me of Lord Kenyon. A friend of 
 his, sometime since, had sold his Lordship a cottage at Richmond ; and, going 
 down there lately, wished to take a \iew of the premises: an old housekeeper ad- 
 mitted him : on the table he saw three books ; the Bible — Epictetus — and the Whole 
 Duty of Man : " does my Lord read this," said the Gentleman, taking up the Bible? 
 " No," said the woman, " he is always poring upon this little book," pointing to 
 Epictetus, " I don't know what it is ; my lady reads the two others : they come 
 down here of a Saturday evening, with a leg or shoulder of mutton ; this serves 
 them the Sunday ; and they leave me the remains." A Chief Justice of England, 
 thus severely simple in his taste and habits, is at least a curiosit}-. 
 
 AUGUST the 4t/i. 
 
 Ld. C. dined with me. Solemnly and deliberately affirmed, that he knew no 
 character in British History, which stood so high in his estimation as that of Mr. 
 Fox; and strenuously denied that he had ever discovered in him, any leaning towards 
 the democratic part)'. I know no man less likely than his Lordship, to suffer his 
 enthusiasm to overpower his judgment : jet, firmly and solidly established as is my 
 esteem for Mr. Fox, it staggers, I confess, undei- the measure of praise conveyed in 
 the first part of this declaration ; nor can I think that the circumstances under which 
 it has been the fortune of this illustrious character to be placed, and by which his 
 virtues and his talents have been tried, are sufKcient (highly as I think of them both), 
 to justify so prodigious an encomium. On the extent of the sacrifices and sufferings 
 necessary to canonise a patriot, it were invidious to dwell : — ardently do I hope, not 
 out of apprehension for the result, but of veneration for the person, that in the pre- 
 sent instance they may never be required: — -but I may remark, I trust, without of- 
 fence, since cordially do I wish for the experiment here, that it is by the actual ex- 
 ercise of political power, and not by a course of censure upon it, however meritori- 
 ous, that political ability, as (" magna componere parvis") it is by original com- 
 position, and not by critical strictures upon it, however sagacious, that literary talent, 
 — is most severely proved, and can alone perhaps be satisfactorily attested. — Of the 
 imputation alluded to, and denied, in the latter part of this opinion, I do most fully
 
 92 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 and honourablv, fiom U'.e bottom of my soul, acquit Mr. Fox ; but, at the same 
 lime, I must (Ice[)ly regret, that he has not, in his place, more distinctly recognized, 
 and fairly met, that portentous spirit which has broken loose during the late Revo- 
 ^ution in France, and against whose present influence on the moral and political con- 
 dition of mankind (whatever may be thought of its ulterior destination), it should 
 seem almost impossible to shut the eyes : nor am I able to discern, in the most ex- 
 plicit avowal on this subject, any thing which should " impede the march of his 
 abilities" in that career of usefulness and glory, on which he so justly claims the grati- 
 tude and affection of his country ; while it would infallibly secure the Confidence of 
 many, whom this strange and marked neglect fills with uneasiness and apprehension. 
 — With respect to Mr. Fox's Eloquence (another topic of discussion this evening) 
 there are k\v circumstances, I confess, which rentier me so justly diffident of my o\\-n 
 taste, as the not feeling for it " horresco referens" that keen relish which the world 
 tells me that I ought to do. Its admirable adaptation to the purposes of debate in an 
 En 'dish House of Commons, I distinctly perceive and eagerly acknowledge ; but 
 while it assails at once our judgment and our passions, in this character, with match- 
 less dexterity and force, it certainly furnishes little of that aliment to the imagination, 
 which is so delectable, and, to my intellectual cravings, so indispcnsible, in works 
 on which we wish to revel in the closet. That this ground of dissatisfaction, is no 
 just cause o^ complaint, against compositions intended for other purposes, and which 
 perform those piu-poses with such incomparable success, I feel while I am assigning 
 it: but — it operates: and with the deepest sense of their transcendant merit as cfhi- 
 sions addressed, on the exigency of the occasion, to the bvisiness and bosoms of men, 
 I turn, in the hour of literary recreation, whatever be the shame, with delight, 
 from the vehement harangues of Fox, to the " variegated and expanded eloquence" 
 of Burke ; which if it does not hurry us along, like the other, by its impetuous and 
 reiterated assaults, directly to the goal, yet, by the ample stores of moral and poli- 
 tical wisdom which it unfolds, the radiant imagery with which it illuminates these 
 treasures, and the powerful appeals to our best affections, by which it seconds 
 their operation,— enlarges the understanding, replenishes the fancy, dilates the heart, 
 and generously aims to effectuate the purpose of the speaker, rather by elevating us 
 to his own standard in contemplating the subject which he treats, than by accom- 
 modating itself to the contracted views and dispositions which we may bring to its 
 discussion. — On the question of Parliamentary Reform, which was next agitated, his 
 Lordship professed himself quite neutral, as he saw neither good from it nor harm : 
 the evil which it was designed to remove, he thought, lay deeper than the remedv 
 would reach : — he regards the great mass of the people as corrupt.
 
 95 
 
 [179S.] 
 
 AUGUST Lhe wth. 
 
 Finished the 1st. Vol. of Miss William's Tour tlirough Swizzerland. She paints, 
 the giddy frivolity and eapricious versatility of French manners, in very vivid colours; 
 and exhibits the moral miiVhiefs of the Revolution acting on this character, in a more 
 glaring and oftensive light, than perhaps she intended. 
 
 Looked over Sir Joshua Reynolds' Papers in the Idler: curious, as containing the 
 seeds of those doctrines, which he has more fully expanded in his subsequent Dis- 
 courses. In the third he maintains (what Burke has controverted) that Beauty is that 
 invariable general form in every species, which nature always seems to intend, to 
 which she is perpetually approaching, and which she more frequently produces than 
 any particular description of deviation or deformity. He seems, with Plato, to ascribe a 
 real independent existence to these mental abstractions. — In his Journey to Flanders, 
 he speaks of Rubens just as I could wish ; and liberally ascribes to him those powers, 
 whose effects, In ignorance, I had long and ardently admired. 
 
 AUGUST the iSih. 
 
 Read Shaftesbury's Enquiry concerning Virtue. His ideas are not very distinctly 
 stated : biit he seems, to place Virtue in a proper management of the affections ; its 
 recommendation to others, in its congeniality to our moral taste ; and its obligation 
 on ourselves, in the advantages it procures us: and he very hapjnly describes the in- 
 fluence of true religion, of superstition, and of atheism, on its operation. — He 
 evidently shews himself to be a Deist. 
 
 Looked into D'Alembert's Elemens de Musique. His evolution of harmony, at the 
 opening (L. i.e. 1.), from the harmonical sounds inseparably combined with eveiy 
 musical note, however apparently simple ; and which, though so intimately blended 
 with the principal and generative tone as to escape ordinary observation, may clearly 
 be detected and distinguished from it by a delicate ear, — is to me quite new, and very 
 satisfactory. This natural and inherent affinity between concordant sounds, evinced 
 (where we should least expect to find it) in the elements themselves out of which all 
 artificial concords are composed, seems to place the principles of modern harmony 
 on a very solid basis ; and enables us to advance a step farther in accounting for the 
 gratification arising from musical composition, than is alluwed to our curiosity in 
 investigating the sources of most of the other pleasures of taste. 
 
 Read Burke's Memorial on the Conduct of the Minority — a powerful composition, 
 purely argumentative, and, I belie\e, without a single metaphor.
 
 94- 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 AUGUST the 25th. 
 
 Finished Sir Joshua Reynolds' Discourses, with an eye to a peculiar and distin- 
 guishing doctrine which runs through the whole, and is manifestly a particular favour- 
 ite with the author. He begins to dilate upon it in the 3rd. Discourse, stating. That 
 the higher excellency of the art, consists, not in imitating individual nature, but in 
 exhibiting the general forms of things, abstracted from natural and accidental defor- 
 mities and discriminations of whatever kind, and of course more perfect and beauti- 
 ful than any one original. — In the 4th he applies what he had said of the forms of 
 things, to, 1 ., Historical Invention, which should neglect the minute peculiarities 
 of dress, furniture, scene, &c., and even the personal peculiarities of the actors, if 
 injurious to grandeur; 2., to the Expression, which should be such as the supposed 
 occasion operating on the supposed characters, generally produces ; and 3., to the 
 colouring, which should be severely simple, either by reducing the hues to little 
 more than chiaro oscuro, like the Bolognian School, or making them very distinct 
 and forcible, like the Schools of Rome and Florence. On the same principle, Land- 
 scape Painting should be a representation of general nature, selected from various 
 views of it, not an exhibition of any individual scene ; and, even in portraits, he is 
 of opinion, the grace, nay the likeness, consists more in taking the general air, than 
 in exactly copying each particular feature. The works, whether of poets, painters, 
 moralists, or historians, he obser\'es in conclusion, which are built on general na- 
 ture, live for ever ; while those which depend on particular customs and habits, 
 a partial view of nature, or the fluctuations of fashion, perish with their architypes. — ■ 
 In the 7th, he very elaborately maintains. That the general idea of nature, purified 
 from all peculiarities, and which in reality is alone nature, constitutes the great 
 object of true taste ; That we are materially assisted in attaining to such an idea of 
 nature, by attending to the selections which others have made in the works they have 
 produced ; and. That those works are most dcsen'ing our attention, which have been 
 most generally approved under the influence of different prejudices operating in diffe- 
 rent countries and ages. — In the Qth. he afhrms the object of painting, to be beauty; 
 but a beauty general and intellectual ; an idea subsisting onl)- in the mind ; toAvards the 
 expression of which we may advance, but to which we can never perfectly attain : and 
 he ascribes the beneficial effects of the art upon our habits, to its abstracting the mind 
 from the objects of sense, and directing it to the contemplation of this intellectual ex- 
 cellence. — In the 10th. he defines the object of Sculpture, to be the imparting that 
 delight which results from the perfect beauty of abstract form ; an intellectual pleasure, 
 incompatible with that which is merely addressed to the senses, and of course to colour.
 
 95 
 
 [1798.] 
 &c. — In the 11th. he regards the essence of genius in painting, as consisting in the 
 
 power of expressing the general effect of a whole (whether of form, colour, light and 
 shadow, or whatever may become the separate object of a painter) , not by a detail of par- 
 ticulars, but by seizing those characteristic circumstances which distinguish it in real 
 existence to the spectator ; and thus exhibiting a greater quantity of truth by a few lines 
 or touches, than by the most laborious finishing of parts; and delighting by the inade- 
 quacy of the means to the end.— In the 13th. he contends. That of arts addressed 
 to the imagination and its sensibility, the affection produced, is the sole test ; That 
 all theories which attempt to regulate such arts by principles falsely called rational, 
 formed on a supposition of what ought to be, in reason, the end or means of such 
 arts, independently of the effects in fact produced by them, must be delusive; That 
 the theory which places the perfection of painting simply in imitating nature, is of 
 this kind; That its end is, to produce a pleasing effect upon the mind ; That some- 
 times, it is true, it accomplishes this end by imitation alone ; but that often, too, and 
 whenever it produces its grandest effects, it deviates from an exact imitation of nature 
 for this purpose. — Lastly, in his 15th. Discourse, he closes his labours with cnforcing 
 tlie same doctrine : earnestly exhorting his auditory, " to distinguish the greater 
 truth from the less ; the larger and more liberal idea of nature, from the more nar- 
 row and confined ; that which addresses itself to the imagination, from that which 
 is solely directed to the eye." 
 
 The doctrine thus imposingly delivered by its amiable author, in all the pomp of 
 Platonic mysticism, when fully developed and fairly exhibited, appears as just, as it is 
 obvious and simple. 
 
 The qualities by which any object, or class of objects, engages our attention, or 
 interests our feelings, are only some out of various others of which it is composed. 
 In any attempt therefore at the representation, even of a particular theme, whether 
 the design be simply to imitate, or, through imitation, to communicate the feelings 
 which the object itself is adapted to inspire, the perfection of the art will consist, in 
 seizing and bringing forward those peculiar qualities by which it strikes, or by which 
 it touches us, and in throwing the rest, as much as may be, into shade. By thus 
 removing from the view whatever may tend to distract or pervert the mind, and pre- 
 senting to the undivided attention those qualities only upon which the recognition or 
 interest of the object depends, these qualities, it is evident, will exert their fullest 
 effect upon the spectator ; and the copy may thus be made very far to surpass the 
 original itself, in force and pathos. If this holds true in the portraiture even of a 
 specific subject, the same doctrine, it is manifest, will obtain, with still greater force, 
 in the representation of imaginary scenes ; wfiere a far ampler scope is given to genius.
 
 96 
 
 [1798.] . , 
 
 in drawing, from a multitude .of particular gpi?^gfe?,.itt^aTflo^ ch^ 
 touching traits of vvhateven strikes or whatever a^ei^s^-ue, and notjOijly. iii svippress- 
 ing all that may tend to disturb, or counteract ,Lhe' impression,, but in, adding, from 
 the rich stores of a happy invention, whatever accompaniments are best adapted to 
 relieve and heighten their effect. Compositions, it will jreadily be, conceived, may 
 thus be produced, whicli shall far transcend,, ir^jforce of -character and vivacity of 
 interest, any particular scenes whicli real eMstencepresents:. hut -we. must e\'er bear 
 in mind, that this will be accomplished, not hy soariTig, ;with Plato and Sir Joshua, 
 " extra * * * flammantia moenia mundi"— " beyond the flaming bounds of Place 
 and Time," in pursuit of those pure primgev?il architypcs, from which enthusiasts 
 have vainly dreamed, that the .gross coilcrete substaiiccs here below are niere imper- 
 fect transcripts ; but by a judicious selection and 'imanagement of .t)ip^ materials, 
 which, however widely dispersed in different gradations of perfection, and however 
 intermingled with other and haser elements, are alone to be sought, where all true 
 knowledge begins and ends, — ^^ in real nature as it actually subsists around us. 
 
 ...I,. 
 
 AUGUST the 2gth. 
 
 Finished the 3rd. Vol. of Dalr}mple's Memoirs; published at a long interval from 
 the two former. — The opening to Part III., on the plan of French ambition on the 
 continent, which has since been realized by the Republic ; and the conclusion of the 
 same Part, in which he foresees the advancement of France to liberty and power, and 
 endeavours to provide against it, are now become very interesting.— There is an 
 original and bold cast of thought in this Work, which pleases me: but his project, 
 in the Appendix, No. 2., of a federal union between this country and America, through 
 the appointment of a Resident on our part, appears perfectly extravagant. — In reading 
 many passages of this volume, we are tempted to exclaim, that, whatever may be the 
 venality of the present times, they are pure to th.e past : but corruption has only 
 worn its channels more smooth : the stream itself is much enlarged ; its ramifica- 
 tions are infinitely multiplied and extended ; and the great spring-head is now en- 
 grossed entirely by the Crown. 
 
 AUGUST the 30th. 
 
 Read Mandeville's Fable of the Bees, and his Enquiiy into the Origin of Virtue. 
 In the latter, he ascribes entirely to the policy of Lawgivei's, the infusion of that 
 controlling piinciple wliich results from the constitution ^_jjOi^fj.jiiature; and
 
 97 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 nicknames its operation. Pride and Shame. With respect to his capital and 
 offensive paradox, that private vices are public benefits, Mandeville's whole art 
 consists, in denominating our passions by the appellation assigned to their vicious 
 excess; and then proving them, under this denomination, useful to society. There 
 is a lively force, and caustic though coarse wit, in his performance, which occasion- 
 ally reminds one of Paine. The conclusion of note P. (on v. 201) is powerful and 
 pathetic : and the Parable at the end of note T. (on v. 367) is of the happiest hu- 
 mour. — I was surprised to find Sir Joshua Reynolds' doctrine, of rejecting the repre- 
 sentation of individual nature in painting, recommended, sneeringly I believe, with 
 an illustration from the Opera, towards the beginning of the 1st. Dialogue in the 
 2d. Part of the Fable of the Bees ; and a reference given, by way of authority, to 
 " Graham's Preface to his Art of Painting." 
 
 JUGUST the 3\st. 
 
 Read Mandeville's Essay on Charity and Charity Schools, and his Search into the 
 Nature of Society. He places Virtue in what it does not consist — an extinction of 
 all personal feeling ; and then, by mis-naming the principle from which it does spring, 
 and expatiating largely on the motives which operate to produce its semblance, 
 endeavours to shew, that there is little or nothing of it in the world. In the first 
 piece, he denies that any real charity exists ; and maintains that the Schools pretended 
 to be formed on this principle, tend only to disqualify their objects for the duties of their 
 station . in the second, he labours to prove, that social intercourse results, not from 
 social affections on which Lord Shaftesbury insists, but from our hard situation and 
 bad passions, — from physical and moral evil. The scene, in the latter, between the 
 Mercer and his Customer, is happily worked up. 
 
 SEPTEMBER the 5tL 
 
 Looked over Johnson's vigorous defence of Shakespear against the charge of 
 violating, whether from neglect or disdain, the Unities of Time and Place in his 
 Dramas. His argument for the inutility of their observance, is, that the Drama 
 moves, not as these laws of criticism suppose, by imposing on the spectator as the 
 reality itself, but by suggesting realities to the mind — as history and painting move — 
 as a just picture of an interesting original. He is undoubtedly right ; but in the 
 elation of his triumph over false science, he has, as certainly, been led to push the 
 career of his victory a little too far. A drama is something more than a poem 
 
 O
 
 98 
 [1798.] 
 
 recited: it is the representation of a theme by actors and by scenery ; and, as such, 
 is subject to certain restrictions respecting Place and Time, arising out of the diffi- 
 culty of indicating in this mode of exhibition, without offence to the feelings, the 
 shifting of the former when changed, and the effects of the latter when protracted, 
 from which, though far less rigorous than those which the Law of Unity exacts, the 
 historian and the epic poet, it is obvious, may be regarded as exempt. 
 
 Finished Coxe s Memoirs of Sir Robert Walpole. — ^The character of Bolingbroke's 
 Political Writings is, I think, justly, though clumsily, given, at the close of the 
 26lh. chapter : yet these compositions must possess considerable merit of some kind, 
 to have maintained their popularity in despite of his own unprincipled conduct. 
 Should all memorials of Bolingbroke perish, but his own works, what a false opinion 
 will posterity form of his character ! — Either Sir Robert Walpole's Speech on the 
 Triennial Bill is ill reported, or his language was miserably vulgar, perplexed, and 
 obscure: it is, I think, very inferior to his Speech on the Excise Bill; but his elo- 
 quence, on no occasion, seems to have been very powerful. — ^The Speeches of Geo. 
 the II. from the Throne, as far as they are reported in this work, appear to breathe 
 a very liberal spirit.^— How accurately andjustly has Burke appretiated, only in a side- 
 glance (Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs), the merits of Sir Robert Walpole's 
 character and administration ! And what a change has been effected in the relative 
 weight and ascendancy of the Landed and Monied Interests of this country, since the 
 period of that administration! — On what grounds were Pope and Swift the mortal 
 enemies of Walpole ? As the patron of corruption, or the opponent of the House of 
 Stuart? — The Memoirs themselves (which are comprised in the 1st. Vol.) are hea- 
 vily and clumsily written, and the author shuffles backward and forward unpardonably 
 In his narrative, instead of pursuing steadily the stream of time and events ; but they 
 interest, from the interesting period which they treat. The most striking passage, 
 perhaps, in the whole volume, is the last paragraph but one, in which the author 
 accounts for Sir Robert's listlesness, and indifference to all ordinary enjoyments, 
 when retired from public life. — ^The two succeeding volumes, of ponderous bulk, 
 are merely suiiplementary ; containing many very viseful documents, certainly, to 
 whoever should undertake a history of the times to which they relate, but with 
 which one sees no absolute necessity that the purchaser of the Memoirs themselves, 
 should have been oj)pressed. 
 
 SEPT. the 11th. 
 
 Dipped into Bacon's Essays ; gO pregnant with just, original, and sti-iking obser- 
 vations on every topic which is touched, that I cannot select what pleases me most. 
 For reach of thought, variety and extent of view, sheer solid and powerful sense, and
 
 99 
 
 [1998.1 
 
 admirable sagacity, what works of man can be placed in competition willi these won- 
 derful efFiisions. 
 
 Looked into that period of the History of Modern Europe, which closes with the 
 inglorious Peace of Paris, in 1763. How auspiciously did the present reign open, 
 under the transcendant genius of Chatiiam ; and how soon was it gloomed over, 
 under the malignant influence of Bute. There is something in the original force and 
 independence of mind that accompanies true genius, so peculiarly repugnant to the 
 petty intrigues, minute attentions, and frivolous etiquette, which form the business 
 and the pleasure of courts, that it is rarely received in that quarter, I suspect, with 
 cordial good will ; and among other blessings, we are greatly indebted to the popular 
 part of our Constitution, for the ascendancy which pre-eminent talent usually gains 
 in the direction of our national councils. 
 
 SEPT. the 13th. 
 
 Read Brown's Estimate of the Mamiers and Principles of the Times. The 2d, 
 Vol. is merely a supplementary comment on the 1st.; and in that, after allowing us 
 a spirit of liberty, of humanity, and of equity, he maintains, that a vain luxurious 
 and selfish effeminacy, introduced by exorbitant trade and wealth, has sapped our 
 principles of religion honour and public spirit, weakened our national capacity, our 
 national spirit of defence, and our national spirit of union, and left us a helpless prey 
 to foi'eign invasion ; — a condition beyond the reach of cure or palliation, and from 
 which nothing can relieve us, but the regenerative force of dire necessity. — Burke has 
 alluded to this Tract in his 1st. Letter on a Regicide Peace, with a perfect recollect- 
 ion of its spirit and tendency : and he has borrowed from the last section of the 1st. 
 Vol., that refutation of the popular analogy between the body politic and natural, 
 which he first started in his Letter occasioned by the Duke of Norfolk's Speech^ 
 and which he afterwards transplanted into his 1st. Regicide Letter. Brown talks the 
 cant first introduced by Bolingbroke, of an Administration purified from all party 
 attachments :— a thing impossible under our present system of government; and 
 not desirable, could it be obtained. 
 
 SEPT. the 17 tk. 
 
 Looked over " Serious Reflections by a rational Christian, from 1788 to 1797" 
 
 written by the Duke of G . As composed for the private instruction of his 
 
 own Family, they must be serious and sincere : they indeed evince much earnestness :
 
 100 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 but though the opinions may be regarded as bold in themselves, they are offered 
 with all the caution and deference of an old statesman. The noble Author believes 
 in the unity of the God-head ; strongly inclines against the pre-existence of Christ ; 
 rejects the doctrines of original sin and satisfaction ; and considers the object of 
 the Messiah's mission, to be merely the annuntiation to mankind of the glad tidings 
 of immortal life and happiness on the condition of a thorough repentance of our 
 sins. — Had this been simjjly the design of Christianity, nothing could have been 
 easier than thus to have represented it ; — nor any thing more necessary, than to 
 have guarded, in its promulgation, against those perversions to which all religious 
 doctrines are so peculiarly exposed. We have in our hands the original documents 
 of the founders of this religion : do these documents naturally suggest, will they 
 warrant, can they without torture and mutilation be compelled to yield, such an 
 interpretation ? Is it possible to read the Epistles of St. Paul, and believe that these 
 were the doctrines he designed to preach? — Few moral phsenomena more strikingly 
 illustrate the triumph of the inclination over the judgment, on points purely specu- 
 lative, than the faith of those who denominate themselves rational Christians. 
 
 SEPT the 21st. 
 
 Looked over Lord Chesterfield's Character? : all of which are neatly, and some 
 very finely, drawn; — particularly those of Scarborough and Bolingbroke. The flow- 
 ing exuberance of Burke, and the violent exgurgitations of Grattan, in the supplemen- 
 tary notices appended to the character of Chatham, strikingly exemplify the different 
 manners of these two distinguished orators. 
 
 Read Bolingbroke's Letter to Wyndham; — in my opinion, incomparably the 
 ablest of his works. It contains a masterly exposition of his conduct while in connect- 
 ion with the Pretender, undebased by any of his political theories. Nothing can be 
 more free, vigorous, and spontaneously noble, than his style in this piece. 
 
 SEPT. the 23rd. 
 
 Finished the 2d. Vol. of Bolingbroke's Correspondence. He carries wonderfully 
 the private man into his public Despatches, which are the best Letters of business I 
 ever read. — ^Torcy's Letter, dated June 22, 1712, in which he objects to a convoca- 
 tion of the States, for the purpose of ratifying the King of Spain's renuntiation of the 
 Crown of France, as an incompetent and hazardous expedient, is now become 
 interesting.
 
 101 
 [1798.] 
 
 Mr. E. P. called in the evening. He is preparing Remarks on ihe Theory ot 
 Morals, which brought on the discussion of that subject. We differ fundamentally; 
 and could only agree in thinking it very extraordinary, that though there must be 
 some strong disposing cause which determines those who differ most in their the- 
 ories on this subject, exactly to coalesce in their practical conclusions, mankind 
 should still be unsettled as to what that cause is — the knowledge of which would 
 instantly decide the theory ! 
 
 SEPT. the. 15th. 
 
 Finished the Ist. Volume and Part of Du Bos sur la Poesie et Peinture. In the 
 first sections, he derives all pleasure from a previous want of body or mind ; and the 
 pleasure we receive from sympathising with the sufferings or joys of others, but more 
 particularly with the former as the emotion is stronger, from the grand want of 
 the mind — occupation. Poetry and Painting, he maintains, chiefly please, as the 
 representations of objects which would thus have touched our sympathy ; and seri- 
 ous, in a higher degree than comic representations, as they affect us more powerfully, 
 at the same time that they do not leave those durable and painful impressions which 
 the view of actual sufferings occasions. He allows, indeed, a subordinate charm to 
 Painting, merely as it is an imitation ; but no mechanical excellence, he observes, 
 will render a Poem tolerable.— -These doctrines he proceeds in the subsequent secti- 
 ons to apply and illustrate, very ingeniously, but not without some mixture of 
 French frippery. — In the 43rd. section, he maintains, with Johnson, that Drama- 
 tic representation does not delight through delusion ; and in the 44th. he explains 
 the power ascribed to Dramatic Poetry, of purging the passions, as Johnson does, 
 by its setting before our eyes the mischievous consequences of their vicious excess.— 
 In the 45th. he ascribes the power of music, to its imitation, either of the sounds of 
 physical nature, or the tone of the passions : and in the 46th. he derives Italian 
 music (proh pudor!) from France and the Netherlands. 
 
 SEPT. the 18th. 
 
 Finished the 2d. Vol. of Du Bos. In the first section, he defines genius— an ap- 
 titude for any particular employment, determining the possessor to embrace it : and 
 ascribes this aptitude, in the second, to our physical conformation. From the 12th. 
 to the 21st. sections, he endeavours to shew, that certain countries and ages are 
 more favourable to the production of genius than others ; that this arises ratlier from
 
 102 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 physical than moral causes; and that the main physical cause, consists in the tem- 
 perament of the air as influenced by the exhalations of the earth : — a doctrine, 
 which, however absurd, he maintains and defends very ingeniously. — In the 22d. 
 and 23rd. sections he contends, that we do, and that we ought to, judge of the merit 
 of poems and pictures, by sentiment and not by reason — from the impression actually 
 produced, and not from a critical estimate of perfections or defects founded on a re- 
 ference to the rules of art ; that reason may explore the causes why we are or are 
 not pleased, but cannot and ought not to influence our determination, whether 
 we are pleased or not ; and that reason (as he quaintly expresses it) requires we 
 should not reason on such a question, except to justify the previous sentiment. 
 Mankind, he observes, as they advance in life, give less credit to the conclusions of 
 theoretical speculation, and more to the decisions of sentiment and practice. Even 
 on subjects susceptible of mathematical demonstration, such as mechanics, fortifi- 
 cation &c., he shews that mere theory frequently misleads : and that on poetry 
 and painting the judgment of artists is perpetually wrong, as their sensibility is ex- 
 hausted, as they decide by rule and not from immediate impression, and as their 
 whole attention is usually absorbed in some particular department of their art ; while 
 that of the Public, who judge from unperverted feeling, is constantly right. — In the 
 33rd. and 34th. sections, he maintains, in defiance of the philosophy of the present 
 no-e which leads us to suppose ourselves the first rational beings, and, by bringing 
 the experience of the past into contempt, threatens to replunge Europe into barba- 
 
 lisixi that we do not reason better than our ancestors ; that discoveries due, not to 
 
 our speculations, but to time and accident, have enlarged our knowledge of facts, but 
 not our intellects ; and, that though systems of philosophy may rise and perish, the 
 chefs d'oeuvres of poetry and painting which have charmed our forefathers, will con- 
 finue to delight our latest posterity. 
 
 SEPT. the 30th. 
 
 Read Burke's Vindication of Natural Society. Except in parts (as in the opening 
 and ending) I cannot think that this piece has much of Bolingbroke's style and man- 
 ner :— there is, throughout, an air of constraint, most abhorrent in its nature, to 
 the bold and rapid flow of Bolingbroke's declamation. — Burke certainly began and 
 ended his labours in the same cause. 
 
 Finished the perusal of St. Matthew's Gospel in Griesbach's Edition of the New 
 Testament.— Christ's strange temptation in the wilderness (c. 4.) has all the insulated 
 air of an interpolation: its texture is peculiar to itself, and it coheres with the main
 
 103 
 
 [1708.] 
 
 narrative at neither extremity. — One cannot be surprised that the people were pow- 
 erfully struck, with the Discourse from the Mount (c. 5, 6, 7.): — it is still surpassingly 
 impressive: what must it have been at the time it wasdehvered! — Matthew evident- 
 ly applies the passage from Esaias " He took, our infirmities, and bare our sick- 
 nesses" (c. 8., V. 17.), not to Christ's vicarious suiferings, but his miraculous cures: 
 — and he is usually astute enough in spying out the completion of a prophecy. — 
 Surely the Destruction of the Temple and the Day of Judgment — events rather dif- 
 fering in tlid degree of their importance — are strangely confounded in the prophetic 
 denuntiations (c. 24.), as this Evangelist reports them. — I have ventured, in this 
 review, to consider the Gospels, however sacred the subject which they treat, as 
 mere human compositions; they pretend to nothing more; and with such perplex- 
 ing difficulties is the hypothesis of their inspiration clogged, that I suppose nobody, 
 at this time of day, regards them in any other light. — The various readings, collected 
 with such diligence by Griesbach, however numerous, are fewer than \\.e should ex- 
 pect to find in writings so frequently transcribed and reprinted ; and tliey rarely, if 
 ever, aftect the sense in any important particular. 
 
 OCTOBER the 3rcL 
 
 Finished a cursory perusal of Johnson's Lives of the Poels, with a view to the 
 principles on which his critical decisions are founded. — Under Cowley, he defines 
 genius, " a mind of large general powers, accidentally determined to some par- 
 ticular direction:" and wit, " a combination of dissimilar images; or discovery 
 of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike." The object of the poets of 
 the metaphysical race, he states to be, to excite surprise, and not delight ; and to 
 exercise the understanding, not to move the affections. — In his remarks on 
 Milton, he defines Poetry, " the art of uniting pleasure with trutli, by calling 
 imagination to the help ot reason." Epic Poetry, he says, '•' undertakes to teach 
 the most important truths by the most pleasing precepts, and therefore relates 
 some great event in the most affecting manner." In treating of the Paradise Lost, 
 he considers 1st, the Moral, 2dly, the Fable, 3dly, the Characters, 4thly., the Pro- 
 bable and Marvellous, 5 thly, the Machinery, 6thly, the Integrity or Unity, 7thly, 
 the Sentiments, 8thly, the Images, Qthly, the Similies, lOthly, the Diction, and 
 11 thly., the Versification. Here was an inviting opportunity to open the fountains 
 of criticism ; but it is unhappily passed over: the end of Poetry, he observes indeed, 
 is pleasure; but in what that pleasure consists, from whence it is derived, and by 
 what eternal and immutable laws its communication is restricted, he is absolutely
 
 104 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 silent. — Of Dryden, he remarks, that he seems unacquainted with the human pas- 
 sions in their pure and elemental state ; and, on this account, is rarely pathetic. — To 
 Pope he gives, " in proportions very nicely adjusted, all the qualities that constitute 
 genius — Invention, Imagination, and Judgment:" and to Thomson, " that poeti- 
 cal eye, which distinguishes, in every thing presented to its view, whatever there is 
 on which imagination delights to be detained."-— Of Akenside's Pleasures of the Ima- 
 gination, he observes, that the subject includes all images that can strike or please, 
 and' thus comprises every species of poetical delight. — ^These are slender gleanings : 
 yet I cannot discover that Johnson has farther unfolded his principles of criticism. 
 He had probably digested them into no very exact scheme in his own mind ; but 
 trusted, to what he knew would rarely fail him — his immediate sagacity whenever an 
 occasion for critical exertion occurred. 
 
 OCT, the 4th. 
 
 Examined, with a view to these principles, Addison's Eleven Papers in the Spec- 
 tator; beginning at No. 400., and, with the omission of the 410th., ending with 
 the 421st. In the first and preparatory Paper, he defines Taste, " that faculty of 
 the soul, which discerns the beauties of an author with pleasure, and his imperfect- 
 ions with dislike." He then proceeds to consider at large the Pleasures of Imagi- 
 nation ; which he restricts to those originally derived from Sight ; and derives from 
 the three sources of Grandeur, Novelty, and Beauty. The proximate cause of the 
 pleasures thus derived, he passes over as undiscoverable : but the Jinal cause, of 
 Grandeur, he assigns to the promotion of piety ; of Novelty, to the acquisition of 
 knowledge; and of Beauty, to the propagation of the species. — The primary plea- 
 sures of the imagination, he considers as those which arise immediately from the 
 object itself; the secondary, from its representation. — ^Representations, such as 
 statuary, painting, description, &c. delight, he observes, not merely as they suggest 
 pleasing realities, but, independently of this, simply as they are imitations — from a 
 comparison of the copy with the original. The proximate cause of this pleasure, 
 he holds it impossible to discover ; but regards its final cause to be, the quickening 
 and encouraging our searches after truth. — Representations, he afterwards remarks, 
 delight, too, when they excite the passions of pity and terror, by suggesting the 
 consideration of our own security and happiness ; whereas the reality, in such a case, 
 would affect us too strongly to admit of such a reflection. — The Pleasures of Imagi- 
 nation, thus reviewed, he places between those of the Sense and of the Understand- 
 ing ; — less gross than the former, and less refined than the latter. — Addison expressly
 
 10 J 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 calls his undertaking entirely new; and by appending a Table of Contents, he, no 
 doubt, thought it important. It was unquestionably a verj' vigorous advance towards 
 4 philosophical consideration of this interesting and engaging topic. 
 
 OCT. the 6th. 
 
 Read Burke's Disquisition on Taste prefixed to his Sublime and Beautiful. He 
 Seems to consider the object of Reason, to be Truth and Falsehood; and of Taste, 
 Sentiment ; but without drawing a determined line between their respective pro- 
 vinces : and his object is to prove, that the standard of both is the same in all human 
 creatures. Taste, he defines " that faculty or those faculties in the mind, which 
 are affected with, or which form a judgment of, the works of imagination and the 
 elegant arts." He first examines the natural pleasures of Sense ; which he shews 
 to be the same in all, and that our acquired relishes are distinguishable from them 
 to the last. He next considers the pleasures of Imagination. These, so far as 
 that faculty is concerned in representing the objects of Sense, must, like those of 
 Sense, be common to all. But in works of the Imagination, a new pleasure is 
 derived from discerning the resemblance which the imitation bears to the original : 
 this pleasure must of course depend on a knowledge of the object represented ; but, 
 where this knowledge is the same, seems nearly the same in all. In exercising our 
 Taste on the objects of sense, or the representations of these objects, or the repre- 
 sentations of the passions, which, acting, and acting upon certain principles, on all, 
 leave a standard in every breast, little more than the sensibility seems concerned, 
 which may be assumed to diflfer only in degree : but where the representation em- 
 braces the character, manners, actions, and designs of men, their relations, their 
 virtues and vices, here, he thinks, attention and reasoning are required, and Taste 
 becomes no other than a refined judgment, differing as judgments differ. Taste is 
 thus composed of sensibility and judgment: from a defect of sensibility, arises a want 
 of Taste ; and from a defect of judgment, a wrong or bad Taste. — I am not sure 
 that I have represented his ideas very exactly; indeed they do not seem, especially 
 with regard to a leading point I have in view, verj' distinctly enuntiated: as far 
 however as I am qualified to form an opinion, it appears to me, that in attempting 
 to withdraw a certain class of objects from the proper jurisdiction of Taste, and to 
 place them under that of the Judgment, he yields at last, after an earnest of better 
 things, to a delusion which has misled, in a still greater degree, most writers who 
 have treated the same subject. That an exercise of the Judgment is often necessary 
 to putjus m possession (if I may be allowed to say so) of the case on which the Taste 
 
 P
 
 106 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 is to be exerted, admits of no dispute. Mr. Burke had before observed, that whei'e 
 the subject submitted to our Taste is the imitation of any natural object, a compe- 
 tent knowledge of the original, is necessary to determine the justness of the copy ; — 
 and, I would add, a competent acquaintance with other imitations in the same way, 
 to ascertain its comparative excellence, and to form a complete decision on its merits: 
 intelligence of a higher order and more difficult acquirement, no doubt, is necessary 
 to enable us to judge of the truth and accuracy of any representation of the human 
 character, modified by its manners, its habits, its passions, its virtues and its vices: 
 but in neither case, surely, should this information, or the capacity to gain it, though 
 indispensable as preliminary qualifications for the exercise of Taste, be confounded 
 with that faculty itself; — incorporated with it as an integrant part, or (still less) 
 allowed to supersede it altogether. By Taste we emphatically mean, a quick and just 
 perception of beauty and deformity in tlie works of nature or of art ; and it is only 
 by making it a distinct subject of consideration in this character, and separating from 
 it those talents and attainments, which however requisite to enlarge the sphere of its 
 action, are at least equally subservient to other and totally different purposes in our 
 moral oeconomy, that we can reasonably expect to obtain a clear and just conception 
 of this peculiar part of our constitution, and of the laws which regulate its exercise. 
 
 OCT. the. 8th. 
 
 Read the Ist., 2d., and 3rd. Parts of Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful. In the 
 1st., he considers Novdty as the object of our first and simplest passion— curiosity : 
 and, next to Novelty, and the sources of all our other passions, he places Pain and 
 Pleasure. Pain and Pleasure he regards as totally independent of each other ; and 
 he carefully distinguishes the delight consequent on a cessation of pain, and which 
 Is always accompanied with a certain horror, from positive /j/ea^Mre; and the uneasi- 
 ness consequent on the cessation of pleasure, which is always accompanied with an 
 attractive sensation, from positive pain. Our sensations of pain are stronger than 
 those of pleasure ; and of course the passions which turn on pain, will be stronger 
 than those that turn on pleasure. Our passions he divides, from tlieir destination, 
 into those which conduce to self-preservation, and those which conduce to society. 
 Those which belong to self-preservation, turn on pain and danger ; — passions which 
 are simply disagreeable when their causes immediately affect us, but which become 
 delightful when we have an idea of pain or danger without being actually in such 
 circumstances: — whatever excites this c/e//^/i^, is Sublime. Those which concern 
 society, whether of the sex, or society at large, turn on pleasure : the jiassion ex-
 
 107 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 cited, is love, or a sense of tenderness and affection ; and the quality which decides 
 our preference and excites this passion, is Beauty. — Having thus determined the 
 distinguishing character ©f the Sublime and the Beautiful, by ascertaining the differ- 
 ent species of emotion which they produce in the mind, he proceeds, in the two 
 succeeding Parts, to point out the peculiar properties in objects by which these dif- 
 ferent erfiotions are excited : in neither instance does he confine himself, with Addi- 
 son, to the Sight, but runs through all the senses: and he concludes with enforcing, 
 as a fundamental and unalterable distinction between the two species of affection and 
 their causes, that the one is founded in pleasure and the other in pain. 
 
 Burke powerfully exposes, on various occasions, the error to which we are prone, 
 of ascribing feelings and affections which result from the mechanical structure of our 
 bodies, to conclusions of our reason on the objects presented to- us — of deducing 
 beauty, for instance, from proportion or fitness, qualities with which it may be ac- 
 companied, but which are ill themselves mere objects of the understanding, and touch 
 neither the imagination nor the passions ; yet he condemns (P. 3, c. 11) the opposite 
 fault in morals, the deducing moral distinction from feeling, (instancing, it is true, only 
 the application of beauty to virtue, but in spirit going as far as I have stated) , as a prac- 
 tice which tends to remove the science of our duties fi-om their proper basis — our 
 reason, our relations, and our necessities, to rest it upon foundations altogether 
 visionary and unsubstantial. There is here a similar inconsistency to that which I 
 remarked, the evening before last, in the same Author, on the extent of the pro- 
 vince of Taste ; and arising, like tliat, from a partial view of the subject. The same 
 reasoning surely is applicable in both cases-^to the origin of Moral Distinction, as 
 well as the distinctions of Taste. — Whenever we are prompted to distinguish between 
 objects, in consequence of the different impressions which they make on our sensi- 
 bility, we must search for the cause of this distinction, in some quality or relation of 
 those objects adapted to produce that particular species of eftect ; and must never 
 rest satisfied with the discovery of any correspondent mark of discrimination (how- 
 ever exactly it may coincide with the division we have in view) that is not expressly 
 competent to such a result. Distinctions in matters of Taste, and Moral Distinc- 
 tions, are both precisely of this description. We do not discriminate beauty from 
 deformity, or virtue from vice, as we do a squai^e from a triangle, blue from red, 
 heavy from light, or dense from rare, — by certain manifest differences in the objects 
 themselves, with respect to which the mind stands absolutel}' neutral and indifferent : 
 we are attracted with delight or repelled by disgust, in the first case ; we glow v\ ith 
 applauding rapture or throb with indignant anguish, in the other ; and it is because 
 we are thus affected, and (as the various and inconsistent hypotheses vvhich have been
 
 108 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 offered to account for these feelings incontestibly evince) solely because we are thus 
 affected that we are determined to make the received distinctions we do, in the ob- 
 jects by which we have been thus differently impressed. Tliere is no pretence for se- 
 paratino- Moral distinction from the distinctions of Taste, in this particular: they stand 
 exactly on the same ground; and precisely the same fallacy misleads our speculations 
 in both cases. In either instance we are prompted to make a distinction between ob- 
 jects in consequence of their different action on our sensibility : this distinction, by 
 the frequent recurrence of such an impression, becomes habitually established and re- 
 cognized in our thoughts and communications as a fixed and permanent difference in 
 the objects themselves ; but the impression out of which it arises, is by no means of 
 this permanent and immutable nature : it is only when the mind is excited by tlie 
 immediate presence and action of some interesting case, that it is vividly felt ; in mo- 
 ments of calmness its influence is slight and feeble; and the bare attempt to submit 
 the subject to the rigours of philosophical analysis, puts it to flight altogether. Thus 
 circumstanced, the speculative enquirer, whose great aim it will of course be, to as- 
 sign some hypothesis which furnishes a clear and ready criterion of the distinction he 
 undertakes to resolve, instead of resorting for this purpose to any thing so fluctu- 
 ating and evanescent as the feeling out of which it arises, or the exciting cause of 
 such a fugitive effect, will naturally turn his attention to the permanent and distin- 
 guishing properties and relations of the objects in which it obtains ; and should he be 
 so fortunate as to find, among these, any one which pretty nearly coincides with the 
 received division of whose explanation he is in quest, he will eagerly adopt it as the so- 
 lution sought, and will readily be followed by many to whom the discover)' will carry 
 all the marks of plausibility and truth. If this be the specious but false track which 
 speculation is likely to take in exploring the principles of Taste, it is that into which 
 it is still more likely to be seduced in investigating the principles of Morality ; where, 
 from the deep and general importance of the subject, it will appear a still more incum- 
 bent duty, to ascertain some clear and broad distinction in the nature of things, cor- 
 respondent to that which our moral sentiments suggest: and we find accordingly that 
 the delusion in question has prevailed in a still greater degree on this subject than the 
 other ; and that Mr. Burke, \\ho has rejected and exposed it in the former instance, still 
 retains and defends it in the latter. But surely the least reflection must satisfy us, that 
 moral distinction can be nothing but what has ever been felt and recognized as such 
 in the general sentiments and conduct of mankind ; that it is a distinction, not of rea- 
 son, convincing the understanding and determining merely the belief, but of feeling, 
 touching the passions and influencing the will ; that its efficient cause, therefore, 
 must not be sought in any properties or relations of objects possessing no power over
 
 109 
 
 [1708.] 
 
 the aflections, noi- even in any unobvious qualities which do ; and, that though in a 
 system constructed bv one supreme Disposer, and of which all the parts will of course 
 bear a correspondence to each other, divisions of objects coinciding with that which 
 our moral sentiments suggest, may no doubt be derived from other sources, some 
 of wiiich, as their congruity or incongruity with truth and the fitness of things, may 
 imprint the distinction itself more forcibly and deeply on the mind, and others, as 
 their conducement or repugnance to the general good, and their conformity or oppo- 
 sition to the divine will, may furnish additional incentives to its observance — still, that 
 moral distinction, as it springs up in the hearts of men, must be explored, and can 
 alone be found, where Mr. Burke has so successfully investigated the principles of 
 Taste — in the immediate action of the objects to which it refers, on our sensibility. 
 It is here accordingly that Adam Smith, in his Theory of the Moral Sentiments, has 
 directed his enquiries : — and the more I meditate on hi% hypothesis, and compare it 
 with others, the more satisfied I am that the solution he has offered is the true one. 
 
 OCT. the gth. 
 
 Read the 4th. Part of Burke's Sublime and Beautiful — on the efficient causes of the 
 affections excited by these qualities : in which he endeavours to make out. That 
 whatever produces a similar mechanical effect upon the body, though arising from 
 different causes, and though in one instance the mind affects the body and in another 
 external matter, still the effect produced by the body on the mind will be similar; That 
 thus pain and fear, the primary engines of the Sublime, produce a violent tension of 
 the nerves, and that whatever produces this tension, though not in itself terrible, will 
 operate as Sublime ; and, That Love, in like manner, relaxes the nerves, and whatever 
 effects such a relaxation will operate as Beauty. The delight produced by the Sublime, 
 he accounts for, on the principle of its occasioning a tension, and affording an ex- 
 ercise necessary to brace and strengthen the finer organs ; thus qualifying them to- 
 perform their functions properly, and obviating the convulsions consequent on over- 
 relaxation. — I am afraid much of this is merely visionary. 
 
 OCT. the lOth. 
 
 Read the 5th. and last Part of Burke's Sublime and Beautiful ; on the effect of 
 Words. He divides words into, 1st., aggregate, representing several simple ideas 
 united by nature ; 'idly., simple abstract, representing one simple idea of this com- 
 bination ; and 3rdly., compound abstract, representing an arbitrary union of these. 
 The effects of words, he divides into, 1st., the sound, idly., the image exhibited, and
 
 no 
 
 [1798-1 
 
 3rdly., the affection of mind produced by either of tliese. He then maintains, that 
 aggregate, and simple abstract, words, do only occasionally, and then usually by a 
 particular effort, produce the second of these effects ; that compound abstract words 
 never produce this effect ; and that poetry and rhetoric principally affect, not by 
 exhibiting to the mind any distinct images, but by exciting immediately those feel- 
 ings with which the words employed on the occasion have by habit been associated 
 in our minds.— This is very ingenious, and I believe original. 
 
 OCT, the \]th. 
 
 Looked through Aristotle's Poetics. He derives Poetry from a natural love in 
 man of imitating and beholding imitations. Like most of the antient philosophers, 
 he wastes himself in subtle distinctions on the surface of the art, instead of exploring 
 the foundation of its laws in the constitution of things and of the human mind ; yet 
 lie gives the elements of most of the rules of criticism which obtain at the present 
 day. His definition of a conjunction and an article (chapter 20) seems pretty nearly 
 to coalesce with Harris's ; and Tooke might have sprung, at once, on the nobler 
 game of Aristotle. 
 
 OCT. the 14th. 
 
 Finished the 4th. Vol. of Bolingbroke's Correspondence while Secretary to Queen 
 Anne. I can discover in this work no traces of his adherence to the cause of the Pre- 
 tender, though strong traits of his dislike to the House of Hanover. How noble is 
 his style, how masterly his manner, and how felicitously turned are his compliments 
 and his rebukes ! He transmutes whatever he touches, however base, to gold. 
 
 Finished the life of the Empress of Russia. Catharine's Proclamation on the Death 
 of Peter the IIL, in my opinion convicts her of his murder. — The last gorgeous fete 
 of Prince Potemkin, in which all the elaborate contrivances of European refine- 
 ment administered to the magnificent profusion of Oriental luxury, contrasted with 
 the gloomy despondency and forebodings of its donor, is at once affecting and in- 
 structive! 
 
 Read Burke's Short Account of a Late Administration ; a clear, calm, well-digest- 
 ed and dexterovis memorial ;— a perfect model for compositions of this nature : — and, 
 afterwards, his Observations on a Late state of the Nation ; in which we see, in the 
 germ, many of tliose principles which he afterwards more fully unfolded in his politi- 
 cal career. One observation in the latter piece, particularly shews the depth of his
 
 Ill 
 
 [1798-1 
 
 reflection and the extent of his views : — " Politics ought to be adjusted, noi to hu- 
 man, reasonings, but human nature; of which the reason is but a part, and by no 
 means the greatest part." The account of the mode and the consequences of a de- 
 reliction of party and principle, towards the rlo.«c of this piece, is exquisitely given, 
 and evinces a deep insight into human nature.— It is curious, that the main part of 
 Burke's first, and of his last, political labour, should have been an exposition and 
 defence of the resources of his country, against the croakings of despondencv. 
 
 OCT. the 17th. 
 
 Read Burke's Thoughts on the Present Discontents. He here assumes his pro- 
 per and peculiar tone ; and winding gracefully into his subject, opens the political 
 grievances of the times with his characteristic plenitude of thought and vigour of ex- 
 position. It is usual with party writers, in the vehemence of their zeal and contract- 
 ion of their views, to urge arguments, which, if a different course of conduct is 
 required by any turn of affairs, must inevitably involve them in the charge of in- 
 consistency : in this piece of Burke's, on the contrary, are registered, as if by u 
 prophetic forecast, the rudiments of many of those principles which he has expanded 
 and enforced in his latter productions ; but which, at the time, must have appeared 
 superfluously cautionary ; and gave rise, probably, to those imputations of Jesuitism, 
 with which, from my earliest remembrance, he was calumniated by his enemies, with- 
 out much strenuous opposition from the zealots of his bwn party. He was never 
 relished, I believe, — he was never formed to be relished, — as a party man. 
 
 OCT. the IQth. 
 
 Read the first four Books of Montesquieu's Esprit des Loix. He makes thd 
 national characteristic requisite to the due support of a democratic government, Vir- 
 tue; of a Monarchical, Honour; of Despotism, Fear: and evidently inclines to the 
 popular side. There is an affectation of sententious smartness in his manner, very 
 offensive to my taste. 
 
 Read Burke's Speech on American Taxation (1770) ; which from the beginning to 
 the end, is strictly argumentative. He takes the subject up entirely as a question of 
 expediency — Whether we should be content to derive advantage from our colonics 
 through the old oeconomy of commercial regulation, under which both parties had 
 flourished; or persist in the new, and at the same time, odious and unprofitable scheme 
 of drawing a direct revenue from them, began in the Grenvllle Administration by the
 
 112 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 Stamp Act of 1764, and revived, in the shape of duties, after its abolition by the 
 Rockingham Administration in 1 7 66. This masterly address, must, in its form at 
 least, have been extemporary, as it takes the shape of a reply. — In his subsequent 
 Speech, on Conciliation with America, he occupies pretty nearly the same ground, 
 putting entirely aside the discussion of right : " The question with me, is," says he, 
 " not what a lawyer tells me / may do, but what humanity, reason, and justice tell 
 me / ought to do : not whether the spirit in America deserves praise or blame, but 
 what we shall do \vith it." How strangely has Burke's conduct respecting America 
 been misconceived, to be charged upon him as an inconsistency ! — So far from his 
 appearing ever to have been inclined to popular courses, in an election speech at 
 Bristol, in 1780, he actually goes out of his way to combat the doctrine oi instruct- 
 ing representatives. 
 
 OCT. the lAth. 
 
 Read the lllh. and l'2th. Books of Montesquieu's Esprit des Loix: — on Politi- 
 cal Liberty ; which he places, in the assured power of doing whatever the laws do not 
 prohibit. Liberty, as it respects the constitution, he makes to depend on the pro- 
 per distribution of the legislative, executive, and judicial powers; and, as it respects 
 the individual citizen, on the favourableness of the laws to personal security. His 
 ideas on the subject do not appear to me to have been very clear ; and he has the weak- 
 ness to say, (c. 6, L. 1 1 ) " Comme dans un etat libre tout homme qui est cense avoir 
 une ame libre, doit etre gouverne par lui-meme, il faudroit que le peuple en corps eut la 
 puissance legislative :" as if all government, let it be placed where it may, was not, 
 in its essence, a restraint on individual will ; and the idea of the people's governing 
 themselves, in the sense meant to be conveyed b}- it, and which has deluded multi- 
 tudes, sheer nonsense, shrouded only in the generality of the terms. It is in this 
 chapter that Montesquieu gives his elaborate and eulogistic description of the Bri- 
 tish Constitution ; of which, however, he only sees the surface. 
 
 Read Burke's Letter to the Sherifl's of Bristol ; in which he combats the decision 
 of political questions on metaphysical and abstract principles then (1777) coming into 
 vogue, and the specious cant of imputing corruption to all political parties' — a weed 
 of congenial growth, — with the spirit, and almost in the terms, of his latter pro- 
 ductions. His two subsequent Letters to Gentlemen in Bristol, in defence of an 
 impopular concurrence on his part in the repeal of some restrictive Laws on Irish 
 Trade, strikingly evince the liberality and extent, and at the same time the minute
 
 113 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 exactness, of his views on commercial subjects; nor can any thing exceed the easy 
 and happy mode in which his arguments are brought liome to the feelings and un- 
 derstandings of his mercantile constituents, 
 
 OCT. the 2jlh. 
 
 Read Burke's Speech on CEconomical Reform. This is, I think, the most mag- 
 nificent of Burke's performances ; and studiously of that character. It displays a 
 mind most thoroughly purified from all part}' passions and party views ; tender to 
 persona! interests, even where they interfere with national concerns ; and, though 
 ardently engaged in reform, most carefully guarded against the intemperate pursuit 
 of it. It was on this Speech, I believe, somebody observed of Burke, that he seem- 
 ed equally prepared to regenerate empires, or compose a Red Book. 
 
 Pursued Montesquieu's Esprit des Loix. — In the last chapter of the IQlh. Book 
 is an elaborate portrait of the British genius and character, most flattering from a 
 foreigner and a Frenchman. — In the 6th. chapter of the 20th. Book, it is observed 
 of us, that we regulate our commerce by internal laws, and not by treaties ; and 
 make our politics subservient to our commerce, and not, as other nations, our 
 commerce to our politics. This, I think, is just. 
 
 OCT. the IQth, 
 
 Pursued Burke's Works. His Address to the Electors at Bristol, previous to the 
 election in 1780, I have always regarded as the most perfect of all his efi:usions ; nor 
 is it, perhaps, to be equalled by any composition of the same length in the English 
 language. — -His Speech on Fox's East India Bill, has something of an air of pompo- 
 sity ; owing, perhaps, to his necessary conversance at the time with Oriental topics : 
 - — it wields, it must be acknowledged, most ponderous interests. — ^The Represen- 
 tation on a Speech from the Throne, moved June 14th., 1784, strikes me as the hea- 
 viest, and the most tinctured with a party spirit, of any of his productions : — not that 
 it does not contain a very just and weighty censure of the means, through court in- 
 trigue and popular delusion, by which the present Administration came into power. 
 
 OCT. the 30th. 
 
 Looked into Mitford's History of Greece. The Athenian Democracy imparts 
 no sort of relish for that sort of government, and justifies Aristotle in saying, 
 
 Q
 
 114 
 
 U798.] 
 
 'H Ari^OK^oiTioe, '»j 7iKiv]u~os. Tv^oiwlg 5f<-;— and of the worst sort, we may add.— 
 The acxx)unt of the expedition and retreat of the 10,000, is above measure in- 
 teresting. How more than men, do the Greeks appear, compared with the effemi- 
 nate and pusillanimous Persians! one can hardly believe them of the same species! 
 Finished St. Mark's Gospel. Disdaining to conciliate where he undertakes to in- 
 form, this Evangelist appears to have made a brief collection of the most remarkable 
 deeds and sayings of Christ ; which, for the want of a more continued narrative to 
 introduce and support them, must present a front " un peu herisse de mervetlles", I 
 should suppose, to a mind not previously prepared to receive them with requisite sub- 
 mission. — A feature of our Lord's conduct particularly enforced in this Gospel, is the 
 sedulity with which he shunned the obtrusive throng which his doctrines and his mi- 
 racles gathered round him ; and in perfect conformity with this reserve, are the re- 
 peated injunctions of secrecy he is stated to have delivered, respecting the wonders he 
 performed; but was it possible to suppose that gratitude could be silent, or admira- 
 tion dumb, at such benevolent and astonishing displays of supernatural power? and 
 would not the strict observance of these commands have defeated, in a great measure, 
 the veiy purpose for which such manifestations of divine authority were exhibited, 
 not only by limiting their immediate effect, while the prohibition lasted, but by fur- 
 nishing groimds for suspecting their authenticity, when it was removed? 
 
 NOVEMBER the gth. 
 
 Finished Montesquieu's Esprit des Loix. In chap. 15, Book 20, he maintains, 
 that the proposition " Que le bien particulier doit ceder au bien public," is true 
 with respect to the liberty, though false with respect to the property, of a citizen ; 
 but assigns no satisfactory reason for this distinction, nor am I able to discern one. 
 An ambition to appear profound and sagacious by an air of dogmatism and reserve, 
 is one of Montesquieu's predominant foibles. 
 
 Read Paley's Horre Paulina?. ' His object is, to prove the genuineness of the Acts 
 of the Apostles considered as Memoirs of St. Paul, and of St. Paul's Epistles. His 
 method is this: if there is fabrication in the case, either the Memoirs are composed 
 from the Letters, or the Letters are forged from and adapted to the Memoirs, or 
 both the Memoirs and Letters are constructed out of traditional facts. On the first 
 supposition, the intention ma?/ be honest ; in the two others, it must be fraudulent : 
 but in all three, the coincidencics betv^een the Letters and the Memoirs inust be the 
 effect oi' design; confessed in the first instance and apparent; and traceable in the 
 last, since no less effort is necessary to produce coincidence between ditierent parts
 
 113 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 of a man's own compositions, whether founded on tradition or fiction — (especially 
 wlien they are made to assume the different shapes of Histoiyand original Letters), 
 — than is required to adjust them to circumstances found in any other writing. He 
 proceeds accordingly, with infinite acuteness and ingenuity, to produce most striking 
 instances of undesigned coincidence in the documents in question. — Many of his 
 sentiments and expressions are eminently happy: as when he says. No. 11, c, 4, 
 " that a thread of truth winds through the whole, which preserves every circum- 
 stance in its place:" and No. 2, c. 5, " it is improbable that accident or fiction 
 should draw a line which touched upon truth in so many points:" and No. I, c. 14, 
 " it is like comparing the two parts of a cloven tally ; coincidence proves the authen- 
 ticity of both." — I cannot think that St. Paul unequivocally asserts his performance 
 of miracles in the passages quoted to establish that point. 
 
 NOP^. the 14tk. 
 
 Read Burke's Reflections. They appear to me, on this review, f;;r more tem- 
 perate, than from my recollection of the first impressions they made, I expected to 
 find them ; and I really believe, had their publication been deferred till near the pre- 
 sent period, they would have excited little of that amazement and indignation with 
 which they were at first received. However overcharged his representations might 
 appear at the time, subsequent events have lowered them to truth and moderation. — 
 His exposition of the character of our Revolution, is surely most sound and just. — 
 He kindles much more fiercely, and speaks more imreservedly in his subsequent 
 Letter to a Member of the National Assembly. — Paine has been guilty of a gross 
 misrepresentation of a passage in the Reflections, which I have never seen detected 
 and exposed. Ridiculing the love of liberty in the abstract, Burke observes, that 
 government, too, as well as liberty, abstractedly speaking, is good; " yet could I", 
 he indignantly asks (p. 8), " in common sense, ten years ago, have felicitated France 
 on her enjoyment of a government, without enquiry what the nature of that govern- 
 mient was, or how it was administered?" This sentence Mr. Paine (Rights of Man, 
 P. 1, p. 23), quotes as an a^r?na</j;e proposition, directly in the contrary sense to 
 that in which it is urged ; and proceeds, after his fasliion, to load his opponent 
 with abuse, for maintaining so slavish a doctrine! It demands some degree of cha- 
 rity to believe that such a blunder was merely accidental. — In this passage, Mr. 
 Burke has been scandalously misrepresented : in another, he has been generally mis- 
 understood. It has been imputed to him, that he has spoken contemptuously (p. 
 1 17) of the lower orders, as a " swinish multitude." But of wliat multitude was he
 
 IIG 
 [1708.] 
 
 speaking? Of a people let loose from all restraint of government and manners — a collec- 
 tion, as he presently afterwards describes them, of " gross, stupid, ferocious, and at the 
 same time, poor and sordid barbarians, destitute of religion, honour, and manly pride, 
 possessing nothing at present, and hoping for nothing hereafter." Had he madden- 
 ed his herd of swine with a legion of daemons, as emblematical of the savage passions 
 with which such a miserable assemblage would be torn and distracted and agitated 
 to perdition, his image could hardly have been regarded as too strong. 
 
 Looked over Rennell's Memoirs of his Mapof Hindoostan. The secluded Valley of 
 Cashmere, forming, between the parallels of 34 and 35, an oval hollow 80 miles by 
 50 ; blooming with perennial Spring, refreshed with cascades and streams and lakes, 
 and encircled with mountainous ridges towering into the regions of eternal snow, 
 was perhaps Johnson's prototype for the Happy Valley of Amhai-a in Rasselas. — 
 Rennell allows 1 mile in 1 1 , for the winding of roads in England, in distances of 
 about 100 miles; and in great distances, as from London to Edinburgh, l in 7 : 
 in Hindoostan he allows 1 in 8, for distances of 100 miles, and 1 in 7, for greater: 
 in the Camatic he allows 1 in Q, for 100 miles. 
 
 NOP', the 25th. 
 
 Read the first five chapters of Reid's Enquiry into the Human Mind : in which 
 he examines the senses of Smell, Taste, Hearing, and Touch ; and contends, that 
 the sensations received through each of these senses, suggest to us, as natural signs, 
 besides the conception and belief of a sentient mind to which they belong, the con- 
 ception and belief of certain qualities in bodies, if known, denominated primary, if 
 unknown, secondary; between which, and the sensations suggesting them, there is 
 no more similitude, than between pain and the point of a sword. It is to the con- 
 founding these sensations viith the objects they suggest, and regarding the former as 
 images and representations of the latter, that he ascribes the rise and progress of a 
 philosophy, originating with Des Cartes and perfected by Hume, which, inferring 
 that nothing can be like sensations but sensations, expunges every thing besides fi-om 
 the world of being. The sensation itself, he regards as the immediate oh]ect o( memo- 
 ry, as well as of .yenie ; but, in the former case, suggesting pa*;, and, in the latter, 
 present existence : and also of imagination, but, in this case, unconnected with 
 any belief of existence past or present. 
 
 NOF. the l6th. 
 
 Read the 6th. and 7th. (the two last) chapters of Reid's Enquiry: in which he 
 follows up the same distinction with respect to Sight, as the other senses ; and main-
 
 117 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 tains, that the smsalion of colour, which perpetually varies with light, shade, dis- 
 tance, &c,, suggests an unknown quality in objects called colour, which never varies : 
 and that visible figure is suggested by the impression of light upon the retina, without 
 any sensation ; which visible figure becomes in time an acquired sign of the tangible 
 figure of bodies, and is perpetually confounded with it, though, as he very ingeni- 
 ously evinces in his geometry of visibles, they substantially ditter from each other. 
 He thus endeavours to draw a line, and enforce a distinction, between Sensation and 
 Perception. The Old Peripatetic Philosophy, regarding principally the external 
 qualities of objects, of which we have perceptions, concluded that the sensations in 
 our minds were the images of these qualities : Modern Philosophy, regarding principally 
 the affections and operations of our own minds, and presuming that the sensations 
 there must resemble the objects they represent, concluded, that, as a sensation can 
 resemble nothing but a sensation, no such objects could exist. — In opposition to this 
 Philosophy, which derives all our judgments and beliefs from reasoning — fi-om com- 
 paring the ideas transmitted by our senses, he contends, that our senses produce 
 judgment and belief, not merely simple apprehension ; that there are other original 
 principles of belief — such as confidence in testimony, which, far from being pro- 
 duced, is limited and restrained by reason and experience ; and that these original 
 judgments make up the Common Sense of mankind. — He writes more philoso- 
 phically and penetrates far deeper than Beattie, whom he notwithstanding preceded 
 in this career ; and the important distinction he labours to establish and enforce, be- 
 tween Sensation, which can §xist only in the mind, and the External Quality indi- 
 cated by that sensation, which can only exist out of it, seems very happily adapted to 
 reconcile the invincible arguments of the Immaterialists with the irresistible dictates 
 of instinct. Where I feel the greatest difficulty in admitting his doctrine on this 
 subject, is with respect to Colour ; which is so little felt as a sensation in the oro-an 
 of sight, and is so distinctly referred and definitely applied to external objects as the 
 universal integument of visible nature, that it demands a violent effort not to regard 
 it as equally external with the objects which it apparently invests. 
 
 DECEMBER the ibth. 
 
 Read the Introduction to Berkeley's Principles of Human Knowledge, in which he 
 really seems to be serious and in earnest. He laments the difficulties and doubts 
 which perplex Philosophy, and attacks, as the fruitful source of them all, the doc- 
 trine of abstract ideas : maintaining, that we cannot conceive separately, qualities 
 which cannot separately exist; and tracing the opposite delusion to language, in
 
 118 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 which the frequent occurrence of general terms, has led to the supposition, thai we 
 
 must necessarily have determinate ideas answerable to those terms, or, in other 
 words, abstract ideas : whereas he shews, that words do by no means always com- 
 municate determinate ideas, nor are intended to do so ; that they frequently operate 
 merely as oeneral notations, like letters in Algebra ; and that they are even capable 
 of working on the passions without presenting any image whatever to the mind. — 
 Burke has evidently borrowed from hence, what I conceived was an original notion 
 on the influence of Words upon the mind, in the last Part of his Sublime and Beau- 
 tiful. See Oct. 10th., 1708. — Berkeley allows that we may direct and restrict our 
 attention to any one or more of an inseparable combination of qualities. 
 
 DEC. the 1 5th. 
 
 Looked through the Principles of Human Knowledge. The whole of Berkeley's 
 aro-ument against the existence of matter, is comprised and taken for granted in the 
 first sentence of his Tract, assuming, that the only objects of human knowledge are 
 
 ideas. In the 2'2d. section, he says, " if you can conceive any one idea, oi- any 
 
 thing like an idea, to exist otherwise than in a mind perceiving it, I will readily 
 give up the whole cause;" yet in the 4th. section, he says, " it is an opinion strange- 
 ly prevalent, that sensible objects have a real existence distinct from their being per- 
 ceived:" now, I would turn the tables — how can we believe what we cannot con- 
 ceive? — ^Whathesays from the 133th. to the 142tl. section, in favour of the existence 
 of mind or spirit, is quite unsatisfactory : — if we can have a notion (see the 142d. 
 section) of the existence of any thing without an idea (and of mind or spii-it he 
 broadly states in the 27tli. section, we can have no idea), the fundamental principle on 
 which his whole fabric rests, gives way.-^His doctrine respecting abstraction, is just 
 as applicable and useful on the supposition of the existence, as the non-existence, of 
 matter. — Is it possible that Berkeley could seriously suppose his scheme would prove 
 such a sovereign remedy against scepticism and atheism as he pretends ? 
 
 DEC. the '24th. 
 
 Finished Voltaire's Siecle de Louis le 14me. : a most entertaining and instructive 
 work ; evincing that the author possessed in perfection tl^ enviable art, " d'appro- 
 fondir des choses, en paraissant les eftieurer," in the 20th. chapter, Voltaire fairly 
 confesses, that '• I'esprit republicain est au fond aussi ambitieux que I'esprit monar- 
 chique ; et qu'il y en est des virtus dans un etat monarchique, sans dout^ tout
 
 119 
 
 [1798.] 
 
 autant que dans les republiques, avec moins d'enthousirisme, peut^tre, mais a\-ec plus 
 de ce qu'oii appelle honneur ;" and he treats ecclesiastical subjects — even the struggle 
 between the Jansenists and Jesuits, the rise and decline of the Quietists, and the 
 disputes in the Catholic Church respecting the allowing or proscribing certain Chi- 
 nese ceremonies by the missionaries to that country — with a decency and propriety 
 which we should little expect from him, and which we should scarcely find in any of 
 his disciples. He reckons the population of France, at twenty millions ; its ecclesi- 
 astical revenues, at four millions sterling; the ecclesiastics, secular and regular, at 
 250,000 ; and the emigrants in consequence of the revocation of the Edict of Nautz, 
 at 130,000 persons, 
 
 DEC. the loth. 
 
 Read P's.— Sermons to — — • — . They are certainly ingenious : but he writes 
 with too much sang froid to secure even our reason ; and, where he enforces moral 
 duty, shews how weak an instrument reason is, to awaken and engage our moral 
 feelings. From his cold view of moral distinction, as a discrimination of the intellect 
 in reference to the general gK)od, I think it likely, that, if he were not a Christian 
 he would be a Godwinite. The more I meditate on the subject, the more I am 
 convinced, that the virtues must be engrafted on the passions. 
 
 Looked again over Burke's first Letter on a Regicide Peace : — a wonderful com - 
 position ! He admits the perilous nature of our situation, but deprecates all over- 
 tures to peace; laments that the true state of the contest in which we are engao-ed 
 has never been fairly exposed to us by its conductors ; exhibits it himself, with match- 
 less force ; and animates us to persist in it, by the most powerful appeals to our 
 reason and our passions. Eager, unremitted earnestness, breathes its persuasive 
 spirit through the whole effusion. 
 
 DEC. the 3Qth. 
 
 Finished the Athenian Letters. The idea of opening the interior of Greece 
 through the supposed correspondence of an agent from the Persian Court residing 
 at Athens during the Peloponesian war, is most ingeniously and happily conceived ; 
 
 and, considering the difficulty of the task, it is admirably well supported. The 
 
 147th. and 148th. Letters, in which the generous Cleander expresses the anguish of 
 his soul at the base part which he had been compelled to act by his court, derive addi- 
 tional interest from the reflection, that they Avere written by the Hon. Charles Yorke,
 
 no 
 
 [1799-1 
 who in 1770 pat a period to his existence from remorse at having been duped into a 
 
 political delinquency. — In the 151st. Letter, Socrates is made to maintain against Pro- 
 tagoras, " That morality is not a science to be learned or taught, by applying the rea- 
 son to theoretical speculations ; but, that its principles are implanted in our nature, 
 and render the illiterate and learned equally qualified to practise and to judge of it." 
 
 JANUARY the \Otli. 1799. 
 
 Read Frend's Principles of Taxation : an excellent Satire, however unintended, on 
 a Tax upon Capital instead of Income ; which, in plain terms, is the whole of his 
 proposal. Deducting a certain sum as necessary to subsistence, his plan is, that what 
 the man without cnpital gains in the course of the year, and what the capitalist gains 
 by his capital together with the whole value of that capital, should be subject to an 
 equal tax. Thus supposing one man gains ^130 per annum by his personal industry, 
 and another the same income from land worth thirty years purchase, deduct ^30 
 income from each for subsistence, and, by a tax of ^10 per cent, the former will 
 pay ^10 and the latter ^I30x3q-M00 q^ ^400 per annum ! — I beg pardon — only 
 for the first year : his tax, together with his capital and income, will be considerably 
 lightened, under such a sweating, each succeeding year. 
 
 Dr. R. informed me, that out of more than 40,000 cases which had fallen under 
 liis observation, he never met with one, in which a person with red or light flaxen hair 
 had the small-pox to confluence. 
 
 JAN. the IZth. 
 
 Finished St. Luke's Gospel. This is the history on which Mr. Evanson solely re- 
 lies ; — and it must be confessed, that it has more the air of an ordinary historical com- 
 position, than any of the other narratives on the subject. — ^The angelic annuntiation 
 to Zacharias and Mary (c. 1.), on which is founded the preternatural conception o{ 
 John and Jesus, must, it is evident, entirely depend, for its direct evidence, on the 
 credit of those two witnesses, attesting a transaction altogether private. — ^Why did not 
 Christ (c, 4, v,v. 23, &c.) work a miracle in his own country, instead of provoking a 
 natural indignation by denying so easy a manifestation of his divine mission, where, 
 from the proverbial proneness to incredulity, it was so particularly wanted. Fifty rea- 
 Bons, I am aware, may be assigned from the comments and glosses of those who are 
 resolved at any rate to find one ; but what I wish, is a substantial and satisfactory an-
 
 121 
 [1799.] 
 
 swer. — Luke relates the perplexing story of tiansfcning a legion of devils from a man 
 into a herd of swine. What ean be made of Uiis, under the torture of any ino-enuitvr 
 Those who refine possession by the devil, into derangement of intellect, must be 
 gravelled here. 
 
 Lord C. calkxl in the evening. He reprt-sents Fox as being in excellent spirits at St. 
 Anne's Hill ; busily and fervently occupied in attending to the minutiae of the Greek 
 Language, and its different dialects. One should have thought, the ditferent construc- 
 tion of the Greek republics, would have possessed more attractions for a mind like his. 
 
 JJN. the 13d. 
 
 Finished the perusal of Hardy's Tryalfor High Treason. — The Attorney Generjl'?. 
 (Scott's) opening, is strangely perplexed, involved, and obscure. He speaks (with 
 the view, I presume, of giving a colour of propriety to the Indictment then trying) of 
 the whole legislative and executive authority, as vested in the crown; exercised in the 
 former case with advice and consent, and in the latter with advice only: — a doctrine, 
 which though primitively true, perhaps, sounds now most harsh! v to the ear. — Ers- 
 kine, in opening his defence, very powerfully contends, that to constitute High Treason 
 imder the first branch of 23. Ed. 3., there most be a direct compassing of the King's 
 death ; and that to compass his deposition, though it may be offered as evidence of 
 compassing his death, will not in itself constitute that crime ; and is expressly one of 
 the ensnaring treasons of the 21st. of Rich. 2. repealed by the 1st. of Henry 4. — 
 Gibbs, at the outset, takes the same ground ; but (like Mr. Erskine) aftenvards aban- 
 dons it — I suppose, as not sufficiently safe : he then proceeds to argue, as if an inten- 
 tion to depose, was the crime charged ; and finally states the question at issue to be, 
 whether Mr. Hardy, in concurring with others in calling a convention, personally 
 meant that tliat convention should act by force of arms against government? — The 
 Solicitor General (Milford) in reply, contends, that a distinct intention to destroy the 
 King, is not necessary to constitute Treason ; that any act which, in its consequences, 
 leads, according to ordinary experience, to endanger the King's life, is High Trea- 
 son ; that an attempt to depose the King, is an act of this nature ; and that the for- 
 ming any assembly or convention of the People, assuming that character and of conse- 
 quence the sovereignty, or even a design, acted upon, of procuring any alteration 
 in the constitution otherwise than by the constituted legislature, or through force on 
 them, is an attempt to depose, and amounts to the crime of High Treason. — Eyre 
 is very able and perspicuous in summing up ; exhibiting to the Jury a distinct and cor- 
 rect outline of the complicated history submitted to their judgment, and judiciously 
 
 R
 
 122 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 insisting on its leading* and characteristic features. He lays it down as unquestionable 
 law, that a conspiracy to depose the King, is such conclusive evidence of compassing 
 his death, as to have become a presumption of law upon the subject; and that it is 
 not necessary to establish a compassing the King's death, prior to the conception of 
 deposing him, to constitute High Treason. He observes, that the argument of the 
 prisoner's counsel on this head, broke down under the case. — I am quite satisfied 
 with the verdict. 
 
 JJN. the 26th. 
 
 Finished Home Tooke's Tryal. Tooke, from the beginning, appears perfectly 
 collected ; and soon discovers a confidence in his case. He displays wonderful 
 acuteness, as well as perverseness, in arguing points and examining witnesses; and evi- 
 dently awes the Court into a foi'getfulness of its own dignity : his play upon the sim- 
 plicity of Sharpe, is exquisite : and when his captious asperity relents under the in- 
 dulgence he receives, and seems to have little expected, the scene is quite affecting. 
 Erskine maintains pretty nearly the same doctrine with respect to Treason, as on 
 Hardy's Tryal ; and, as on Hardy's Tryal, he speedily loses sight of it. Gibbs waves 
 discussing, whether an intention to depose, without compassing the death of the King, 
 is Treason, because it is a question which does not arise on this case ; but if it ever 
 should arise, he leaves it to th(^ Court to determine, between the decisions which affirm 
 this to be law, and the express authority of the statute itself. — I admire his spirit. — 
 Eyre expressly lays it down, as before. That to mean to depose the King, is to com- 
 pass his death, because it is a presumption of fact so conclusive, that the law has 
 adopted it and made it a presumption of law ; and. That what is the meaning of any 
 statute, and what case of fact comes within that meaning, is always a question of 
 law. He accordingly states the question for the consideration of the Jury to be, 
 whether the prisoner has been concerned in a plan to establish a national Convention 
 which should usurp the powers of government ; for if he has done so, he has been 
 concerned in a plan to depose the King, and is guilty of High Treason. — It does ap- 
 pear to me, that this is declaring that to be Treason under 25. Ed. 3, which is not 
 made Treason by that Statute; and that the principle upon which this constmction is 
 founded " — that acts which may eventually endanger the King's life, are evidence of 
 conspiring his death, though that event should never have been in the contemplation 
 of the party", tends to introduce the very uncertainty which that Statute was enacted 
 to obviate. 
 
 Home Tooke, I believe, truly describes his temper, when he says_, " my mind is
 
 123 
 [1799.] 
 
 much better formed to feel and to acknowledge kindness, than to solicit it". I can- 
 not, any more than the Chief Justice, develope the political character of this extraor- 
 dinary man ; though I have enjoyed some favourable opportunities of probing him 
 myself, and seeing him probed, upon the subject. At the very time he was giving the 
 most iULirked encaiira-j;ement to the '•' Rights of Man", I well remember his speak- 
 ing to m2of the author in these emphatical terms, " Paine's intentions I believe to be 
 honest ; but he is ignorant of almost every thing, and he hates every thing of which 
 he is ignorant". 
 
 On the whole, the conduct of these Tryals, is an honour to English Judicature. — 
 I much doubt whether Duller would have managed them so well ; and Lord Kenyon 
 would have made sad work of them. 
 
 FEBRUARY the 1st. 
 
 & 
 
 Read Stone's Tryal for Treason. The evidence for the Crown leaves a fair opening 
 for defence, which his own case by no means makes out. Erskine's is a wretched 
 speech, delivered apparently without any preparation ; and his egotism, thus unsup- 
 ported, is insufferable. Lord Kenyon in summing up, leans shamefully against the 
 prisoner : he evidently labours to hinge the whole case on the simple fact, of Stone's 
 design to communicate intelligence to France; and to sink all consideration of the 
 question, whether he meant by that communication to benefit France or this country: 
 and when one of the Jury asks if this question is to be considered, his Lordsliip gives 
 an equivocal answer, and the whole Court is strangely discomposed. 
 
 FEB. the Jlth. 
 
 Finished the Travels of Anacharsis. This work is ably executed, and must have 
 cost prodigious pains ; but it still leaves us, as we must ever be left, extremely igno- 
 rant of the political constitutions, religious worship, and private manners of the Greeks. 
 With respect to the precise Theories of the Greek Philosophers, I have ever felt myself 
 much in the dark ; nor am 1 a whit more enlightened by the laborious researches of the 
 Abbe Barthelemi, who has wisely contented himself rather with extracting their par- 
 ticular opinions, than attempting to reduce them into a regular system. He reprc' 
 sents Aristotle as maintaining, that the virtues are no other than the passions pre- 
 served by Prudence between the two opposite vices of excess and defect :— Aristotle 
 himself, I think, is not quite so explicit. — Many anecdotes tend to raise very high our 
 ideas of Grecian taste in the arts ; but the much admired statue of Minerva by Phi-
 
 124 
 {.^799-'] 
 
 dias, composed of ivory and gold, with a coloured imitation of the iiis odheeye, 
 must surely tend to lower them considerably. — I wish, after all, that the result of the 
 learned Abbe's researches had been embodied in some other form : there is something 
 false and offensive in making fiction the basis of fact, which a just taste, I think, 
 can never full}' approve. 
 
 FEB. the 1 2th. 
 
 Read Horace Walpole's Historic Doubts on the Life and Reign of Richard the 3d. 
 — doubts, which he has in some measure transfused into my mind ; though in con- 
 tending against the public opinion, he has probably been carried, by the momentum 
 of the nisus, a little too far in his vindication of the character of Richard, as usually 
 happens in such conflicts. — In some subsequent pieces in defence of this tract, he treats 
 the objections of his opponents with infinite keenness, ridicule, and success : even the 
 subtle philosophy of Hume, is no match for his playful acumen. Hume, whom he 
 seems thoroughly to have understood, must have trembled at his boast, that he could 
 loosen the artful contexture of his History, in a variety of places, with greater facility 
 than he had unravelled the story of Richard the 3d. He points a keen remark at 
 Hume — " There is a good deal of difference in the kind of belief which a man en- 
 tertains, be/ore he has treated a subject, and after". 
 
 FEB. the \9lh. 
 
 Looked over Hm-ace Walpole's Fugitive Pieces. His communications to the World 
 are all, polished, easy, and elegant; but the l6oth. No. is the very flower of grace: 
 it treats a most indelicate subject, with matchless refinement and felicity. 
 
 Began Grotius de Jure Belli et Pacis. I do not distinctly see on what he founds 
 natural law ; and his definition of it in the 10th. section of the 1st. chapter, is com- 
 plicated and obscure. In the 2d. chapter, he struggles hard to reconcile war with 
 Christianity ; — but surely kicks against the- pricks. In the 8th. section of the 3d. 
 chapter, Grotius contends against, and Gronovius, in his notes, Jbr the supremacy 
 of the People; but without fundamentally diftering, I think. Grotius, I apprehend, 
 is not for unlimited subjection in the People ; and Gronovius qualifies his doctrine of 
 their sovereignty, in such away as must secure the approbation of every rational friend 
 to liberty and order. In the succeeding chapter, however, Grotius labours earnestly 
 (Gronovio reluctante) to narrow as much as possible the right of resistance in the 
 subject, — so that I am afraid we must give liim up, at last, as a true .friend to the- 
 liberties of mankind.
 
 125 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 FEB. the 24th. 
 
 Read Walpole's Account of his Transactions witli Chatterton ; in which he endea- 
 vours, and with some success, to exculpate hiniseU'trom the charge of neglecting that 
 miraculous but ill-starred Youth. There is a vile sentiment in his first Letter on this 
 subject, which surely no sense of self-abasement could warrant; and to which, what- 
 ever might have been the momentary suggestions of spleen or per\ erseness, I am 
 astonished that he should have given public and deliberate utterance : " \\ hat virtues 
 we have, are the production of fear, prudence, experience, hypocrisy, and age." — 
 Looked afterwards through his Hieroglyphic Tales ; displaying a whimsical imagina- 
 tion running wild without any apparent drift : — His happy ridicule of Lord Chester- 
 field's Letters; which, however, he falsely denominates, as from the Author, " a Sys- 
 tem of Education": — His Criticism on Dr. Johnson's Writings ; in which there is 
 much truth very felicitously expressed : — His Detached Thoughts ; some of which are 
 very exquisite and just : — and, His Letters on his Travels ; which are fatiguingly 
 flippant, and fired with none of that enthusiasm which we should expect from an in- 
 genuous and favoured Youth, at Paris, Rome, Naples, Florence, &c. That keen and 
 ardent sensibility, which, tempered by other qualities, enters as an essential ingredi- 
 ent into the composition of very superior minds, unquestionably never formed anv 
 part of Walpole's character. 
 
 FEB. the 28th:. 
 
 Finished looking over Horace Walpole's Letters, in the last Volume of his Works. 
 They are in general written with playful ease, enlivened by quaint turns and oc- 
 casionally sparkling with bons mots ; but betray a sickly fastidious delicacy, on the very 
 verge of affectation : it is only when animated with indignation — a rare occurrence — 
 that he assumes a tone of earnestness. — It appears from his 6gth. Letter to Conway, 
 that he saw, so early as 1/65, the seeds of the late Revolution, in the atheistic Philo- 
 sophers of Paris, " who, avowing war against Popery, aim, many of them, at a sub- 
 version of all religion ; and still many more, at the destruction of the Regal power": 
 and in a Letter from Paris to Mr. Brand, dated Oct. the IQth, 1/65, he observes of 
 the people there, " they have no time to laugh ; there is God and the King to be pul- 
 led down first ; and men and women, one and all, are devoutly employed in the demo- 
 lition". This is an early and strong scent ; but Lord Chesterfield (See Oct. the 5tli, 
 1796.) was still before him.— It is curious to hear Gray, in his 10th. Letter, say
 
 126 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 " the same man's verses" (Johnson's) " at the opening of Garrick's Theatre, are far 
 
 from bad" — of one, who was destined afterwards to sit in imperial judgment on him 
 
 and all his tribe. — I observe that Walpole, although he repeatedly, and in strong 
 
 terms, expresses his first impressions of disgust at the modes and customs of Prance, 
 
 is always ultimately fascinated and subdued by the charms of the society he finds there ; 
 
 and to the enjoyment of which, he seems by nature and habit to have been peculiarly 
 
 adapted. 
 
 MARCH the \st. 
 
 Finished the Paradise Regained. Milton has been most unhappy in the choice of 
 his subject, — an inexplicable and suspicious legend ; unconnected with the narrative 
 where it appears ; easily feigned ; and incapable of contradiction :— but he has wor- 
 ked it up with wonderful ability ; nor am I surprised at his partiality for an offspring, 
 so naturally sickly in its constitution, and which he must have reared with such sur- 
 passing pains and assiduity. — Milton has been extolled for the exquisite delicacy of 
 his ear ; but what shall we say to such lines as these 
 
 " And made him bow to the Gods of his wives." B. 2. v. 17 1 - 
 
 " And with these words his temptation pursued." B. 1. 405. 
 
 " From that placid aspect and meek regard." B. 3. 217. 
 
 " No wonder, for though in thee be united." B. 3. 22Q. 
 
 How are they to be recited? To my ears " lay your knife and your fork across your 
 plate", sounds just as numerous. — Newton's note on v. 245. B. 4. 
 
 " The Attic Bird trills her thick warbled notes", 
 explains what, I have been asked. Gray means by the "Attic Warbler", in his Ode on 
 Spring. Philomela, the Daughter of Pandion, King of Athens, was changed into a 
 Nightingale; which was thence in Latin called Atthis. — Milton in l6 lines from v. 
 293 to 308. B. 4, gives a good summary of the systems of the different moral Philo- 
 sophers of Greece. 
 
 MARCH the 8th. 
 
 Read Milton's Samson Agonistes ; — a noble Poem, but a miserable Drama. Co- 
 mus, though a much earlier, is surely a much finer composition : — after all, however, 
 give me the Gothic Architecture of Shakespear. — Lycidas, though highly poetical, I 
 agree with Johnson, breathes little sincere sorrow , and is therefore essentially defec- 
 tive as a Monody.
 
 127 
 
 [1799.] 
 
 Perused, with delight and admiration, Mackintosh's Preliminary Discourse on 
 the Study of the Law of Nature and Nations ; exhibiting a most perspicuous and 
 masterly view of this complicated subject, and imparting a most exalted idea of the 
 future Temple to which it forms the Portico. — Liberty he defines, judiciously perhaps, 
 but rather from its etlccts than its essence, " security against wrong", whether from 
 "fellow subjects" or "the magistrate"; but emphatically so with respect to the latter. 
 •—He speaks with the profoundest veneration of Burke ; and his political opinions 
 have evidently undergone an immense revolution since the publication of his Vindiciae 
 Gallicae : — it was impossible, in a mind like his, that they should not have experienced 
 a considerable changCj after the popular ebullition, by which he was borne away, had. 
 a little subsided. 
 
 MARCH the iQth. 
 
 Read Montesquieu's interesting portrait of himself, in the Monthly Magazine for 
 this month. Two traits touched me so nearly, that I felt a responsive thrill as I I'ead 
 therrt. " It has given me no high opinion of myself to perceive, that there are very 
 few offices in the state for which I am qualified. — I am lost when I come to ask of 
 myself, what is tlie decision of the Law : yet I have been anxious to make myself 
 niaster of the intricacies of form ; and am the more angry with myself, because I see 
 men of mean understandings acquire what I could not attain". — " In the treating of 
 topics at all profound or difficult, I am obliged to reflect much, as I proceed, to pre- 
 vent my ideas from falling into confusion. If I perceive that I am listened to, the 
 subject seems to vanish from me, or my thoughts rise in such hurry and disorder that 
 nothing is distinct. But when difficult points are discussed in conversation where 
 there are other speakers, I acquit myself infinitely better".^- 1 feel while I am trans- 
 cribing this, that I am exhibiting myself. 
 
 Looked over a Volume of "Lettres Choisies dc Mesdames Sevigne et Maintenon". 
 The former cloys one with excessive tenderness for her daughter ; the latter gives 
 some of the best advice to a young woman, I ever met with : the former talks amu- 
 singly of taking up devotion; the latter seems filled with its overpowering influence: 
 the former trifles most engagingly ; the latter exhibits herself as a most superior wo- 
 man : the former wins our esteem ; the latter commands our admiration. 
 
 MARCH the 22(1. 
 
 Finished Tasso's Jerusalem, in Hoole's Translation ; comparing it occasionally with 
 the Original, and with Fairfax's version, which on many occasions is more just and
 
 1^28 
 [1799.1 
 
 spirited. The extravagant machinery of Enchantment, though it suggests some very 
 beautiful scenery — though it gives birth to the voluptuous and entrancing loves of 
 Armida and Rinaldo — is certainly an inexpiable blemish in this noble Poem ; which 
 might have been rendered a very fine, and a very interesting composition, without it. 
 — Tasso often appears studiously to copy Homer and Virgil, where he could well 
 have done without them ; and with an apparent intention that the imitation might be 
 remarked : — as if to throw a reflex splendour from their immortal labours on his own. 
 
 Read Burke's Heads for Consideration on the State of Affairs in 1792. His fore- 
 sightj as a statesman, is astonishing : — he was pretty nearly then, where we are noic, 
 
 MARCH the 24th. 
 
 Began Burnet's Theory of the Earth. Nothing can exceed the dexterity, or live- 
 liness, or picturesque force, of his reasoning. He powerfully illustrates, by his ex- 
 ample, Paley's rule — of exciting a strong sense of a difficulty, before you attempt to 
 remove it. — His imagination displayed in the construction, the illustration, and the 
 defence of his Theory, is wonderfully luxuriant and fine : all nature seems obedient 
 to his plastic powers, and to array itself with obsequious diligence at his bidding. 
 To the leading feature of his Theory, however, there seems a capital and fatal objec- 
 tion : the exterior crust enveloping the waters, as formed from the subsidence of light- 
 er particles floating in tlie air, must have been composed, one would imagine, of 
 fine mould ; how then are we to account for the stupendous masses of rock which 
 we behold in its ruins — for the Pyrenees, the Alps, and the Andes? 
 
 MARCH the. 26th. 
 
 Read with much interest, in a Collection of Fugitive Pieces, an Introduction to 
 the Theory of the Human Mind by J. Usher, author of Clio. He maintains, That 
 general terms do not represent any particular objects or ideas, but are mere creatures 
 of the mind, formed for the classification of objects, and the convenience of commu- 
 nication ; Tliat pleasure and pain are terms of this nature ; That we never feel any 
 but particular pleasures and pains ; That these do not differ as greater or less of one 
 kind, but as being of totally different kinds ; That the love of pleasure and aversion to 
 pain, cannot therefore be principles of action in the mind, since these terms have no 
 meaning but as general expressions for the particular pleasures and pains we have ex- 
 perienced ; That we are actuated by particular appetites and passions, not only not 
 deducible from any genera) love of pleasure and aversion to pain, but not originating
 
 t'29 
 
 even in any particular perceptions of pleasure or pain, since the passion often pre- 
 cedes the perception, and terminates in it ; and, that these instinctive appetites and 
 passions, though entirely neglected by Mr. Locke, who lias attended only to the 
 transitory impressions made upon the mind, are the principles which determine our 
 feelings and actions, our character and conduct : he proposes accordingly to examine, 
 these instincts, as what can alone open the true nature of that great, miserable, and 
 complicated creature, Man. I wish he had pursued his purpose, as he has got, I 
 think, upon the right scent. — So far, he observes, as we make provision for our 
 appetites and desires, we may be said to be actuated by self interest ; but this is a 
 principle of a merely subordinate kind, and totally distinct from the self love of that 
 frigid system of Philosophy, which holds it to be the parent of all our passions, and 
 resolves virtue and vice, right and wrong, good and evil, into mere expressions for 
 3 true or mistaken interest. This, on his ground, appears a very just distinction. 
 
 APRIL the 6th. 
 
 Finished the Orlando Furioso ; delighted with the wild fancy and ingenious con- 
 trivance of its author. Each Book is so happily broken off, that the reader is com- 
 pelled to pursue the next ; and the romantic tales which, interwoven, form the tex- 
 ture of this wonderful Poem, are so judiciously dropped and revived, that curiosity 
 is never satiated : these, beyond all expectation, are made to converge and bear most 
 dexterously on one point — the repulse of the Pagan forces attacking Charlemagne; 
 and the whole concludes nobly with the single combat between Rogero and Rode- 
 mont, the latter of whom, however, Ariosto has exalted too highly for his purpose — 
 the setting off his favourite Paladin. — The reading this Poem, it must be confess- 
 ed, after all, gives additional spirit and force to the admirable ridicule of Knio-ht- 
 Errantry in Don Quixote, 
 
 APRIL the \Oth. 
 
 Read the Report of the Committee of Secrecy of the House of Commons, just 
 published ; in which the schemes for Jacobin fraternization in England, Scotland, 
 Ireland, and Hamburgh, are exposed, in a masterly manner, from their first origin 
 in each place. — ^The Papers of this formidable confederacy, as given in the Appendix, 
 uniformly display great energy aiul ability.— The first has a passage truly sublime— 
 " Man has reposed on ruins, and rested his head on some fragments of the Temple 
 of Liberty, or at most amused himself with pacing the measurement of the edifice, 
 
 S
 
 130 
 
 [1799-1 
 
 and nicely limiting jt$ proportions ; not reflecting, that tliis Temple is trftiy Catholic, 
 
 the ample earth its area, and the ardi of heaven its dome." 
 
 Looked over Gibbon's Vindication : a dexterous and masterly defence, undoubt- 
 edly ; but I like his style and manner less than I used to do. It is too elaborate ; 
 wants ease, spirit, and flexibility ; and seems adapted solely to the grave and stately 
 march of history. Yet it is difficult, perhaps impossible, to change any term, or 
 its collocation, for a better; so that " proper words in proper places" does not seem 
 a sufficient definition of a good style. 
 
 APRIL the 28th. 
 
 Looked over that part of Parr's Sequel in which he introduces, in a strange and 
 desultory way, his observations on French Politics. He combats the position, that 
 what is true in theory may be false in practice, by maintaining. That truth consists 
 in the relation of our ideas to each other, or in the conformity of those ideas to ex- 
 ternal objects ; and wherever that relation or conformity exists, the ideas belonging 
 to either are unalterably just, and the proposition expressing those ideas, must ever 
 be true : That therefore a proposition true in theory, must be true in practice, where 
 the practice corresponds to the theory : and, Tliat where they appear to clash, we 
 are not always to maintain that the theory is false, but that it does not apply to the 
 particular case. — Of Burke's expression " metaphysically true, and morally and poli- 
 tically false," he observes, tliat " true and false" are expressions of the metaphysical, 
 " proper and improper" "just or unjust" of the moral, and " useful or pei-nicious" 
 of the political properties of objects : but this rather tends to complicate than clear up 
 the question ; and a wider and deeper view of the subject, I suspect, is required, to 
 obtain a simple and satisfactory solution. — Parr's style of composition, with all its ex- 
 cellencies, has one capital defect — it wants light and shade : every thing is sacrificed 
 to force; each part appears to be uniformly and intensely laboured; and nothing has 
 the air of being the natural and spontaneous efllision of a mind seriously and earnestly 
 engaged in communicating its ideas and its feelings: — yet he writes, I am told, with 
 fluency, and much in the same manner as he speaks. 
 
 APRIL the 2gtL 
 
 Read Mackintosh's Vindiciae Gallicae. His style and manner in this Piece are 
 magnificent; but uniformly cumbrous, and occasionally coarse. He has infinitely im- 
 proved both, in his Preliminary Discourse ; though some of the ponderosit)' still re-
 
 151 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 mains. — ^Tliere can liardly be a more express an'l full contradiction, than in twopas- 
 
 sao;es, p. 265 of the Vnidici c, and p. 49 of the Discourse. In the former, lie says, 
 " It is perhaps susceptible of proof, that these governments of balance and control, 
 have never existed but in the vision of theorists": in the latter, he affirms, that ** The 
 result of such an examination will be, that no institution so detestable as an absolutely 
 unbalanced government, perhaps ever existed ; and that the simple governments are 
 mere creatures of tlie imagination of theorists." — Page 215-lt)-17, he maintains, 
 that morality is founded on expediency, and that vitility alone constitutes its obliga- 
 tion ; but that the moment the moral edifice is reared, its basis is hid from the ej-e 
 for ever — -the moment that general maxims, founded on an utility paramount and 
 perpetual, are embodied and consecrated, they cease to yield to partial and subordi- 
 nate expediency ; and it then becomes the perfection of virtue, to consider, not 
 whether an action be useful, but whether it be right. This is a very ingenious, (as not 
 admitting the system I must not call it a successful,) attempt at extrication froiii a 
 most importunate difficulty, involved in adopting the principle of utility as the basis of 
 morals. — Had / been Burke, I covild hardly have forgiven his comparison of me to 
 Judge JefFereys, p. 326. 
 
 ufPRlL. the 30th. 
 
 Read Cicero's Lncullus; in which he makes that character expose very forcibly the 
 scepticism of the Academics, through the intervention of his master Antiochus. He 
 afterwards, himself, takes up their defence with much address and spirit ; and main- 
 tains, from the various deceptions of the senses, and the infinite diversity of opinion ■ 
 on all subjects, that though there is probable, there is no certain truth ; and, to re- 
 move the obloquy of such a doctrine, that this probability is sufficient for all the 
 purposes of life. There appears much of puerile subtlety in the argument on botK 
 sides. — A sentence in the 9th c. struck me as comprehensively and concisely ex- 
 pressing the two great objects of antient speculation, " judicium veri et finem bono- 
 rum":- — the latter of these is explained before, by " extremum et ultimum bonorum, 
 qu6 omnia referantur."— How mankind have perplexed their enquiries by their ex- 
 pressions! — ^The passage c. 41, beginning, "Neque tamen istas qusetiones— " is won- 
 derfully fine. 
 
 MJYtheld, 
 
 Read Soame Jenyns' Origin of Evil. His grand solution of the introduction
 
 1S2 
 [1799.] 
 
 of evil, is, that it could not have been prevented, by Omnipotence, without the loss 
 of some superior good, or the permission of some greater evil. He divides it, with 
 this view, into, 1st. evils of imperfection ; which are only the absence of comparative 
 advantages, essential to a state of subordination, and in truth no evils at all : 2dly, 
 natural evils ; which are the necessary consequence of the imperfection of created 
 beings, the untractableness of matter, and some incomprehensible connection be- 
 tween good and evil ; and, thus regarded, are the fewest possible : 3dly, moral evils ; 
 which are expedient, that natural evils may fall to the lot of guilt instead of innocence, 
 —besides that they ultimately contribute to the general good : 4thly,/jo/z/?ca/ evils ; 
 which originate in the depravity of man, who, as he will never submit his private 
 advantage to public utility, must be compelled by violence or bribed by corruption 
 to do so : and, lastly, religious evils; which result from the necessity, that religion 
 must originally have been accommodated to, and will afterwards be vitiated by, the 
 same depravity. The whole extremely ingenious, and wretchedly unsatisfactory. — 
 In his 3d Division, after exploding all former criteria of virtue as superficial, he 
 maintains, that moral good and evil is nothing but the production of natural good 
 and evil ; that this is the only solid foundation on which any system of ethics can be 
 built, and the only just rule by which we can pass a judgment on our actions, as it 
 not only enables us to determine which are right and wrong, but almost mathemati- 
 cally to demonstrate the proportion of virtue and vice belonging to each, by compa- 
 ring them with the happiness or misery they occasion : but, that though such is 
 the essence of morality, its end is probation, it having been properly appointed by 
 God as a test of our obedience to his will, and on this account entrusted to our dis- 
 cretion, while every other important object in life is secured by adapted appetites ; 
 and that it is only as virtue is performed in conformity to the will of God, that it has 
 any merit, it being otherwise nothing more than a part of prudential oeconomy. All 
 this he delivers in great pomp and form, as a new and most important discovery: and 
 perhaps it may be regarded as the most clear, broad, and explicit statement, then 
 known, of a theory since become so popular. — ^With all its paradoxical ingenuity, 
 there appear to me only two truly original thoughts in this work : — one which John- 
 son has so successfully ridiculed in his review of it : — and another, of which I cannot 
 sufficiently praise the acuteness, " That, in politics, most principles spjeculatively 
 right are practically wrong, because they are founded on the plausible but false pre-^ 
 sumption, that mankind in general act on honest and rational principles". 
 
 MJYtheytk. 
 
 Looked into Gibbon's "Extraits de Journal." In Page 214 he observes, very justly,
 
 1S3 
 
 [J799-J 
 
 *' Jamais les principes et les actions des hommes, ne sont plus differents, que lorsque 
 les principes sont opposes aux sentimens naturels de riiuinanite : le coeur corrige les 
 errears de I'esprit". — In Page 301 he remarks of Bayle, " que les deux Lettres sur 
 I'amour paternel et sur la jalousie, sont d'une philosophe profond; ily developpe une 
 chaine de prejuges lies a notre etre, necessaires k notre bonheur, et destines par I'Etre 
 Supreme a nous tenir lieu d'une raison trop relevee pour le commun des hommes, et 
 qui n'auroit jamais eu le degre de vivacity propre a nous faire agir". The observance 
 of moral distinction, whatever Soame Jenyns may imagine, is unquestionably se- 
 cured, like every other purpose of our being, by appropriate instincts. — On Middle- 
 ton's Enquiry, Gibbon very justly remarks, p. 283, " II voyoit bien jusqu'oii Ton 
 pouvoit pousser les consequences de ses principes, mais il ne lui convenoit pas de les 
 tirer". 
 
 MAY the \1th. 
 
 Finished the perusal of Cicero's Treatise " De Finibus". The three grand Divisi- 
 ons of antient Philosophy, appear to have been. Physics, Dialectics, and Morals; in 
 the last of which they sought, with reference, I think, to the individual solely, 
 " Quid sit finis, quid extremun, quid ultimum, quo sint omnia bene vivendi rect$- 
 que faciendi, consilia referenda". In the Treatise in question, Cicero expounds, with 
 much spirit and force, in the way of Dialogue, the sentiments of the principal Schools 
 of Philosophy on the latter of these subjects. In the first Book he provokes Tor- 
 quatus to an eloquent defence of Epicurus' opinion, " Omne animal, simulatque 
 natum sit, voluptatem appetere, eaque guadere, ut summo bono ; dolorem asper- 
 nari, ut summum malum, et quantum possit, a se repellere : idque facere nondum 
 depravatum, ipsa natura incorrupte atque integrejudicante;" and therefore, that plea- 
 sure (natura ducente) is the chief good, and pain the chief evil, of life: which opi- 
 nion he principally vindicates, by insisting on the virtues and vices as being merely 
 modes of action conducive, and valuable or pernicious solely as they are conducive, 
 to these ends. Epicurus despised dialectics as of no assistance, and cultivated physics 
 as of important service, to morals : and he insisted on the veracity of the senses, as the 
 sources of all our knowledge ; which if deceptive, all art and science must be fallaci- 
 ous too. — In the 2d. Book, Cicero powerfully attacks this sensible but obnoxious sys- 
 tem in its weak point, by lowering the " voluptas" of Epicurus (an unfortunate 
 term certainly — " happiness" would have been clear of all suspicion) to animal gra- 
 tification ; and then setting it up as opposed to the " honestum": — a principle, of 
 which it appears from the J 4th. chapter, how imperfectly he knew the origin, how
 
 [1799-] . . . . 
 
 incapable he was of defining its nature, and how forcibly he felt its operation. — In 
 
 the 3d. and 4th. Books, Cato expounds, and Cicero, as before, in person attacks, the 
 doctrine of the Stoics. Zeno and his disciples having placed the " summum bo- 
 num" in the " honestum", and the " summum malum" in the " turpe", seem to 
 have been driven to great straits in reconciling to their system the necessaiy preference 
 of objects which certainly fall within neither of these descriptions ; and it is on this 
 ground that Cicero assails them, maintaining that they ought not to have separated 
 from his sect — the Peripatetics and Old Academy — who held, that those intermediate 
 objects were " bona et mala", though immensely subordinate to the " honestum et 
 turpe". Certainly Aristo and Pyrrho, who, adopting the same principle as the Stoics, 
 obstinately held, that there was no difference in these objects, nor any ground of 
 preference between the acutest pain and most exquisite pleasure, were at once more 
 consistent and absurd. — In the 5 th. Book Piso undertakes the cause of the Old 
 Academy ; and accordingly, after along and intricate deduction and exposition of the 
 origin and Grounds of the other systems of philosophy, proceeds to maintain. That 
 the "summum bonum" or " tinis bonorum" consists in hving " secundum naturam", 
 in possessing that state of body and mind to which nature primarily and instinctively 
 invites, and of which reason enlarges and corrects our view, teaching us to e&timate 
 the relative importance of the various " bona et mala" of life, from the free use of the 
 meanest member of the body, to the command of the most exalted and diffusive virtue j 
 That the seeds of the virtues composing in conjunction the " honestum", are implan- 
 ted in our common nature ; That these virtues are valuable on their own account, 
 and without reference to any advantage beyond themselves ; That the most illustrious 
 of them, are those which relate to and tend to promote social intercourse, thougli they 
 contribute to the " summum bonum" solely as they respect the individual possessing 
 them ; and, finally, That, such is their transcendant excellence, the wise man must 
 be happy in their possession, though he may be rendered happier still in the accession 
 of other advantages. — ^This system, in its spirit, seems to have approaclied very neaf 
 the purest and highest form of Epicureanism. 
 
 I do not observe the shadow of an attempt, in any quailer, to deduce the virtues 
 from utility, in its mockrn sense of general good; or even to refer them to that end. 
 Wherever the word "utilitas" is. used, it seems to relate solely to the advantage of the' 
 individual. — ^With respect to the term " honestum", though sometimes rather 
 loosely and vaguely employed in their theories, it appears properly and emphatically to 
 include, and whenever they speak naturally and from the heart, it always denot€Sj 
 those sentiments and actions whicla excite- our moral approbation; the giounds of • 
 Avhich approbation, they donot seem to have explored, but to have taken the feeling''
 
 155 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 itself, with our other appetites and passions, as a part ol' our nature. — The capital 
 error, which most effectually misled the antient philosophers in their moral specula- 
 tions, appears to have been, the looking in their " sunimurn bonum" for what they 
 had exalted too high to find any where ; alid ihe^ endeavouring to restrict it to some 
 ^jecific possession. The Epicui'eati and Peripatetic 53 stems, seem to have been the 
 most free from this charge, by being the most enlarged in their scope. — Ttie prin- 
 ciple which gave credit and currency to those systems \a Inch placed the sole or tlu 
 chief good in tiie " honestum", it is easy to guess. Tlie philosophers pi-etended to 
 1;each, and their disciples aspired to learn, the art of living happily: now the goods of 
 fortune they could not command, nor avert its evils ; the main stress, therefore, would 
 naturally be laid on those goods and evils \vhich depend upon ourselves, and result 
 from the government of the mind. 
 
 MAYlhe \7th. 
 
 Read Gibbon's " Essai sar I'Etude do la Litterature": an ostentatious pertbl-mance ; 
 written with no apparent end, but to display the erudition of the author in two or 
 three critical digressions — if indeed the term deviation can be properly applied, where 
 there is no direct path. He defines criticism, section 23, " I'art de juger des ecrits 
 et des ^crivains ; ce qu'ils ont dit, s'ils I'ont bien dit, s'ils ont dit vrai historique- 
 ment"; and " I'esprit philosophique", of which he speaks in high-flown terms, the abi- 
 lity (section 46) "^ pouvoir remonter aux idees simples; a saisir et a combiner les 
 premiers principes". In section 77> he maintains, " Que la beaute n'est peutetre 
 fondee que sur I'usage. La figure humaine n'est belle que parcequ'elle se rapporte si 
 bien aux usages, auxquels elle est destinee": — the first " usage" is equivocal till it is 
 explained by the second. 
 
 Finished Lord Bacon's Letters, edited by Birch. It is grievous to see this great 
 man, who appears from various passages fully sensible of his vast powers and attain- 
 ments, and impressed with a just confidence of the weight he would have with pos- 
 terity, eternally cringing, and a beggar, to men so infinitely beneath him, and whom 
 he must have felt to be so. One curious disclosure of his, in the heads of a proposed 
 conference with Buckingham, struck me most forcibly. He was proposing to offer 
 his services to go over to France to conduct a secret negotiation: " I have somewhat" 
 says this Lord of human kind " of the French : I love birds, as the King does; and 
 have some childish-mindedness wherein we shall consent"!
 
 136 
 
 [1799.] 
 
 MAY the 10th. 
 
 Finished Cicero's three Books "De Natur^ Deorum", In the first, Velleius 
 maintains, and Cotta assails, the notions of the Epicureans ; and in the second and 
 third, Balbus expounds and defends, and Cotta once more endeavours to expose and 
 explode, the doctrine of the Stoics, respecting the Gods: in the latter case, however, 
 his attack is successful only against the particular conclusions of that sect ; and to their 
 general argument for a creating and superintending Providence, he has nothing to 
 oppose but the existence of physical and moral evil. His salvo. Lib. 1. c. 22, at the 
 outset, for his character as Pontifex, is highly curious. — I do not exactly understand 
 Cicero's conclusion from the whole debate : yet at the opening (Lib. l . c. 2,) he utters 
 in his own person a sentiment sufficiently devout, " atque haud scio, an, pietate ad- 
 versus Deos sublatA, fides etiam et societas humani generis, et una excellentissima 
 virtus, justitia, tollatur". — It requires, I may here remark, a very vigilant attention 
 a demiler Cicero's real opinions, from those which he imparts to the various per- 
 sonages he brings forward in his Dialogues : even Middleton, on the important oc- 
 casion of summing up his character, has fallen into some confusion and mistakes on 
 this head. — It appears from c. 55. Lib. 2., that the antients conceived the blood to be 
 diffused from one ventricle of the heart, by the veins ; and the spiritus extracted by the 
 lungs, circulated from the other, by the arteries — which indeed derived their deno- 
 mination from this function. 
 
 MAY the 2Ath. 
 
 Read Cicero's Treatise, '*De Legibus." In the first Book, he undertakes to open the 
 fountain from whence all law is derived, preparatory to treating of the laws of his own 
 country; but I cannot say that he executes his task in a manner very clear and satis- 
 iactory to my mind, or which disposes me to think that he himself possessed any dis- 
 tinct and fixed ideas on the subject. From whence does moral distinction, which he 
 makes the basis of all law, and the great object of his enquiry, spring? To this fun- 
 damental question, I gather, after diligent search, no other answer, than that it is the 
 result of the right reason implanted in us by the Gods. — In the 2d. Book, assuming 
 what he conceives he has established in the first, That Law is not of human inven- 
 tion, nor varying in different countries and ages, but, a« proceeding from right rea- 
 son, coaeval with the great Author of all things in whom perfect reason must reside, and 
 consequently the same in all times and places, he proceeds to inculcate the neces-
 
 \31 
 L1709.] 
 
 sity of impressing on mankind the persuasion, that all things here below are ad- 
 ministered by the Gods ; and concludes with prescribing, for this purpose, various par- 
 ticular religious regulations, in which he approves himself a very Catholic Pagan, and 
 exliibits the sad spectacle of a mighty river, sprung from an exalted source, and draw- 
 ing abundant supplies from every quarter as it advances, which having long held on 
 its steady and maiestic course with a brimming current, and visited the most inviting 
 and favoured regions in its progress, — fmally loses itself, before it reaches its destina- 
 tion, in the sands. — In the 3d. and last Book, he descends, from the Religion, to 
 consider the Political Constitution and municipal CEconomy of a State : but as his re- 
 marks are made chiefly with a reference to the particular polity of Rome, they con- 
 tain little matter of general application or interest. 
 
 M^Ytke26tk. 
 
 Read the 1st. Book of Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity. He defines Law, " that 
 which modifies any power to the production of any effect"; and divides it into, 1st. 
 That Law which God hath prescribed for himself in all his works ; 2dly., The Law 
 of natural and necessary agents; 3dly., The Law of animated brute agents, or the 
 judgment of common sense and fancy concerning the Sensible goodness of those ob- 
 jects whereby they are moved; 4thly., The Law of angels, or their intuitive intel- 
 lectual judgment concerning the amiable beauty and high goodnessof the objects which 
 excite them ; 5thly., The Law of voluntary human agents on earth, cr the sentence 
 of reason concerning the goodness of the things which they are to do ; 6thly., posi- 
 tive conventional Laws; and 7thly., divine revealed Laws: buthowreason, under the 
 5th. head, distinguishes good from evil, and establishes a consequent Law, he by no 
 means satisfactorily explains : — like Cicero, on this important and fundamental ques- 
 tion, he leaves us, nearly as he found us, — much in the dark. — Hooker's march is 
 uncommonly dignified and stately. 
 
 JUJ)}E the 3d. 
 
 Visited the Royal Exhibition ; and was again struck and delighted with Turner's 
 
 Landscapes : particularly with fishermen in an evening — a calm before a storm, which 
 
 all nature attests is silently preparing, and seems in death-like stillness to await: and 
 
 Caernarvon Castle, the sun setting in gorgeous splendour behind its shadowy towers : 
 
 —the latter in water colours; to which he has given a depth and force of tone,- which 
 
 T
 
 13S 
 [1799-1 
 
 I had never before conceived attainable with svich untoward implements.— Turner's 
 views are not mere ordinary transcripts of nature: he always throws some peculiar and 
 striking character into the scene he represents. 
 
 Viewed afterwards the Miltonic Gallery ; and was powerfully impressed with the 
 striking illustration it affords of Burke's Doctrine (Sub. and Beau. ; p. 2, sects. 3d. 
 and 4th.) respecting the superior efHcacy of the indistinctness of poetical imagery, in 
 exciting emotions of the sublime, over the necessary precision and exactness of actual 
 delineation, however forcible and vivid. The example perhaps may be considered as 
 not altogether a fair one — for Fuseli is unquestionably rather bombastic tHan sub- 
 lime; and in his vehement struggles to embody the preposterous phantoms of a fe- 
 vered brain, exhibits the writhings and contortions of the Sibyll, without the inspira- 
 tion : yet he has done enough, I think, to shew, how feeble and ineffective any at- 
 tempt must be, to represent on canvas those awful and mysterious forms which our 
 great Bard has shadowed forth, so impressively yet obscurely, in his immortal Poem. 
 — The department in which Fuseli appears most calculated to shine, is in the fantas- 
 tic portraiture of fairies, sylphs, and elves — where the wildest freaks of fancy may be 
 safely indulged without offence to truth and nature. — He injudiciously represents the 
 visions, and even the metaphors, of Paradise Lost. 
 
 JUNE the 8tL 
 
 Visited the Orleans Gallery, Pali-Mall. — Several pictures by RafFael in tlie first 
 room ; none of which pleased me much : there was a hardness in the manner, a la- 
 boured stiffness in the design and drawing, and a general cast of resemblance to the 
 illuminated Frontispieces in old Missals, in all of them ; and Christ praying that the 
 cup might pass from him, however prized (siu-ely from mere pedantrj^, or at most 
 an association with his latter and more perfect productions) , was in no respect better, 
 as far as I could discern, than one of these decorations. — Poussin's Seven Sacraments: 
 — very fine, both in design, and colouring, the tone of which was admirably harmoni- 
 ous in all, and exquisitely clear and brilliant in some. Alexander and his Physician 
 by Le Sueur ; — a good deal after the manner of Poussin, but in colouring I think still 
 preferable : this is the first production I have met with by this artist, and I shall be 
 anxious to see more. The Ecce Homo by Guido, above all praise : — I could only 
 gaze upon it in silent admiration.— In the second room, a St. John by RafFael, 
 the Transfiguration from Michael Angelo, and Diana and Actseon by Titian, fully 
 vindicated, in my judgment, the transcendant reputation of these great artists.
 
 139 
 
 [1799.] 
 
 JUNE the I3tk. 
 
 Had a long and interesting conversation with Mr. M., turning principally on 
 Burke and Fox. Of Burke he spoke with rapture ; declaring that he was, in his es- 
 timation, without any parallel in any age or cotmtry — except perhaps Lord Bacon 
 and Cicero ; that his works contained an ampler store of political and moral wisdom 
 than could be found in any other writer whatever ; and that he was only not esteemed ' 
 the most severe and sagacious of reasoners, because he was the most eloquent of 
 men,— the perpetual force and vigour of his arguments being hid from vulgar obser- 
 vation by tlie dazzling glories in which they were enshrined. In taste alone he thought 
 him deficient : but to have possessed that quality in addition to his others, wonldhave 
 been too much for man. Passed the last Christmas with Burke at Beacon sfield ; and 
 described, in glowing terms, the astonishing effusions of his mind in conversation. 
 Perfectly free from all taint of affectation : would enter, with cordial glee, into the sports 
 of children ; rolling about with them on the carpet, and pouring out, in his gambols, 
 tl>e sublimest images mingled with the most wretched puns. Anticipated his approach- 
 ing dissolution, with due solemnity, but perfect composure. Minutely and accurately 
 informed, to a wonderful exactness, with respect to every fact relative to the French 
 Re\'olntion. — M. lamented, with me. Fox's strange deportment during this tremendous 
 crisis ; and attributed it, partly to an ignorance respecting these facts, and partly to a 
 misconception of the true character of the democvotic philosophers of the day, whom 
 he confounded with the old advocates for reform, and with whose genuine spirit he 
 appeared on conversation totally unacquainted, ascribing the temper and views impu- 
 ted to them, entirely to the calumny of party. Idle and uninquisitive, to a remark- 
 able degree. Burke said of him, with a deep sigh, " He is made to be loved". Fox 
 said of Burke, thatM. would have praised him too highly, had that been possible r 
 but that it was not in the power of man, to do justice to his various and transcendant 
 merits. Declared, he would set his hand to every part of the Preliminary Discourse 
 on the Law of Nature and Nations, except the account of Liberty — a subject which he 
 considered with Burke, as purely practical, and incapable of strict definition. Of 
 Gibbon, M. neatly remarked, that he might have been cut out of a corner of Burke's 
 mind, without his missing it. — Spoke highly of Johnson's prompt and vigorous pow- 
 ers in conversation, and, on this ground, of Boswell's Lifeof him: Burke, he said, 
 agreed with him ; and afiirmed, that this Work was a greater monument to Johnson's 
 fame, than all his wi'itings put together. — Condemned democracy as the most mon- 
 strous of all governments; because it is impossible at once to act and to control, and
 
 140 
 
 [1799-1 
 
 consequently the sovereign power, in such a constitution, must be left without any check 
 whatever : regardexl that form of government as best, which placed the efficient so- 
 vereignty in the hands of the natural aristocracy of a country, subjecting them in its 
 exercise to the control of the people at large. — Descanted largely in praise of our plan 
 of representation ; by which, uncouth and anomalous as it may in many instances ap- 
 pear, and indeed on that very account, such \arious and diversified interests became 
 proxied in the House of Commons. Our democracy, he acutely remarked, was pow- 
 erful but concealed, to prevent popular violence ; our monarchy, prominent and os- 
 tensible, to provoke perpetual jealousy. — Extolled in warm terms — which he thought 
 as a foreigner (a Scotchman) he might do without the imputation of partiality, for he 
 did not mean to include his own countrymen in the praise — the characteristic bon na- 
 ture!, the good temper and sound sense, of the English people; qualities, in which he 
 deliberately thought us without a rival in any other nation on the globe. — Strongly 
 defended Burke's paradoxical position, that vice loses its malignancy with its gross- 
 ness, on tlie principle, that all disguise is a limitation upon vice. — Stated with much 
 earnestness, that the grand object of his political labours should be, first, and a- 
 bove all, to extinguish a false, wretched and fanatical philosophy, which if we did not 
 destroy, would assuredly destroy us ; and then to revive and rekindle that antient ge- 
 nuine spirit of British liberty, which an alarm, partly just and partly abused, had smo ■ 
 thered for the present, but which, combined with a providential succession of fortu- 
 nate occurrences, had rendered us, in better times, incomparably the freest, wisest, 
 and happiest nation under heaven. 
 
 JUNE the 1 5 th. 
 
 Visited for the first time (so strangely is It buried in obscurity) St, Stephen's 
 Church, Walbrook. The interior architecture, rich, elegant, chaste; and (what 
 may be deemed its appropriate and distinguishing merit) effecting much in a small 
 compass. I doubt whether a Gothic building could have been constructed on the 
 same scale, which would have produced an equal effect. The tendency, it is true, 
 of the Gothic Style, is to enlarge, and of the Grecian, as it is called, to reduce, the 
 apparent size of the edifices to which they are applied : but the Gothic Artist must 
 have positive magnitude to work upon, or the imposition arising from real disproportion 
 and seeming irregularity, would be detected and despised; whereas that exquisite order 
 and symmetry, by which the whole of a Grecian structure, however stupendous in 
 bulk, is brought at once within the grasp, still retain their charm, however limited the 
 scale on which they are cmpIo\ed, and perhaps carry with them on this occasion some-
 
 141 
 
 L17P9.] 
 
 tiling of the real majesty and grandeur of the objects w ith which they are usually 
 associated. — ^This reads a little " a le IVarburton"; bat let it pass. — The hXiar Piece, 
 the stoning- of St. Stephen, by West, struck me as incomparably the best production 
 I had ever seen by that artist. 
 
 JUNE the \8lh. 
 
 Reached Speen, yesterday ; and strolled a pleasant circuit about it. The country 
 round, highly beautiful : to the South, a rich expanse of cultivation ; then rising 
 ground, skirted with wood; and, above these, the broad backs of naked downs, giving 
 a fine relief to the other parts of the scene : the battered ruins of Donnington Castle 
 towering proudly on an eminence to the North, and the Priory standing in a delici- 
 ous shady recess at its bottom. 
 
 This day reached Bath. Burst suddenly, from the edge of White-Horse Downs, 
 on a vast and variegated expanse, spreading from below, and stretching far away be- 
 fore us as the eye could reach. Had a distinct retrospect of the White Horse, peeled 
 from the surface of the chalky Downs, as far as Pickwick ; presenting at a distance, 
 over the intervening heights, a most singular and imposing aspect. From Pick- 
 wick, descended down the left side of a beautiful and luxuriant vale, opening in a 
 superb visto to the South West: passed the agreeable scattered village of Box; and, 
 crossing the valley, pursued the right side of it, through Bath Easton, into Bath. 
 
 JUNE the ]Qth. 
 
 Perambulated Bath. Captivating as are the beauty and S3'mmetry of the buildings in 
 this city, at first view, I begin already to suspect that we should be better pleased, in 
 the long run, with the intricacy and variety of more irregular towns. — The great Bal^ 
 Room, 108 feet by 42, and 42 feet high, as is usual in such cases, disappointed 
 me. It is not in general, till we get back, and find the comparative inferiority of 
 what we before esteemed considerable in the same way, that we become fully sensi- 
 ble of transcendant excellence in any thing abroad. Perhaps a little pride, and a little- 
 vanity, mingles itself with our judgments on these occasions: — a little pride, which 
 makes us disdain to be suddenly overpowered into an acknowledgment of the com- 
 parative littleness of what we once thought great ; and a little vanity, by which we 
 are afterwards led, amongst our neighbours, to arrogate to ourselves some portion 
 of the consequence of those objects, which we have seen, and theij have not. — The ef- 
 fect of the Lower Crescent, composed of twenty-eight noble houses, is unquestionably
 
 142 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 striking ; yet viewed as one structure, it offends by the worst sort of disproportion — 
 
 by appearing mucli too depressed for its extent. 
 
 JUNE the 20th. 
 
 Drove to Clifton. Walked over the Downs to the remains of a tower and Roman 
 encam[)ment ; and descended, down a chine a little beyond, to the banks of the Avon, 
 which we pursued up to the Wells. The rocks which tower to the right, richly fea- 
 thered with wood to their summits ; those to the left, naked, abrupt, and precipi- 
 tous ; forming a fine contrast : the river at the bottom, a miserable muddv ditch : 
 had it been an alpine torrent, the scenery of this romantic cleft would have been com- 
 plete. Awful effect of the blasting of the rocks, reverberated from side to side, and 
 dying away in distant murmurs. Tasted the water at the Wells ; warm and milky, but 
 without any perceptible mineral flavour : did it possess any peculiar sanative virtue, 
 indeed, the inhabitants of Clifton would be pre-eminently blessed — for the same or a 
 similar spring supplies the whole village. The air strikes us as uncommonly soft and 
 balmy; and here, probably, if any where, resides the restorative Genius of the place. 
 
 JUNE the 2] si. 
 
 Visited Bristol ; of which we caught a most striking coup dceil on our way, from 
 the brow of Brandon Hill. The streets and buildings of this vast town, bear so exact 
 a general resemblance to those of the City of London, that a stranger, not perfectly 
 versed in every part of the latter, may sometimes forget himself: — I felt, more than 
 once, the full force of this illusion. — Visited, with much interest, RadclifFe Church ; a 
 most grand and venerable pile. Three paintings over the Altar, by Hogarth — the Seal- 
 ing of the Tomb — the Ascension — and Annuntiation of it by the Angel : not much to 
 be said for the design , in any of them ; and the colouring, in his usual slight, but quiet 
 and inoffensive style. Shewn the armour of Sir William Penn, father of the Qua- 
 ker; and the monument of William Canynge, which fixes his death to Nov. the 7 th, 
 147'1. Ascended the Tower, to a room containing the chests from which Chatterton 
 professed to draw liisantient Manuscripts: — long nearly as a coffin, and curved on the 
 top : ^-falling fast to decay. 
 
 Entertiained after dinner with a Dulcimer : a stringed instrument, something like 
 a small spinnet ; sounded on the wires with sticks of cane, and producing tones singu- 
 larv plaintive, \vild, and soothing. 
 
 JUNE the 26th. 
 
 Reached Chepstow, by the Aust Passage, on the 22d. ; and have since explored, in
 
 [1799-] 
 
 various strolls, its delightful vicinity. — The banks of the Wye here, though yjelding 
 perhaps in simple dignity to those of the Avon, arc far more diversified with pictur- 
 esque combinations of rock and wood and water. The Bristol Channel, as seen from 
 the heights around, must disappoint those who have formed magnificent ideas of the 
 mouths of mighty rivers: little short of the Andees, would be requisite to furnish a 
 suitable back ground to such a breadlh of waters ; while their turbid and terraqueous 
 aspect, viewed even at this distance, will be forcibly and offensively felt b}- e\cs accus- 
 tomed to rest with delight on the pure and pellucid currents of the Menai streights. 
 or the Solent. 
 
 JUNE the 17 th. 
 
 Walked to Tintern. Attaining the highest point of the eminence on the road to Mon- 
 mouth, at a place called Chapel Hill, paused to enjoy a magnificent retrospect over 
 the Grounds ofPersefield, the Town and Castle of Chepstow, and the variegated tract 
 we had traversed, of the Severn, sweeping from beiiind the feathered rocks of the 
 Wye, to the left, and, rapidly dilating in breadth as it advances, losing itself in the 
 vast expanse of the Bristol Channel, to the right: the whole backed by the coast of 
 Somersetshire, spreading to an illimitable extent in the distance, and distinctly mar- 
 ked with wreaths of smoke from the glass works at Bristol, not less than 20 miles 
 ofF. — Descended by a tortuous and rugged road, amidst a prodigality of shade and the 
 refreshing murmur of gurgling rills, into a deep and sequestered hollow, formed by 
 a sweeping recess of the Western banks of the Wye, and enclosing in its secluded 
 bottom the village and abbey of Tintern : a delicious retreat ; most felicitously chosen 
 — (as where, indeed, have the founders of such establishments not evinced their taste 
 and discernment in the choice of situation) — for the purposes of religious meditation 
 and retirement. — After encountering the thick enclosures and vile hovels which in 
 every direction vexatiously obstruct the approach to the Abbey-Church, and intercept 
 a distinct view of it, magical and sublime effect, on cjitcring the West door, of the 
 whole interior of this venerable pile, carpeted with velvet turf, and roofed by the azure 
 sky : — the lofty side walls of the nave, bleached by an exposure of two centuries and 
 a half, and beautifully stained with mosses and lichens of various dyes, retiring in 
 long and deep perspective to the tall eastern window, aereally light, and gracefully 
 festooned with wreaths of ivy : — an exquisite and inimitable picture; singularly, yethar- 
 moniously, blending the solemnity of Gothic architecture with the cheariul gaiety of 
 nature. — Strolled in the evening up the banks of the Wje, through the scattered 
 village of Tintern :— many of the houses in ruins, and the whole place exhibiting
 
 H4f 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 strong marks of poverty and wretchedness. Ivy every where luxuriates in v\oiKicrfu 
 profusion : taking advantage of the general listlesness which reigns here, it has quietly 
 forced its way into the little church of Tintern, and spread completely over the sound- 
 ing-board of the pulpit, which it fringes very picturesquely. 
 
 JUNE the 2Qth. 
 
 Reached Newport, l6 miles; keeping the Bristol Channel all the way in sight to 
 the left. — Strolled after dinner, by a sequestered footpath, leading through Christ- 
 Church wood, to Caerleon ; a neat, quiet and retired town, invitingly situated on an 
 extensive level of fertile meadows, intersected by the winding Uske, and bounded on 
 either side by gentle but lofty acclivities, which gradually close towards the North : — 
 barren ridges of hill swelling boldly over the nearer heights to the West. Of the for- 
 mer grandeur of this once celebrated spot, could discover no vestiges, but the remains 
 of a massy tower at the East end of the bridge, and a considerable tumulus, probably 
 the sciteot the anticnt Keep of the Castle, lying a little to the North west, on the op- 
 posite side of the river ; — yel Caerleon was incontestibly a Roman station of consider- 
 able distinction ; and, if Giraldus maybe believed, exhibited, so late as the 12th. cen- 
 tury, many interesting and splendid monuments of its former magnificence. 
 
 The Bridge here, like that at Chepstow, is lightly but compactly built of wood ; 
 and the platforms of both, are composed of boards loosely laid down and confined 
 from slipping merely by tenons at their extremities projecting against a rail above : — 
 not, as has been absurdly supposed, that they may rise and fall with the tide, for the 
 play which the planks derive from this construction, is very inconsiderable ; but to 
 prevent their being blown up and carried off by it, as would probably be the conse- 
 quence were they attached in the usual manner to the timbers below. The precaution, 
 to those who look down from a height of not less than 50 or 6o feet (a fearful and giddy 
 height with such a footing) on the stream at low water, appears very superfluous ; but 
 so immense is sometimes the influx of the current from the tide pent up in the Bristol 
 Channel, that almost every year's experience, we were told, evinces its utility. 
 
 JUNE the 30th. 
 
 Reached Cardiff, by the lower road : an uninteresting drive of 12 miles. Viewed 
 the Castle; occupying the West side of a quadrangular area of about 8 acres, enclo- 
 sed by the antient walls of the fortress : a raised terrace walk, with occasional peeps 
 over the parapets, running along the North and East sides, and terminating in a look-
 
 14.5 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 out from a tower at the South East Angle : the Keep, a polygonal tower on a steep 
 mound in the centre. The whole kept in very trim order; and the antient apart- 
 ments of the CasUe transforming, at a great expense, into something like a semblance 
 of the snug accommodations of a modern dwelling. A few family pictures byDahl and 
 Kneller ; a line portrait by Vantlyke; and a piece containing several heads, in fine 
 preservation, by Holbein, decorate the walls. Holbein appears to have copied indivi- 
 dual nature, just as he found it, with great exactness; and on Ibis account to have 
 failed in picturesque effect, which demands a greater breadth and force of light and 
 shade than ordinai-ily occurs in real life. As far as he goes, however, he is truly ex- 
 cellent; antl there can be little doubt that his likenesses were veiy correct. 
 
 Strolled afterwards to Llandaff, having, to the left, an immense expanse of level 
 meads stretching away to Pennarth point ; and, to the right, a luxuriant vale, 5 miles 
 across, bounded by a range of heights sprinkled with houses and opening in a deep 
 recess towards Pont y Prldd : Arthur's Butts, the loftiest of these eminences, capped 
 with clouds. The city itself consisting of a few scattered hovels, interspersed, here 
 and there, with a neat prebendal house. The nave of the Cathedral, the West front 
 of which is fine, in ruins : the choir, new built, but in a most incongruous style of 
 architecture ; composing altogether a preposterous medley. 
 
 JULY the 4th. 
 
 Returned from a pedestrian excursion round by Caerplnli and Pont y Pridd. Pur- 
 sued the first 5 miles over a level plain ; then winding up the range of heights in front, 
 had an expansive retrospect, over the flat we liad traversed, of Cardiff, Pennarth 
 point (a bold headland), the Bristol Channel studded with the two islands called the 
 Steep and Flat Holmes, and the Somersetshire coast in the distance. — Steep descent 
 to Caerphyli, lying in a deep hollow surrounded on all sides with mountainous swells ; 
 — a neat, well-built, and apparently thriving village. — Explored the Castle ; dread- 
 fully shattered by violence and time, but still attesting prodigious strength and rude 
 magnificence. Entered by the grand approach in the East front. The interior area, an 
 immense enclosure, surrounded by a deep ditch and massy walls, and flanked by four 
 gigantic towers, one at each angle : that at the South East, solid as it is, reft to its 
 foundation, and fearfully overhanging its base at least 12 feet. The great hall, of enor- 
 mous dimensions, lying on the South side of the area; and covered galleries, com- 
 municating with each other and the different apartments by spiral staircases, run- 
 ning through the whole extent of this labyrinth of buildings. Connected originally 
 
 with the first area by a drawbridge, and like that defended bv a deep fosse, extends 
 
 U
 
 146 
 
 [1799-J 
 
 another court, projecting boldly, in the form of a vast bastion, to the West; and bs 
 
 yond this, are the remains of other out-works advancing to a considerable distance in the 
 same direction. The effort which it must have cost, to rear so vast a pile, is prodigi- 
 ous; yet there remains no certain history or tradition, I believe, by whom this stu- 
 pendous labour was achieved. The next day, crossed over the mountains toEglwy- 
 
 syllian ; a solitary church, the most wretched I have yet beheld; dark, damp, and 
 gloomy, with crazy benches instead of pews, and raised graves of loose earth, some 
 strewed with faded flowers, on the uneven floor of clay. Lost ourselves, for some 
 time, in this forlorn anddesolate region : — mountains swelling over mountains, indreary 
 succession and savage grandeur, to the North . — Descended, by a precipitous and rugged 
 gulley in the mountain, into the romantic valley of the Taaf, opening to the left ina 
 narrow but superb visto, and exhibiting in remote but bright perspective, Pennarth 
 Cliff", the Steep and Flat Holmes, the Channel, and the coast beyond it. — Striking 
 effect of Pont y Prkld, seen from below: the span of the single arch 144 feet, the 
 breadth of the bridge onlv 12; the abutments pierced, to lessen their pressure ; — 
 stretching, light as air, like a rainbow, across the river. Overpowered, in every other 
 direction, by the magnificence of the scenery around ; — so much so, that when we 
 first caught a view of it from tlie heights above, we mistook it for a foot-bridge.— 
 Pursued the Taaf, raging over gigantic slabs of rock, and at a sudden bend to the left 
 joined by another mountain streatn pouring through a grand I'ecess to the North West, 
 till we reached the Bridgewater Arms. — Ascended the Cliff" behind the Inn, and ex- 
 amined a large slab of rock, perhaps 40 feet in circumference, and between 4 and 5 
 thick, sensibly, though slightly, librating, on a moderate pressure. — On our return this 
 morning, followed the Taaf for some miles, gushing with a pure and rapid current 
 over its rocky channel, and bounded on either side by steep and picturesque acclivities , 
 till we reached the gorge of the vallev, into which we had peeped from thcheights of 
 Llandaff", and where it suddenly and abruptly expands, without any preparation, upon 
 a level champaign. Perched on the extremity of the last rugged precipice to the left, 
 tower the ruins of Coch Castle; guarding the entrance to the valley, and command- 
 ing an immense extent of country spread beneath it to the South. — Struck to the left, 
 at the base of the hill which we had traversed on setting out ; and rejoined the road to 
 Caerphyli, a few miles from Cardiff". — All has been completely Welsh in this little cir- 
 cuit : English is scarcely understood ; never voluntarily spoken ; and, when attemp- 
 ted, badly and with difficulty, as a foreign language. 
 
 JULY the Tth. 
 
 \''isited, from Pyle, Mr. Talbot's grounds at Margam ; lying, with the village,
 
 147 
 
 1 1799- J- 
 
 snugly sheltered under a steep and lofty screen of hill, thickly mantled from its base to 
 its summit in wood. The fine collection of orange trees (the noblest I hc!ie\ein the 
 kingdom) disposed in square tubs round a basin, in a parterre, formed in the midst 
 of a thick shrubbery, and sheltered on all sides by an amphitheatre of trees: perfuming 
 the whole air of this calm and sequestered retreat, with their delicious odour. The 
 Green-House, in which they are protected, except during the summer months, 275 
 feet in length ; with two handsome square rooms at each extremity of this long-drawn 
 visto, filled with antique statues, busts, and vases, and some exquisite models in 
 cork of the principal ruins at Rome. The roof of the chapter-house, which, with the 
 remains of the monastery, is enclosed within the grounds, and the impending fate of 
 which Mr. VVyndham so feelingly deprecated in his tour more than 20 years since, 
 fell in last winter, and covered its owner with disgrace. 
 
 JUL Y the Qth. 
 
 Walked back from Neath, part of the way we had come, to view the scenery of 
 Briton Ferry. Interesting track from the high road to the Ferry. To the right, the 
 little sequestered church of Briton, and Lord Vernon's house and sloping lawns, 
 embowered in foliage : to the left, a rocky knoll projecting as a cape between Llan- 
 Bag-ton Bay and the mouth of the Neath River, richly tufted with trees and under- 
 wood, and formed into walks commanding in every direction the scenery around, 
 and, from the summit to which they conduct, the whole sweep of Swansea Bay cir- 
 cling round to the Mumbles : in front, the Neath River, about a quarter of a mile 
 in width, retiring to the right, before Lord Vernon's house, between folding crags 
 feathered with wood to the very edge of the water : behind, a screen of steep and 
 noble heights, skirted with wood below, but bare above, and giving a fine relief to 
 the immediate features of this Elysian scene — altogether the most pleasing in them- 
 selves, and the most happily combined and agreeably diversified, I have ever beheld. 
 — Marked, on our return, a considerable Druidical Upright, in the middle of a mea- 
 dow, to the West of the road, something short of two miles from Neath. 
 
 JULY the 10th. 
 
 Strolled up the Western banks of the Neath River, under a noble screen of hill to 
 the left, to Aberdillis Mill ; where, in a deep and dark recess of the Clifl, overspread 
 with foliage, a torrent from the mountains, bursts through a chasm above, and thun- 
 ders impetuously down, amidst huge slabs and masses of rock, tumbled into the wild-
 
 14-8 
 
 [1799-] 
 est forms that fancy can conceive: — a wonderful little scene; quite a cabinet jficture 
 
 of Salvator Rosa's. Crossed the river above, and returned under the heights oi 
 
 Gnoll Castle: — ruined by that pest of modern improvement — plantations of fir, ex- 
 
 tendino- their stiff" and murky files in long and hideous array. — Awful effect, in the 
 
 night, from the lurid and infernal glare of the furnaces round the town. But for tlie 
 
 nuisance of these works — a growing evil — few places could boast a more delightful 
 
 and inviting vicinity than Neath. 
 
 JULY the \1tlu 
 
 Crossed yesterday by Pont y Neath, over the mountains, to Brecknock, 32 miles. 
 Passed Aberdillis mill, and pursued for some way the banks of the Neath river, 
 along its picturesque and richly wooded valley ; then struck to the left, and climbing 
 by a long and steep ascent into the heights above, traversed a region of moun- 
 tain tops, bleak and wild, without signs of cultivation or inhabitants: the road dread- 
 fully ruggedj gulled with torrents, and in some places trackless; clouds gliding athwart 
 barren ridges around us, and spreading, beneath, a night of shade: — a most forlorn and 
 desolate scene. Opened, from a deep mountain hollow, beyond Pont y Neath, on a 
 vale to the left, stretching magnificently downwards to Trecastle, and giving us once 
 more a glimpse of the world below. Approaching Brecknock, skirted the huge 
 base of the Monuchdenny or Van mountain, furrowed deep with torrents; its sum- 
 mit wrapt in clouds, diffusing a sad purple gloom over its hollows and recesses, far 
 more awful and impressive than mere darkness, and which seemed at the moment to 
 explain and justify (in one who must have often witnessed its solenni effect) Ho- 
 mer's epithet of tvo^'^v ^-:og Slcx^vonog, 
 
 Followed this morning, from the Collegiate Church, the whole extent of the Priory 
 walks; winding picturesquely along the steep, woody, and sinuous banks of the river 
 Honddy, rushing with an impetuous current over its rocky channel below. Returned 
 by a route afeove them ; and had a clear and distinct view, over the gentle eminences 
 which bound the vale to the South, of the whole form of the Monuchdenny Moun- 
 tain — so conspicuous a feature from all the heights near Brecknock : — sharp and an- 
 gular in its contour, and towering sublimely to its forked summit ; supreme above 
 all the aspiring heights around it. This is incontestibly, I believe, the loftiest 
 mountain in South Wales : its height, by a late accurate measurement, was ascer- 
 tained to be 2592 feet above the vale which separates it from Brecknock.
 
 149 
 
 L1799.] 
 
 JULY the 10th. 
 
 Reached Rhaiadrgvvy, 29 miles from Brecknock, by' Builth, 14. Tlie Wye, 
 which we have followed for the last stage, maintains much the same chanicter here 
 that it does a hmidred miles below ; pursuing, over a rugged chauiicl, its rapid ^nd 
 devious course, between grand folding steeps, presenting, at every turn, new and di- 
 versified combinations of those elements of picturesque beauty — rock, foliage, and 
 water. 
 
 In the evening, explored our way up a sequestered hollow, to the left of liie heights 
 on the Aberystwith road, and buried deep under their shelving steeps. A magnifi- 
 cent scene at the head of this grand i-ecess: a mountain torrent, swelled by the late 
 rains, and rushing from above, bursts down a groove at the junction of the cliffs, and 
 tumbles in a succession of fills, sometimes conspicuous, sometimes hid, sometimes 
 plunging in a stream, sometimes spreading into sheets of foam, for at least a quarter of 
 a mile, and from a height not less than St. Paul's, between two gigantic precipices full 
 a thousand feet high : — some venerable oaks, the skirts of a hanging grove to the left, 
 throwing their branches wildly athwart the base of the chasm ! As we lingered in si- 
 lent admiration , at the foot of this grand spectacle, the dark and heavy clouds of the 
 evening, gathering to a tempest, and shedding a solemn twilight on all beneath, came 
 slowly sailing up from behind ; while a cormorant, startled from his solitary haunts 
 by our presence, suddenly sprung, with flapping wings, from the awful shade in 
 which we stood: — slight incidents; but of thrilling power, when fully accordant with, 
 the character and genius of the scene. 
 
 JULY the 23d. 
 
 Reached Llanidloes, 15 miles from Rhaiadr. Descending the heights to the 
 town, had a- gorgeous prospect before us of mountains rising over mountains : the 
 Van, a truncated cone, towering grandly in front ; the huge uplifted ridge of Plinlim- 
 mon, of gigantic bulk and transcendant elevation, stretching to the left ; and the Se- 
 vern, reduced to a mountain stream, winding its course from it through acletl, skir- 
 ting the town beneath, and pursuing its devious track through a noble vale spread- 
 ing far away, to the right, towards Welsh Pool. Perambulated the town : consisting 
 chiefly of four streets, intersecting each other at the Market- House ; and composed of 
 some of the best and some of the meanest buildings I have seen in Wales, strangely 
 intermingled: here a respectable mansion, and next to it a straggling line of depio-
 
 150 
 [1799- 1 
 
 rable weather-boarded hovels, sordid with smoke and fUth, without glass to tlie win- 
 dows, and with ragged ends of plank tacked together for chimneys : — particularly in 
 the suburbs. Passed, as we came along, some still more wretched huts, constructed 
 solely of loose stones, sods, and faggots ; and merely pierced, to let out the smoke and 
 admit the light. 
 
 JULY the 24th. 
 
 Crossed the Sevei-n by the wooden bridge, just below its junction with the Llewed- 
 uock river, and pursued the latter for some wa)-, gushing in a deep and romantic hol- 
 low to the left, thickly shrouded in wood : then struck to the right, and, with some 
 difficulty of approach, gained the summit of the Van mountain, which had confronted 
 us so nobly yesterday : — evidently the highest ground immediately round Llanidloes. 
 A gloomy tempest to the North, blackened and obscured every thing beneath it ; but 
 to the West of the North, stretclied the whole ridge of Plinlimmon, of a lumpish 
 form and unimposing aspect, but uplifted upon other heiglits, and incontestibly su- 
 preme : farther Northwards, as the weather cleared up, appeared the ragged sum- 
 mits of the Merionethshire mountains — two spiky tops, probably of Cader Idris and 
 the Arran, pre-eminent, with light fleecy vapours floating athwart them : to the 
 East, spread, in a vast expanse, the vale of Severn ; marked i« remote distance by the 
 peaked top of the Breddin mountain; to the South, lay Llanidloes; apparently at our 
 ieet, though 4 miles distant. 
 
 JULY the 25th. 
 
 Aspended Plinlimmon. Pursued for 7 or 8 miles, the left bank of the Severn, 
 dwindling by degrees to an alpine torrent, and raging at the bottom of a deep and 
 narrow glen; our track hanging fearfully on a ledge to the right. Opened at length, 
 between the receding heights, on the supreme ridge of Plinlimmon : its top saddened 
 and obscured with driving storms; its sides furrowed deep with torrents. Entered an 
 open and dreary moor extending to its base, and left our horses at a solitary hovel to 
 the right, on a spot the most truly desolateand forlorn I have ever seen inhabited. Pur- 
 sued our way up the side of tlie mountain, keeping the Severn torrent to our left, by 
 a long but gradual ascent through perpetual bog ; then struck to the right, and at- 
 tained the highest elevation of the ridge, conspicuously marked to the surrounding 
 country by two considerable piles of stones : — clouds driving and whirling, on all sides, 
 with a rapid motion, beneath and athwart us ; and allowing only partial glimpses of the
 
 151 
 
 mountain-tops around ;■— some, afar off, illuinined by the sun, and exhibited, through 
 the openings of the mist, in bright and beautiful transparency. To the left, an im- 
 mense and dreary plain, extending several miles into Cardiganshire, and excluding all 
 view in that direction. Crossed a part of tliis plain, intersected by deep grips for- 
 med in the loose texture of the boggy soil of wliich it is composed, about a mile, to 
 visit the source of the Severn — a small rill of strongly chalybeate-water, gushing 
 down the side of one of these gullies ; — and stopped, without difficulty, the course 
 of this mighty river with my hand. The rise of the Wye, about 2 miles farther on ; 
 and of a similar character. — Of the view from Plinlimmon, we are incompetent 
 judges; but there is nothing in the form or aspect of the mountain itself, remote or 
 near, which is at all striking; and.it owes its principal celebrity, I should suppose, to 
 the two distinguished rivers which spring from it. 
 
 JULYihc2Qth. 
 
 Drove to the Devil's Bridge, 'iO miles. Met the Wye, and pursued it for some way, 
 placidly meandring, to our left, over a pebbly channel ; then crossed it, rolling as a 
 torrent through a recess to the right, opening upwards to Plinlimmon. Pursued a 
 wild and dreary mountain hollow, without tree or bush or brake, but here and there 
 a wretched hovel ; till, turning to the left, we opened on the spiky and jagged sum- 
 mits of the Cardiganshire mountains, towering one above another in sublime confi.ision. 
 Overtook the Rheiddol, hid in a deep and feathered cleft to the right; and crossing 
 the Devil's Bridge, ascended to the Inn, a solitary house, commanding nearly the 
 same view which Grimm has heavily and feebly pourtrayed in Wyndham's Tour. — 
 Spent the evening in feasting our eyes upon the scene before us ; which is surely more 
 romantic and delicious than ever fancy feigned — and cannot be described : soft va- 
 pours, as the evening advanced, steaming up the sides of the feathered clefts below, 
 firom the concussion of the waters; and the sun, from beneath a stormy cloud, with 
 " farewell sweet", pouring his last glories on the heights above. 
 
 JULY the 17 th. 
 
 Visited the Monach, raging through a shaggy chasm from above, ahd working 
 downitstremendous way, under the Bridge, through a yawning fissure in the black 
 rock, worn smooth by its friction. Then walked to a projecting point of the cleft^ 
 and viewed the remainder of the fall : — 400 feet in the whole; but broken into four 
 or five parts, and taking rather a curve to the right :— the spray, at the bottoin, blowH
 
 152 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 about like vapour. Explored our way down the side of the cleft through which it 
 
 flows, to the Rheiddol; and climbed over the rugged rocks which form its channel, 
 to the foot of the fall of that stream, which, diminutive as it appears from our win- 
 dow, is the perpendicular plunge of a considerable river, from a height of not less 
 than 30 feet: a projection of the rock catches part of the stream in the first gush of 
 its descent, and whirls it round with a fury that adds much to the grandeur and spirit 
 of the effect. — Descended afterwards by a slippery and precipitous track, through a 
 thicket immediately beneath the Inn, to the foot of the great cataract ; viewing all 
 its falls successively in our way. The last plunge is down a steep, almost, but not 
 quite perpendicular, of 120 feet, when the whole mass of waters raging headlong 
 from above, is transmuted into foam ; and part, encountering a ragged projection of 
 slate rock, dissipated in vapour : — a maddening scene. — A storm came on in the 
 evening, which raged with encreasing violence till two in the morning, when it blew 
 a hurricane. The stunning roar of the adjoining cataracts exasperated into fury by 
 torrrnts of rain, heard dee])lv swelling in the pauses of the gusts, and scmsibly shak- 
 ing the earth with the momentum of their fall, beyond expression awful. 
 
 JULY the ZOlh. 
 
 Visited Hafod, three miles from our Inn, Col. Johnes . Had the Monach for 
 some way to our left ; hid, like the Rheiddol, in a feathered cleft. Passed a mill upon 
 it, from whence a woman, some years since, attempting to ford the river after rain, 
 was — the blood curdles at the thought — huiTied a\jay by the stream, precipitated 
 down all the falls of the great cataract, and found floating, a mangled spectacle, half 
 a mile below. Pursued our way over naked hills ; then struck to the i"ight, and burst 
 suddenly on Hafod House and Grounds, in a deep hollow richly mantled with wood, 
 the Ystwith flowing through it — a scene of enchantment amidst this barren waste. 
 The House sweetly sheltered to the North and East by richly wooded acclivities 
 surmounted by bare heights rising behind; a waving Lawn spreads before it, the 
 Ystwith rolls beyond, and then towers a lofty and magnificent screen of hill nobly 
 shagged with timber to its summit. Made a tour of thegrounds, by walks conducted 
 with admirable taste along the steep side-screens of the valley, and, as they descend 
 or climb or wind, exhibiting the scenery around, in all its possible combinations; 
 the Ystwith, or some tributary stream, for ever murmuring in deep glens, raging 
 over rocks, or dashing in cascades, and diffusing, at every turn, a new and refresh- 
 ing spirit on the scene. Much struck with a waterfall, accessible only by a dark 
 and winding passage hollowed through the rock, and which, after a long susperisCj
 
 153 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 opens abruptly and closel}', full in front, on the stream plunging from above intoadeep 
 and gloomy chasm beneath : the head of the cleft being inmicdiately closed with rock, 
 the narrow aperture at the top overspread with foliage, and the only exit for the wa- 
 ters an inscrutable fissure to the left — the effect of this natural picture, thus singu- 
 larly circumscribed and illumined, seen from the dim twilight of the cavern's mouth, is 
 altogether magical. — Col. Johnes, we were assured, had planted above three milli- 
 ons of trees. Were his example followed, Cardiganshire, from a stormy sea of bleak 
 denuded hills, might be converted into one of the most pleasing counties in the Prin- 
 cipality : under the most unpromising aspect, aHafod exists potentially in almost every 
 valley. 
 
 Drove in the evening to Aberystwith, 12 miles. The road conducted on a sort 
 of terrace, overlooking the hollow of the vale pf Rheiddol to the right ; and exhibi- 
 ting, towards the latter part of the drive, a grand view of the Merionethshire moun- 
 tains, gilded by a gorgeous sunset, and towering, one behind another, in striking 
 tumult: Cader Idris, with its double apex, distinctly visible; and Snowdon foicf to 
 be so, but obscured by storms. - 
 
 AUGUST the Ut. 
 
 Perambulated Aberystwith; lying in a wide-spread opening to the sea, at the con- 
 fluence of the rivers and the vales of Rheiddol and Ystwith, and between two noble 
 cliffs rising to the North and South of the town. The two rivers, previously separa- 
 ted by the ridge we traversed yesterday, form a junction a little South of the town, 
 and then run for some way parallel with the shore, before they meet the sea ; pre- 
 senting a very narrow, and, I should suppose, difficult entrance to the port. — The 
 remains of the Castle, nearly effaced ; and its area converted into pleasant walks, open- 
 ing on the sea. — Ascended the lofty cliff to the North of the town ; commanding the 
 whole sweep of Cardigan Bay, from Bardsey Isle to St. David's Head; — the moun- 
 tains of North Wales rearing their majestic heads one over another to the North 
 West. 
 
 AUGUST the Zd. 
 
 Reached Machynlleth, 20 miles from Aberystv\'ith. Passing Tal y Bont, an ex- 
 tensive prospect opens to the left, over an immense turbary and the acstuary of the 
 Dovy, spreading to the sea. Skirted, after this, the Eastern acclivities of the vale 
 of Dovy ; having the river winding to the left, and the heights of Merionethshire 
 
 X
 
 15i 
 
 [J 799-] 
 
 risino- in great majesty beyond it. Every step we advance, the features of" the coun- 
 try growr bolder and bolder ; and we are sensible that what before struck us as grand 
 in the Principality, would now appear inconsiderable. A most noble mountain — 
 Taran y Cesail — or Thunder beneath the Arm-Pit— throwing out its vast roots, and 
 lifting its awful summit, wrapped in a night of shade, on the other side of the valley, 
 appi^oaching the town. 
 
 AUGUST the 7th. 
 
 Crossed the valley of the Dovy, and explored our way, by a narrow and ruggftd 
 path, up one of the roots of Taran y Cesail; having on either side a deep glen, richly 
 feathered with thickets. Opened at length on the mountain itself, rearing its gigantic 
 licad most awfully above ; and making a long sweep to the left, attained the foot of 
 the steep and lofty ridge which forms its capital. Climbed laboriously up this last and 
 stiff" ascent, having a terrific precipice to our right, and then struck to the point where 
 this crowning height projects rovmdly and boldly towards Cardigan Bay. A most 
 transporting scene! The air clarified to keenest transparency by the late rains; and' 
 only a few light fleecy clouds floating far above the region of the mountain tops. To 
 the North, apparently^lose at hand, rosethewhole rugged form of Cader Idris, with 
 its jutting precipices craggy steeps and dark recesses, tapering in a jagged line to its 
 supreme apes, and barring from its superior elevation all farther view in that quarter. 
 In an opposite direction, ranged the heavy ridge of Plinlimmon, running out in the 
 line of heights which break down towards Machynlleth. South of Plinlimmon, be- 
 yond the river, vale, and aestuary of the Dovey, spread the whole Western part of South 
 Wales, comparatively flat, stretching out beyond the Bercely mountains — their sum- 
 mits blue and clear, their bases hazy — in a long-drawn line to the extreme rising of 
 St. David's Head. South of Cader Idris, extended the intensely blue summits of the 
 Caernarvonshire mountains, projecting into the vast promontory of Lhyn, shooting 
 far into the sea, and pointed by the Isle of Bardsey — so exquisitely clear, that we 
 could discern the surf, all the way, tipon the shore. To the North East, rose, sharp 
 grey and clear, over intervening ridges, the two peaks of the Arran : and to the South 
 West, expanded the whole crescent of Cardigan Bay, from St. David's Head to Bard- 
 sey Isle, smooth as a mirror, and brightly burnished towards its centre with the mid- 
 day sun. — I have missed few opportunities of ascending remarkable heights ; but this 
 is unquestionably the most magnificent mountain prospect I ever beheld.
 
 155 
 
 [1799.] 
 
 jiUGUST iht Cjth. 
 
 Drove to Dolgelle, 1 5 miles. — Crossed the valley of the Dovy, and wound in 
 among the opposite hills, pursuing the river Dyflas along a luxuriant and romantic 
 valley ; the bare and lofty steeps of Taran y Cesail to the left, surmounting with a 
 grand effect the richly feathered crags and opening glens.— A little beyond the Mill 
 of Esgairgeiliog, the valley narrows to a pass, the road is hewn out of the rock to 
 the right, and to the left soars to a stupendous height a most magnificent precipice 
 luxuriantly cloathed with loose and spreading foliage to its summit ; the river Dyflas 
 raging over its rocks darkly in a hollow beneath: — a scene of uncommon grandeur, 
 and which would reduce to comparative insignificance the boldest features of the Wye. 
 —Entered a dreary region of mountain hollows, forlorn and wild ; till approaching 
 the brow of a steep descent to Tal) llyn, burst suddenly on the whole majestic form 
 of Cader Idris, with its channeled sides, deep hollows, and rugged precipices, full in 
 front, towering far above, descending deep below, and filling up with its tremendous 
 bulk the entire opening before us: the lake of Talyllyn, bright as a mirror, diffused in 
 a hollow to the left, between sloping steeps opening in a long visto on Towyn and the 
 sea. — Struck from the bottom of the descent to the right, and climbed up a narrow 
 and terrific pass, between the craggy roots of Cader Idris on one side, and shattered 
 precipices shooting up in fantastic forms on the other ; all gushing with torrents, wav- 
 ing like threads of silver from the heights above, and bursting down with tremendous 
 fury around us. Emerging from this pass under the dark and awful brow of Craig 
 y Llam impendent to the right, and traversing a dreary moor, magical effect of the 
 expanded and diversified scenery round Dolgelle — lying at the bottom of a long and 
 steep descent before us, beneath the gigantic precipices of Cader Idris to\vering to 
 the left: the grey bare crag of Yroballt rising over the heights and woods of Nan - 
 ney to the right; and, folding round a rocky promontory beyond the Town, in front, 
 the vale to Barmouth — its level bottom intersected by a winding stream, and a grand 
 sweep of mountain headlands, breaking down from the North, and towering one 
 behind another in sublime succession, forming its opposite boundary, and closing the 
 scene with prodigious magnificence in that direction. 
 
 Strolled about the town : a most uncouth and exti'aordinar)' place ; apparently grow- 
 ing in wild disorder out of the rock on which it stands, and from which it is scarcely 
 distinguishable, — all the houses being composed of huge blocks of unhewn granite, 
 rudely piled on one another, as they are torn from the neighbouring heights, and 
 forming walls of stupendous thickness and grotesque aspect. Low buildings thus con-
 
 166 
 
 [1799.1 
 structed, unless crushed by their own weight, mnst last for ever ; and most of the 
 
 houses, accordingly, bear the marks of great antiquity. 
 
 AUGUST the I8th. 
 
 Still at Dolgelle. Our table, here, has become a sort of ordinary to the Inn ; and 
 we have been infinitely entertained, to day, with a very extraordinary character unde^ 
 a most unpromising aspect — the Rev. Mr. T. ; once thePorson ofOxford, forgenius 
 eccentricity and erudition. He has visited Germany, France, Switzerland, Italy and 
 Sicily ; conversed with Voltaire, had an interview with Rousseau, and was acquainted 
 with Johnson. Scarce a place could be mentioned or a character named, with which, 
 from personal knowledge or exact information, he was not perfectly conversant . and 
 though positive, captious, irritable, and impatient of contradiction, he amply atoned 
 for all the rubs he gave us, by the acuteness of his remarks, the originality of his sal- 
 lies, the vivacity of his anecdotes and descriptions, and the promptness and depth he 
 evinced on every topic that was started, however remote from the ordinary track of 
 conversation. Such a companion would be an acquisition any where^ but was ines- 
 timable here. — Had spent an evening with Lavater, who pronounced him flatly, at 
 first view, an incorrigible rogue : — L. himself, something more than an enthusiast, 
 and very near mad ; fancying that he resembles Jesus Christ in the countenance, with 
 many other such preposterous whimsies. Represented the King of Naples, with whom 
 he had frequently conversed, as perfectly stupid, sottish, and ignorant ; — literally scarcely 
 able to write. Had twice attempted ^tna ; the second time successful, and saw from 
 its summit the sun rise in all its glory : — affirmed Brydone's glowing description of this 
 o-orgeous scene, however carped at, to be very correct, and not more than just. 
 Described, with great force, his having heard a religious enthusiast preach his own fu- 
 neral sermon, with the ghastly horrors of the " facies hippocratica" depicted in his 
 aspect — a thrilling spectacle. 
 
 We have been fortunate, too, in meeting with Mr. D the grandson of the chro- 
 
 nologist. He knew Hume \vell ; and spoke of him as the most amiable of men, and 
 of the most accommodating manners. Mentioned that his father, a Canon of Salis- 
 bury, piqued himself much, on having distinguished and patronised Burke, when quite 
 obscure at Lincoln's Inn ; and having then pronounced, from the rare combination 
 he observed in him of transcendant ability and unwearied application, that he would 
 become one of the brightest ornaments of his country.
 
 1,07 
 L1799-] 
 
 AUGUST the \Qlh. 
 
 Reached Bala, 18 miles. Pursued, for the first 9 miles, the valley and the river of 
 Doigclle, the former gradually narrowing to a romantic glen, the latter to a moun- 
 tain torrent dashing in cascades at the bottom ; the heights of the A'"ran rising steeply 
 to the right, -and the whole range of Cader Idris towering in great majesty behind. 
 ' Ascending the head of the valley, entered on a dreary moor, the Arrenig stretch- 
 ing to the left ; and crossing the Dee near its source, opened on the lake of Bala 
 — the largest slieet of fresh water in Wales, being about 5 miles long by three 
 quarters of a mile in width ; but, viewed in this direction, very deficient in picturesque 
 effect, from the regularity of its form and the tameness of its shores : as we skirted 
 its margin, however, the prospect improved; and from its farther extremity, near 
 the Town of Bala, had a pleasing retrospect, over its whole expanse, and through the 
 visto of its acclivities and the heights beyond — the Arran with its double peak rising 
 to the left — on Cader Idris, 20 miles off; planted there as if on purpose to be ad- 
 mired — though the level over which»it is seen, is too elevated to gratify a true votary 
 of that magnificent mountain. 
 
 AUGUST the 13d. 
 
 Crossed over, yesterday, to Ruthin, 2'2 miles. Left the Town of Corwen, lying snugly 
 sheltered at the extreme foot of the Berwyn mountains, about a mile to the right; and 
 passed soon afterwards near the remains of Owen Glendwr's celebrated entrenchment, 
 forming a singular fillet round the Western brow of a commanding eminence on the 
 opposite heig'hts. — Sudden transition, and sweet effect, on entering transversely the 
 vale of Clwyd — a luxuriant hollow, nearly 20 miles in length, and gradually expand- 
 ing to 6 or 7 in breadth ; tufted with trees, chequered with enclosures, sprinkled with 
 houses, and smiling with cultivation : the evening, as we advanced, cleared up ; and 
 we seemed to breathe a balmier air, to behold a serener sky, and to enjoy a brighter 
 sun, than we had for some time been accustomed to, in the mountainous region we 
 had quitted. 
 
 Visited, today, the remains of the Castle; built of a reddish coloured stone, which,- 
 wherever it is employed (and a vein of it seems to run through nearly the whole Wes- 
 tern side of our island) has a meagre and miserable effect. Part of the Castle area^ 
 —(of the Castle itself, little has survived the vengeance of Owen Glendwr)— converted' 
 to the peaceful purpose of a bowling-green, commanding a rich view down the whole
 
 158 
 . [1799.1 
 extent of the vale of Clvvyd to the sea. — ^The town of Ruthin, far more respectable 
 than any we have seen in Wales : many of the houses very old, and with enormous 
 uncouth porticos of most grotesque appearance to a modern eye ; but kept in admira- 
 ble condition; and the whole place (unless we are deceived by contrast with our late 
 experience) exhibiting a remarkable air of neatness, tranquillity, and comfort. — The 
 Town Hall, lately erected, is a handsome and commodious building ; in which, with 
 a laudable attention that deserves to be copied, every party in the Court, from the 
 Judge to the witness, has a convenient and appropriate place assigned him. The sa- 
 loon to the Court, forms, with some little incongruity, the Assembly Room : and 
 here the convenience of the dancers has been consulted, for there is an artificial spring 
 to the floor. 
 
 AUGUST the 24th. 
 
 Pursued the Mold Road across the vale of Clwyd, and up a gap — Bvvlch Pen y Bar- 
 ras — by which it traverses the range of heights that forms the Eastern barrier of 
 the vale; passing the beautiful little church an4 village of Llanbedr, hanging sweetly 
 on the slope of the hill, and overlooking the valley beneath. Found, on the crown of 
 the height to the right, a large area encompassed with a double ditch and rampart — 
 apparently a British fortification, and constructed to guard this pass into the vale. 
 Struck to the left, and pursued the extreme ridge of the range, sloping steeply away 
 in both directions, about a mile and half, to its highest point of elevation, marked 
 by a tumulus — Moel Vamma. Prodigious prospect. To the West, spread be- 
 neath us, was the whole expanse of the vale of Clvvyd, from its amphitheatrical ori- 
 gin in a nook amongst the mountains near Llangollen, to its broad exit to the sea over 
 the level marshes of Rhyddlan ; intersected by the silver thread of its river, and beauti- 
 fully variegated, through all its extent, with thickets, enclosures, villages, and vil- 
 las: — Ruthin, Denbigh and its Castle, and the City of St. Asaph, conspicuous fea- 
 tures in it. To the North East, over the whole of Flintshire diffused beneath the 
 projecting roots and shelving hollows of the mountain, and beyond the asstuaries of 
 the Dee and Mersey, (the former marked at its bead by the dusky red walls of Ches- 
 ter, the latter on its sloping side by the white villas of Liverpool,) extended a long line 
 of the Lancashire coast, stretching far away to the North, and faintly closed, in re- 
 motest distance, by the mountains of Westmoreland and Cumberland — dissolved ia 
 ether. To the East and South East, dilated a boundless expanse over Cheshire, Shrop- 
 shire, and Staffordshire ; — the insulated and solitai^ knoll of Beeston Castle, near 
 Tarporley, starting very distingaishably from the general level. From the South to the
 
 1 59 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 West, over the intei-vening eminences, towered, in magnificent succession, the sum- 
 mits of all the conspicuous mountains in North Wales — the Arran — Cader Idris 
 
 the Arrenig — Moel Shiabod — Snowdon — the Glvdcrs--theTrevaen?Rock — and Pen- 
 manmawr. — A prospect altogether, for variety and expansion, probably unequalled in 
 this island. 
 
 AUGUST the ISth. 
 
 Reached Holywell, Pursued tlie left side of the vale ofClwyd, having the heights 
 of Moel Vamma (viewed with fresh interest fi'om having climbed them) ranging to 
 the right, to Denbigh; passed the little and sequestei'ed city of St. Asaph ; and strik- 
 ing to the right, ascended out of the vale through a gap in the continuation of the 
 Eastern heights, exhibiting a sweet retrospect of this beautiful tract — evidently scooped 
 out far below the general level of the country on either side of it.' — Visited the cele- 
 brated spring atHoU'Avell ; of a bluish green tinge, and bubbling up, with oreat vehe- 
 mence, in a basin under a rich shrine facing the North, a little below the church. From 
 the basin, the stream immediately passes to a square reservoir, under cover, for the 
 bathers ; and thence to a small pool which it forms by the road side. Crutches and 
 Litters hung up in the shrine, as testimonials of its efficacy ; but none apparently of a 
 very recent date. Followed the stream down the picturesque glen through which it 
 flows to the Dee, supplying impetus to many extensive manufactories on its way ; and 
 pursued the banks of that vast but insipid aestuar)', having a dreary expanse of level 
 marshes to the left, as far as Flint. Flint Castle, on the edge of the marshes : exactly 
 rectangular, like that of Rhyddlan, with a round tower at each of its angles: thai to 
 the South East, larger than the others, and detached from the rest of the buildino- 
 Nvith a curious covered-way round the interior base of it. Perambulated Flint ; beyond 
 all comparison the most dull, melancholy, and uninviting county-town I have ever be- 
 held. — Extensive view from the slope of the hill on which Holywell stands, over the 
 aestuaries of the Dee and Mersey, and the level champaign round Chester : Park-Gate 
 and Neston, distinctly visible on the opposite shores of the Dee: and Liverpool, with 
 its spires and villas, faintly discernible, stretching in a long line, under a cloud of 
 smoke, upon those of the Mersey. 
 
 AUGUST the 3Ut. 
 
 Reached Tarporley. Walked, by an intricate road, to Beeston Castle ; about 4 
 miles to the South West of the Town, and forming a very conspicuous feature from 
 it. Stands singularly and boldly on an insulated rock, rising steeply from the South
 
 160 
 
 East to the out-works ol the Fortress ; then more gently to the Castle itself, which 
 occupies its summit; and under the farther walls of the Castle, breaking abruptly- 
 down in huge and fractured masses of rock, projecting upwards, in the inclination of 
 the strata, to the West, and fearfully overhanging a shelving precipice which slopes 
 'steeply down into the plain below : a most commanding, and, till the invention of 
 artillery, I should suppose, an impregnable position. — Expansive prospect, from the 
 top, over an immense diffusion of level and cultivated country ; bounded to the West 
 by the Moel Vaaiina range, and extending to the East as far as the Peak of Derbyshire. 
 
 SEPTEMBER the \st 
 
 Reached Litclifield, through a country very tame and uninteresting : the first 20 
 miles unusually fiat, and affording, all the way, a distinct retrospect of Beeston Cas- 
 tle Visited the Cathedral : the most rich in decoration without, and the most truly 
 elegant within, of anv in England; and kept in exemplary condition. The grand 
 Western front, profuse in images, exhibits a striking proof of the gorgeous effect of 
 statuary as an architectural embellishment; and excites a deep regret for the general 
 slaughter of these innocents at the Reformation. The Choir, unusually large ; occu- 
 pying, with great propriety, and good effect, nearly half the whole building: the 
 stone screen to it, most richly and lightly car\'ed. The Ascension painted on glass at 
 the East window, behind the Altar: — a subject happily chosen (a point not always 
 sufficiently consulted) for transparent effect. Two corresponding monuments to 
 Garrick and Johnson, on the East side of the North Transept : severely simple — a 
 plain tablet, surmounted by a bust in a shallow nitch. Johnson's countenance far more 
 powerful, in sculpture, than Garrick's. The inscription on Johnson, very tame and lan- 
 guid; describing him only as "a manof extensive learning, a distinguished moral wri- 
 ter, and a sincere Christian" — unquestionable truths, but feeble characteristics. The 
 Palace and Gardens, very unassuming. — Reconnoitred, with much interest, Johnson's 
 Father's House — a kirge corner building, in the Market Place, of white plaister: the 
 projection of the first floor over the Shop, supported by wooden pillars ; and pilas- 
 ters rising above, to thereof: three stories high : apparently much in the same con- 
 dition as it must have b6en in, when the old bookseller occupied it. — Observed an 
 inscription on a house in a street leading from the South towards the Cathedral, 
 purporting, that Lord Brooke was killed on the spot beneath, by a ball in the forehead, 
 shot by a Mr. Dyott from the principal Tower of the Cathedral, March 2d. l643. 
 as his Lordship was besieging the Close with the Parliament Forces.
 
 IGl 
 L1799.] 
 
 SEPT. the Qlh. 
 
 Visited once more — and never without fresh emotion — King's College Chapel, 
 Cambridge. I should not choose to oppose this Gothic edifice to a Grecian Temple, 
 because it is deficient in some of the most striking features of Gothic architecture as 
 displayed in our Cathedrals; but perhiips it attbrds a still prouder triumph, as it evin- 
 ces what Gothic architects could etlect, without their aid, upon a Grecian ground- 
 plan. The screen to the Choir, rich in carving, and grand in its tone of colour, is 
 unquestionably fine in itself; but, for once, I should like to see it removed, and try 
 the effect of this magnificent parallelopipedon in one unbroken continuity. The ex- 
 quisite preservation of the whole interior of the building, is wonderful : it seems, to 
 its minutest ornaments, sharp and jjure, as if fresh yesterday from the mason's and 
 statuary's chissels. 
 
 Viewed Long's concave celestial sphere: — a sublime conception. In a shamefullv 
 neglected state. What would be the worthy projector's feelings, could he view his 
 favourite piece of mechanism thus obliviously dropping to decay ! 
 
 Went with Mr. H. of Sidney, to his rooms ; and saw, for the first time, what I 
 have long wished to see, some of Gilpin's original sketches in Indian Ink : — very mas- 
 terly ; and asserting a claim to the highest species of merit, by producing great et- 
 fects with little effbrt. — H. speaks con amore of Gilpin, as a friend, a companion, a 
 pastor, and in every social relation. iVfflicted with an incurable complaint ; but per- 
 fectly resigned to his fate ; and complacent, and even cheerful, under it. It is delight- 
 ful to find, our admiration of the writer, confirmed, on a nearer view, by qualities 
 which must secure our esteem for the man. — H. shewed me the copy of a Letter from 
 Mason to Gilpin (with Gilpin's comments) written on the same day that Mason was 
 struck speechless, and within two of his death: very easy, gay, and spirited: — he had 
 no presentiment of his danger. 
 
 SEPT. the 21 St. 
 
 Received throughLord C. aflattering message from Dr. P. r ; in which, " not 
 
 with the scanty and penurious ineasure of a critic by profession", but, evidently, from 
 
 the overflowings of a heart warmed with the subject, he bestows his commendations 
 
 on the little pamphlet I published last year. " Laudari a laudato viro" — to be thus 
 
 commended, by one to whom I am utterly unknown, and from whom praise is of such 
 
 value, and this amidst the cautious reserve of some from whose friendship I should 
 
 Y
 
 I(3i2 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 have expected a more encouraging reception, is a gratification to which I cannot be 
 insensible : yet the predominant and final effect upon my mind, has been depression 
 rather than elation. How is this? Opposition and indignity, I believe, have a natu- 
 ral tendency to rouse, condense, and invigorate; excessive favour and commendation, 
 to dissipate, relax, and enfeeble, our energies and spirits. When stung with neglect, 
 or galled by injuries, the mind, bent back upon itself, and driven to its own resources 
 for support, collects its scattered strength, fastens on whatever is excellent in its facul- 
 ties or achievments, and dilates with conscious pride: — when hailed with eulogy 
 which we are sensible far exceeds our deserts, after the first tumultuous throbbings 
 have subsided, all our defects and infirmities rise up in appalling array before the 
 judgment ; and the heart, sickening at the spectacle, sinks in despondency within 
 us. Such, I should suppose, would be the general feeling: except with very supe- 
 rior minds, who are above all disturbance from such causes ; or widi those happily 
 gifted beings, those fools of fortune, provoking rather our spleen than our envy, who 
 enjoy the blessing of perfect self-satisfaction and complacency, and as they are com- 
 pletely callous, from vanity, to censure, are enabled, by the same principle, to swal- 
 low, without being cloyed, any measure of praise, 
 
 SETT, the 25th. 
 
 Looked over the last Vol. — (the first I have been able to meet with) — of Maty's 
 Review. There is a negligent ease, and artless vivacity, in his manner, which are 
 highly engaging : his first impressions, however, though generally just, sometimes 
 mislead him. He surely speaks too irreverently of Johnson, when (Art. 10., March 
 1786) he confirms Mrs. Piozzi's description of him, as a man of little learning and 
 less taste! " The little black dog''', must have operated on this occasion. To have 
 been deluded, too, by such a meteor as Heron, alias Pinkerton, was rather unlucky. 
 — He mentions (Literary Intelligence Feb. 1786) a new Lyceum opened in Paris, with 
 the following Professors : History, Marmontel; Literature, DelaHarpe; Mathem. 
 Condorcet ; Physics, Monge; Chem. andNat. Hist. Fourcroi : — what a set! The 
 account of the conference with the Bohemian Deists (Art. 7, August 1/86), is 
 very curious: they seem to have been plain sensible fellows. 
 
 Read the 1st. Vol. of Barruel — on the Ant\-Christian Conspiracy; in which he 
 has expanded a sentence of Burke, into a ponderous Volume. The poor Abbe, im 
 the warmt)i of a zeal which out-steps all discretion, vmfortunately takes more ground 
 than it is possible to defend by any powers ; and exhibits, at the same time, but a 
 feeble specimen of his own.
 
 163 
 
 L1799.-] 
 
 SEPT. the 26th. 
 
 Read the 2(1 and 3d Volumes of Barruel — on the Anti-Monarchical, find Anti- 
 Social, Conspiracies. He considers, perhaps justly enough, Montt-quieu as the ori- 
 ginal introducer, and Rousseau as tlic ultimate perfecter, of the democratic system 
 of political philosophy in France — though he might have traced it much higher 
 here^ but in struggling- to lug the Free Masons into the conspiracy, he surely raves. 
 That the Masons, like other men, might be perverted by this new mania; that their 
 notions of brotherly equality might even predispose them to recieve it, is perfectly cre- 
 dible : T — y, who was himself a Mason, told me at Dolgelle, that when he visited 
 a Lodge at Paris, 20 yeat s since, he found them all charged up to the muzzle (as he 
 expressed it) with Jacobin principles, and ready for explosion : but that this curious 
 and antient Society was originally instituted to cherish such principles undei* a veil of 
 mystery, surpasses all belief. The Anti-<.9oc/fl/ Conspiracy of thellluminees in Germany, 
 founded by Weishaupt, bears much stronger marks of authenticity, since it would be 
 difficult to invent, for the purpose of imputation, an institute of discipline ;md doctrines 
 so exquisitely adapted to the ends they aim at. The fundamental tenets of this Or- 
 der, were, That all inferior local and partial affections, should be absorbed and mer- 
 ged in an aspiration for the general happiness ; That whatever conduces to this hap- 
 piness, is virtuous, the end sanctifying the means; and, That the only restraint to 
 which we should be subject in the prosecution of this object, is Reason. Was Godwin 
 an Illuminee?- 
 
 Read Gilpin's General Preface, and Prophetic Life of Christ, prefixed to his Ex- 
 position of the New Testament. His easy manner of treating subjects, will not do, 
 where there are real difficulties to encounter. 
 
 SEPT.ihr.2Qth. 
 
 Finished Hurd's Lectures on the Prophecies. The same spirit of discrimination 
 which leads him, on some occasions, to distinguish too subtly, prompts him, how- 
 ever, on others, to view a question in all its phases, and not to content himself, as 
 writers of a more sanguine temperament too frequently do, with one leading circum- 
 stance, in the solution of a difficulty, where many ought to be taken into account as 
 conspiring to solve it : he is often eminently happy in this respect. In the character 
 of objector, he frequently proposes his objections in very irreverent — not to say, 
 indecent — terms. They certainly ought to be proposed strongly, and met as he meets
 
 164 
 [1799.1 
 
 them — directly and fairly, in their full force, without diminution or evasion. — His 
 style, abating a few affected impurities from quaint idiom? and colloquial cant, is 
 really a fine one; and his account of Mede, in the 10th. Discourse, is in every res- 
 pect — in sublimity of conception, and in felicity force and grandeur of expression, 
 worthy of Burke. — P — r. Lord C. tells me, is satisfied that Hurd altered his Life of 
 Warburton, in consequence of what he wrote : had he found in it, what he expected 
 to hnd, he meant to have entered into a general review of Warburton's life, charac- 
 ter, and writings. How splendid and appropriate a field for the exhibition of his ta- 
 lents! 
 
 Read the 4th. and last Vol. of Barruel ; in which he labours to deduce the conjoint 
 agency of the three conspiring Sects against Religion, Monarchv, and Social Order, as 
 operative in the French Revolution. The poor Abbe has unhappily more zeal than 
 judgment; and is at the same time dreadfully heavy and ineifective in his movements : 
 with all its absurdities, however, his Work might furnish matter for another, of some 
 interest, in which the rectified spirit should occupy the Text, and the substance from, 
 which it is drawn, the Notes. 
 
 OCTOBER the \st 
 
 Finished Bishop Shiplev's Works ; to the reading of which I had been powerfully 
 recommended by M h. A vein of good sense, expressed in an original, unaf- 
 fected, and frequently energetic and impressive manner, runs through the whole of 
 these compositions. In religion, I suspect the Bishop was a great latitudinarian. In 
 morals, though manifestly enamoured of the principle of utility as a standard of right 
 and wrong, and applying this principle pretty largely, he still seems to cherish a salu- 
 tary prejudice in favour of the manners and institutions of our forefathers. In poli- 
 tics, though espousing a side which in a prelate must always be admired, I confess he 
 meddles more than I could wish ; for, in spite of all he urges to the contrary, it is 
 much to be feared, that the character of a teacher of Christianity as it stands revealed, 
 and of a political partizan, as parties prevail, are utterly inconsistent. In his intended 
 Speech on the Massachusetts Bill, a very masterly performance, he takes up Burke's 
 view of the question ; and waving all consideration of the right to tax the Colonies, 
 maintains the impolicy of so doing, with great ability and force. — It seems difficult 
 to conceive two characters, placed in the same sphere, more opposite than Hurd and 
 Shipley ; and it would be pleasant to know, though it is easy to guess, what senti- 
 ments tliese Right Reverend Gentlemen entertained of each other.
 
 ICo 
 
 [1799-1 
 
 OCT. the 3d. 
 
 Read the first Vol. of Hurd's Sermons at Lincoln's-Inn. In the 3d. he not only 
 maintains that we have a natural sense of right and wrong, independent of all re\ ela- 
 tion, but insists that, without it, we could never ascertain whether any revelation were 
 true : and then vindicates Christianity, not simply as usejul, from confirming, illustra- 
 ting, and enforcing, the dictates of this sense, but as necessary for the redemption, of 
 mankind. Tiiis is quite after his distinguishing manner. — In the 8th., he makes Sym- 
 pathy tlie natural parent of the social virtues ; observing that " God has implanted in 
 man, not only the power of reason, which enables him to see the connexion between 
 his own happiness and that of others, but also certain instincts and propensities, which 
 make him/ee/ it, and, without reflexion, incline him to take part in foreign interests : 
 for, among the other wonders of our make, this is one, that we are so formed as, whether 
 we will or no, to rejovce with them that rejoyce, and to weep with them that weep": 
 and in the next Discourse, he adduces this principle, as that natural corrective upon 
 " a conscious sense of dignity" — (leading by itself to an offensive injurious pride) — 
 which constitutes politeness; and maintains, that the perfection of our nature consists 
 in the due operation of both these principles. His 10th. Sermon, and the last in the 
 Volume, are fine examples of his " toils in chasing the subtle". 
 
 Perused with much interest, in the European Magazine for last month, Hoole'j 
 account of hio mtercourse with Dr. Johnson during the last six weeks of his life. So 
 great a man, approaching that awful term to which he had always looked forward w ith 
 such horror, is a most awakening spectacle, and rivets the attention. What a com- 
 position does he exhibit, on the occasion, of strength and weakness! — With Lives of 
 Johnson to a surfeit, we have no where, I think, a masterly analysis of the mind of 
 this wonderful man ; which, while it confounds the stoutest by the promptitude and 
 vigour of its powers, may furnish to the feeblest the flattering unction of a sneer. 
 
 OCT. the 12th. 
 
 Perused Barton's Preface to his Edition of Plutarch's Lives of Demosthenes and 
 Cicero; which Dr. P — r had recommended to Lord C's. attention, as a very masterly 
 piece of criticism. The part in which he Nindicates Plutarch, by distinguishing bio- 
 graphy from history, illustrating the advantages of the former in conveying a know- 
 ledge of the human character, and displaying Plutarch's peculiar use of it in kind- 
 ling emulation by exhibiting patterns of virtue, is particularly excellent : but the Por-
 
 166 
 
 [1799.1 
 
 tico is too august for the Temple ; for the Lives themselves, are but meagre composi- 
 tions ; and in the parallel between the two Orators, Plutarch leans shamefully in fa- 
 vour of his countryman. 
 
 OCT. the lAth. 
 
 Read the 3d. and last Volume of Hurd's Sermons. — The first of these, is of a very 
 peculiar character : there is a pithy sententious brevity of period, and deep earnest- 
 ness of manner in it, strikingly different from what we meet with in any of the otlier 
 Discourses. — The 4th., in which he deduces the divinity of the Gospel, from " never 
 man spake as this man"; and the 7th., its authenticity, from " we preach not ourselves 
 but Christ Jesus the Lord", are most powerful addresses. Such internal marks of truth 
 as are here forcibly exhibited, weigh more, in my mind, than all the external evidences 
 of Christiahity put together; and, for strokes of eloquence, what can be finer than 
 this passage in the 4th., " When a voice speaks, as from heaven, it naturally turns 
 our attention to that quarter; and when it speaks in inimitable thunder, it speaks, me- 
 thinks, like itself, and in accents that cannot well be misunderstood", judiciously 
 prepared, too, as this sublime ejaculation has been, by what precedes it — for I feel, 
 while I am transcribing the sentence, how much it suffers by this detached exhibi- 
 tion. — In the 14th., he divides the different cardinal principles upon which the 
 various systems of Moral Philosophy hinge, into, 1st., abstract truth, or the differ- 
 ences of things; 2dly., an instinctive moral sense; 3dly., private happiness; and 
 intimates that these systems might be made to consist together ; but maintains that 
 they do little more than inform us what virtue is, while they slenderly provide for the 
 practice of it : — he had his eye, here, on Warburton's Div. Leg. B. 1, Sect. 4. — In a 
 note to his igth. Sermon, he observes, that Christianity is a religion founded, not 
 on opinions, but facts : that the Apostles shewedj by their sufferings, that they knew 
 what they attested to be a true fact ; succeeding sufferers shewed, that they believed it 
 to be so. — On the whole, I have never met with Discourses, which, without yielding 
 to the prevalent laxity of opinion, are so admirably adapted to work upon the reason 
 and feelings of the age, as these. 
 
 OCT. thelBth. 
 
 Finished Gilpin's Exposition of the four Gospels. Luke appears to narrate what 
 he had collected, with great sobriety: not spying out the accomplishment of a pro- 
 phecy in every incident, like Matthew ; nor indulging that propensity for the marvel-
 
 161 
 
 11799-] 
 
 lous, which, with all the paraphraser s smoothiugs and glossings, strikes an unprcj ii- 
 
 diced mind, must forcibly and revoltingly, in Mark. John manifestly labours to obvi- 
 ate scruples and objections, through the whole of his narrative; and particularly in 
 what he represents Christ as saying. The last Chapter in this Gospel, must surely 
 stagger the most implicit believer : it has to me strongly the air of having been sub- 
 sequently appended. — Is it not very extraordinary, that Matthew should alone assert so 
 important a fact as the sealing and guarding of the tomb; and that John should alone 
 record so striking a miracle as the resurrection of Lazarus? 
 
 OCT. the 21 St. 
 
 Finished a review of Cicero's tract De Officiis; in which he treats his subject far 
 better than we should be led to expect from the preposterous distribution he makes of 
 it, and with which he is evidently in a state of perpetual struggle through the whole 
 Disquisition. 
 
 All duty he derives from the "honestum" and the "utile" in human character and 
 conduct. The " honestum" he resolves into, 1 st. such qualities as tend to advance our 
 knowledge of truth , Sdly. such as contribute to the maintenance of society — chiefly 
 justice and benevolence, 3dly. greatness of mind, and 4thly. a certain decorum in 
 whatever we say or do; and proceeds, in the first Book, to treat of the duties flow- 
 ing from this principle, thus strangely divided, and of the preference to be given where 
 they interfere with each other. In discussing the last branch — the decorous, he con- 
 founds it (c. 27), as might be expected, with the root from which he considers it as 
 derived — the "honestum" ; but afterwards exhibits an exquisite discrimination, when 
 he comes to apply his ideas to jxirticulars ; and most eminently, when he illustrates 
 (c.3l &c.)how much personal decorum depends on the particular genius of the cha- 
 racter where it obtains. — "Communis utilitas" is twice mentioned (c. 7 and 10); 1st. 
 as constituting one of the two branches of justice, " ne cui noceatur — at communi uti- 
 litati serviatur" ; and 2dly. as modifying the general duties of that virtue : it is, how- 
 ever, but faintly recognized, compared with the modern importance assigned to this 
 principle. — In the 2d. Book, he proceeds to consider the duties ilowing from the 2d, 
 of his two divisions — the " utile"~by which he evidently understands, the good of the 
 individual; and regarding mankind as the principal agent by which we can be benefi- 
 ted or injured, he confines himself, almost entirely, to the means by which we may 
 conciliate their good will ; touching very slightly, at last, upon the goods of health and 
 wealth, and the "comparatio utilitatum". — In the 3d. Book, he proposes to adjust the 
 duties of the "honestum" and the " utile", where they interfere. Well! but if the
 
 168 
 [1799-] 
 
 " honest um" is, according to the Stoics, the solu7n, and according to the Peripatetics, 
 the summum bonum, the '^ honestum" and the '' utile" must be the same ; and how can 
 any competition arise between them? Yet there are cases — (tyrannicide to a Roman, 
 for instance) — where the "honestum" must give way to a paramount expediency ; 
 where morality, as Burke somewhere says, suspends its rules for the preservation of 
 its spirit: here then Cicero is obliged to maintain, not indeed that " utilitas i'/c?Y ho- 
 nestatem", but sometViing very like it, that "honestas utilitatem sequitur". The 
 great danger, however, is on the other side — that men should think " est istuc qui- 
 dem honestum, verum hoc expedit", that that should appear to be "utile" which is 
 "turpe": against this, therefore, he manfully and eloquently contends, " viris equis- 
 que", through the greater part of the Book; maintaining, with an amiable inconsis- 
 tency, not merely "est nihil utile, quod idem non honestum", but, against those 
 ^^'ho asserted that "quod valde utile sit, id fieri honestum", that " nee quia utile, ho- 
 nestum est ; sad quia honestum, utile". — Much confusion seems to have arisen 
 amongst the antient philosophers, from employing " utilitas" to denote, sometimes 
 the private advantage of the individual, and sometimes the public good. 
 
 Cicero (Lib. I.e. 12) praises the mildness of Roman manners, which give to an ene- 
 my the appellation of a stranger — " hostis" : does not this term rather indicate a bar- 
 barous ferocit}', which gave to a stranger the appellation of an enemy? — The doctrine 
 that government is instituted for the sake, not of the governors, but the governed, 
 is well stated (Lib. 1, c 25) "ut enim tutela, sic procuratio reipiiblicae, ad utilitatem 
 eorum qui commissi sunt, non ad eorum, quibus commlssa est, gerenda est". — In 
 Lib. 2, c. 12, he ascribes the origin of kings, and thence of laws , to the struggles of 
 the poor and helpless, against the oppression of the rich and powerful. — Speaking of 
 thieves, assassins &c. (Lib. 3, c. 18) he says " non verbis sunt at disputatione phi- 
 losophorum, sed vinculis et carcere fatigandi" : " it is not the syllogism of the logician, 
 but the lash of the executioner, which should refute a sophistry that becomes an ac 
 complice of theft and murder", says Burke in his Reflections : a striking resemblance, 
 I apprehend without any imitation, 
 
 OCT. the 24th. 
 
 Read Cicero " De Senectute : a most exquisite and finished disquisition ; with 
 which it appears evident, from the last Chapter, that Burke was very familiar.' — Read 
 afterwards his " De AmicitiS" ; though a very engaging, a much less perfect, com- 
 position, I think, than the former, Cicero here (c. Q) aflirms of Friendship, what I 
 have said of V^irtue," quanquam utilitates multse et magnse consecutae sunt, non sunt
 
 169 
 
 [1799-1 
 
 tamen ab eariim spe causns diligendi profecta?": and again (c. 14.) " non igitur utilita- 
 tem amicitia, sed utilitas amicitiam consecuta est". — In his Stoical Paradoxes, this 
 accomplished orator has amused himself with endeavouring to give a popular air to 
 the extravagant and revolting doctrines of this arrogant sect of moralists ; and his suc- 
 cess has been greater than the subject deserves. 
 
 Looked into Park's interesting Travels in the interior of Africa. I observe that in 
 the numeration which obtains in many of the African states, they advance no farther 
 than 5 ; recurring to 5 + 1 , for 6, Sac. They reckon the fingers of onlv one hand ; 
 we, of both. 
 
 OCT. the 30th. 
 
 Looked into the first three Volumes of Maty's Review. His negligent easy man- 
 ner, for want of adequate stamina to support it, sometimes degenerates into' flippancy 
 and pertness: his critique, however, on the Poem of " Les Jardins" by the Abb^ 
 de Lisle (Art. 17, June 1782), is wonderfully animated and fine : — he catches, like 
 Longinus, the spirit of his author; and blazes into congenial excellence with him. — 
 Itisamusing to mark his speculations, in the first article for Jan. 1783, on the pro- 
 bability of a change in the government of France . an event which he thinks not likely 
 to take place in the then reign, nor for a great length of time, and at last only from 
 the extreme misconduct of its rulers; — but which in fact did take place within 7 years 
 from his penning of that article, and without the immediate agency of any such mis- 
 conduct. 
 
 It appears from a Paper in the New Annual Register for 1798, that Gibraltar is 
 an oblong rock, about 3 miles in length, and three quarters of a mile in breadth : its 
 summit, a sharp craggy ridge sinking in the middle ; the Sugar Loaf, its Southern 
 apex, 1439 feet; the Rock Mortar, its Northern, 1350, and the Signal House, in 
 the centre between the two, 1276 feet, above the level, of the Sea. The whole des- 
 cription is remarkably clear. 
 
 NOFEMBER the Zd. 
 
 Read the first 6 chapters of May's History of the Long Parliament ; containing a 
 retrospect of affairs, down to its assembling. With an air of great impartiality and 
 candour, supported by an equable and tempered gravity, it is impossible not to per- 
 ceive that he inclines decidedly to the popular side. He represents the higher ranks 
 of the people as in general content with the proceedings of the Court, while the mid- 
 
 Z
 
 170 
 [1799.] 
 
 die and Inferior orders were as generally averse to them ; and strongly marks the spirit 
 of enquiry respecting public aftairs, which began to spread among the latter. — The 
 previous embroilment with the Scotch, strikingly prefigured what was to follow in 
 England. Charles' high pretensions, and impotence to enforce them — the strange 
 mixture, in his character, of pertinacity and irresolution — and the shuffling evasive 
 conduct resulting from this unlucky combination of qualities — on the one part; and 
 the determined spirit of resistance in the people, supported by enthusiasm, sharpened 
 by suspicion, and incapable of being appeased by any thing short of unlimited com- 
 pliance, on the other, are strongly evinced in that preliminary rupture. — It is curi- 
 ous that the Long Parliament should have met precisely on this day, ] 59 years since : 
 a Jenkins might have remembered its assembling. 
 
 Finished Gilpin's Exposition of the Epistles. The Epistle to the Hebrews, I should 
 decide from intainal evidence, not to be Paul's : it has the cloudy character, rather of 
 dullness, than enthusiasm ; nor is it irradiated with a single gleam of that genius, 
 which occasionally flashes, in irregular and awful coruscations, throtigh the " i)alpablc 
 obscure" of the other compositions of this Apostle. — After all — are these productions 
 such as we should expect, from persons divinely inspired to unfold the whole mystery 
 of the Christian Dispensation, and endowed with the power of working miracles to 
 evince its authenticity ? 
 
 NOK thr 7th. 
 
 Finished the 1st. and read the 2d. Book of May's History. With all his ap- 
 parent coolness and candour, he leans most unequivocally and decidedly to the side of 
 the Parliament ; whose proceedings he exhibits in the most plausible and imposing 
 form, while he is ever insinuating the worst construction upon those of the Court: 
 yet it comes out, I think, from his own account, that the conduct of the House had 
 at last begun to disgust a great portion of die sober and reflecting part of the kingdom ; 
 while the prevailing party there, derived their grand support from the rabble of the City. 
 In their third Remonstrance, they distinctly assert, " That all regal power is merely a 
 trust for the good of the People ; that the Parliament, while sitting, is the sole judge 
 of what is good for the People ; and, consequently, that They should be the King's sole 
 counsellors and directors in the exercise of the power with which he is thus entrust- 
 ed" ; — in other v\'ords, that the King should be merely their ministci-ial officer : a 
 claim, which however it might be warranted by the exigencies of the times, is cer- 
 tainly most foreign to the true genius of our Constitution.— With respect to the 
 great cause now at issue, without adverting to those particular circumstanres of clia-
 
 171 
 
 [1799.] 
 
 racter and incident which gave a peculiar bias to the case, the leadirg feature seems 
 simply this. — We had been gradually advancing from that rude state of soriely, in 
 which exertions of political power are regarded merely in their immediute consecjuen- 
 ces, and relished Or distasted, encouraged or opposed, as these are directly telt to be 
 benelicial or oppressive, to that in which, through habits of speculation, tbev derive 
 their whole complexion and character from considerations far more remote — from 
 the right they tend to establish, by precedent, to the exercise of similar authority in 
 future. In the rude acts of power occasionally exerted by his predecessors, as rudely 
 resisted (whenever theiy were resisted) by the Barons, and, on ^Ai-//- decline, experi- 
 encing little resistance of any kind, Charles could find precedents in abundance for 
 the establishment of a prerogative almost absolute in the Crown ; and the spirit of the 
 times evinced, that now, or never, was the period for asserting it : to collect, claim, 
 and consolidate such a sway, became accordingly the favourite measure of his reign ; 
 and so strongly does he seem to have been impressed with the justice of his preten- 
 sions, that he disdained to take the pains which common prudence would have prescri- 
 bed, to disguise his designs. The Commons, representing a new interest in the state 
 for some time rising into consequence, felt, on their part, that now or never was the 
 juncture for bursting the web which was collecting on all sides to enthrall them ; and 
 taking their stand on the privilege of granting or with-holding supplies — a privilege 
 originally derived under very different circumstances, and with very different views— 
 they resolved, by an ample assertion of their own indefinite claims, to circumscribe 
 the authority of the Crown within the strictest limits possible. A contest between 
 these two adverse powers — a struggle between privilege and prerogative — maintained 
 with more or less violence and obstinacy, must, I think, sooner or later, have occur- 
 red : but I confess I perceive no necessity for a civil war. To 'expect that Charles 
 should have begun right, would perhaps be exacting too much from human infirmi- 
 ty : but after 1 5years experience of the temper and spirit of the times, had he com- 
 bined, in due proportion, candid conciliating concession, with dignified firmness, I 
 see no reason why he should not have transmitted to his descendants as ample a share 
 of power as the present Family enjoy ; with claims to an affectionate personal attach- 
 ment on the part of the people, beyond what a foreign Dynasty, derived from a female 
 slip long severed, can for some time hope to inherit. 
 
 IS OF. the Qth. 
 
 Read the 3d. and last Book of May's History : detailing the proceedings of the 
 War (for which he deserts his Parliament) down to the Battle of Newberry; but in
 
 172 
 [1799.] 
 
 so confused a manner, that it is impossible to extract any clear conception of the 
 events of it, — at least in any consecutive order. — What he says of Cromwell, evinces 
 the future Protector to have been a man of vigorous resolution, prompt decision, and 
 rapid despatch. Of course he only speaks of the opening of his military career in the 
 Eastern part of the kingdom : his name, I think, does not once occur as a Member 
 of the Parliament. 
 
 Finished Sotheby's Translation of Wieland's Oberon : displaying an imagination 
 highly poetical, voluptuous, and sublime ; but of too aerial a fabric to bid fair for 
 permanent fame. Supernatural machinery may have a good effect in an Epic Poem, 
 when introduced to solve a difficulty arising out of probable circumstances ; but can- 
 not fail to cloy and disgust, wlien it forms, as here, the entire contexture of the piece. 
 Course after course, of ragouts, would probably be too much for most palates ; but 
 what should we think of a banquet composed of the condiments alone with which such 
 dishes are seasoned. 
 
 NOF. the lOih. 
 
 Read Dr. Combe's Statement of Facts ; and Dr. Parr's Remarks upon it, in which 
 he vigorously and successfully repels Combe's ill-advised attacks. It is impossible to 
 I'ead the latter pamphlet, without being struck with admiration at Parr's force of intel- 
 lect, andgrieving at the strange misapplication of ^t. His praise of Burke, p. g, is fine ; 
 and of Porson, p. 13, transcendental. I am surprised that in vindicating his politics 
 by appealing to their sources, p. 71? he should have mentioned Helvetius in the list 
 ot his tutors. — I am told, from the best authority, that Porson considers Wakefield 
 as a man of no judgment. 
 
 Read Dryden's Dedication to his Translation of Juvenal's Satires: — a strange ram- 
 bling composition ; mingling in its rapid but desultory current, gross adulation, his- 
 torical deduction, fine criticism, and wild decisions. Amongst the latter, I should 
 place his assertion, that Horace instructs, and Juvenal delights, most: — an absurd 
 ground of comparison ; and surely a most unjust judgment with respect to Horace. — 
 The Second Satire, by Tate, is most grossly translated: — such violations of common 
 decency, either in an author or translator, would not, I think, now be borne. 
 
 Looked over Rousseau's four curious Letters " a M. de Malesherbes", " conte- 
 nant le vrai tableau de mon caractere, et les vrais motifs de toute ma conduite". I had 
 never met with these Letters before; but in many passages they singularly justify the 
 opinions I had previously formed and expressed (See April 15, 1798) respecting this 
 fxtr;iordinary genius, from a general survey of his compositions and conduct.
 
 173 
 
 [1799.1 
 
 NOF. the 15. 
 
 Read Richardson's Philosophical Analysis of some of Shakespear's Characters. 
 The design is happy, and, upon the whole, ingeniously executed ; but there is some- 
 thing in his manner which fails to arrest attention ; and with the best dispositions in 
 the world to listen to his comments, I find my mind perpetually flying oft from the 
 subject. — O.ie of his remarks on Macbeth, appears both just and new. He main- 
 tains, that if a person originally possessing a strong sense of right and wrong, once 
 becomes corrupted to vice, he will turn out more vicious than another less happily 
 constituted ; because, j ndging of the sense which others will form of his conduct, from 
 his own, he must naturally fear and hate mankind — and (he might have added) cor- 
 dially despising and detesting himself, will probably be goaded to plunge, under the 
 agitation of these fnries, into still deeper enormities. He accounts, on this princi- 
 ple, for the different conduct of Sylla and Augustus after the accomplishment of their 
 schemes, and of Herod and Nero after they had tasted of guilt. — In his appended 
 Essay on the faults of Shakespear, he vigorously contends, that in criticism, as in 
 morals, our judgments, to be correct and steady , must be established on those max- 
 ims, which may have been originally suggested by feeling, but which derive their 
 force and stability from subsequent reason and reflection. — Richardson, by employing 
 " will" for " shall" and " would" for " should", and so conversely, must be a Scotch- 
 man : it is singular, that the correctest writers of that country — Blair, for instance, 
 in liis Lectures on Rhetoric — -should occasionally lapse into that offensive provin- 
 cialism. 
 
 NOV. the \Qth. 
 
 Looked over Maty's Review for 17 84. It appears from Art. 1 3 (March), thatEnlcr, 
 in his New Theory of Music, publishedin 1739, maintained, "That all the pleasure of 
 harmony arises from the love of order in man ; in consequence of which, all the agree- 
 able sensations excited by hearing fine music, come from the perception of the re- 
 lations the different sounds have to each other, as well with regard to the duration 
 of their succession, as with regard to the frequency of the vibrations of the air which 
 produces them". This is surely very fantastic: how can any species of pleasure be de- 
 rived from causes which are not felt as operating to produce it ? — I was much pleased 
 with Maty 's recommending to Mr. Hardinge (Arts. 18 and 1 9, March) "a broader 
 manner— a Ijttle more neglect of the effect oi single sentences, and swgle words" :
 
 174 
 [1799.] 
 
 much is implied in this precept. — In noticing f\rt. 14, May) Jenyns on Parliamentary 
 Reform, who contends that an independent Parliament would overturn the Constitu- 
 tion, Maty remarks " this miglit be, and, I believe, would be, the case: still it is a 
 question, though I own a very nice one, whether it ought not to be tried, as m or- 
 dinead, to get us (through much and long horror and confusion) out of a state that 
 has ruined all the great countries in the world: — but it is a very nice speculation". 
 Surely this is very cool ! — Dr. Priestley (Art. 2, Oct.) defends Origeu, whom Horsley 
 had accused of avowing the practice of employing unjustifiable means to accomplish a 
 good end, by averring that this is too strongly stated ; that what Jerom in his I>etter 
 toPammachius says, is, that Origen had adopted Plato's doctrine of the subserviency 
 of truth to utility — as Mr. Hume and other speculative moralists have done, consider- 
 ing the foundation of all social virtue to be the public good ; and that we must not im- 
 pute immoral consequences to speculative opinions on the foundation of morals, till 
 •we see those practices connected with the principles. On the first point, I am in- 
 competent to decide : with respect to the second, undoubtedly the tendency is, to ascribe 
 too much to speculative opinions, which, while the mind is intent on the view of 
 them, are apt to be regarded as the ruling principles of our conduct, whereas at most, 
 except with enthusiasts, they operate merely to modify other more cogent principles 
 implanted in our nature : still, however, they are not to be neglected : affectation, 
 on one side, and hypocrisy, on the other, apart, we should be less disposed, ceteris 
 paribus, to trust our wives and daughters to a man who openly professed that all wo- 
 men were fair game, than to one who acknowledged the obligations of restraint in 
 the intercourse of the sexes. — Upon the whole, this Review is a creditable, and a 
 wonderful, work, for one man. The responsibility of furnishing the Public with a 
 certain quantity of criticism every month, would paralyse my powers completely. — . 
 I am surprised that no Review has been since started, which should notice only im- 
 portant works of British literature^ and give ample attention to these. 
 
 NOV. the 20th. 
 
 Read Cambridge's Scribleriad. The mock heroic is well sustained throughout ; 
 but the Poem is deficient in broad humour: — it shakes no laughter out of one ; and 
 failing here, it is the " attempt without the deed". 
 
 Mr. L., with some other friends, dined with me. Mentioned that Fox confessed 
 to his friend Dr. John Jebb, that he had personal ambition — that he wished for pow- 
 er ; but trusted that he sliould employ it to good purposes. Never disguised from 
 his adherents of this School, his decided aversion to their schemes of parliamentary
 
 175 
 [1799-] 
 
 reform. This is quite according to Fox's characteristic candour : yet I well renieni- 
 ber Home Tooke's sarcastically telling me on the Hustings at Covcnt-Garden, that 
 he regarded him as a cunning, but not as a wise, matn ! Exactly, I conceive, the re- 
 verse of the truth. Mr. Fox's wisdom, few but Mr. Tooke will be disposed to ques- 
 tion: it is a species of wisdom, however, if ever there was one, which neither his sup- 
 porters nor his opponents can reproach with guile ; and rarel)-, I believe, has this 
 illustrious Statesman had occasion to blush, at proving himself too shrewd, in those 
 cases — and such Mr. Burke has acutely remarked there arc — in Nvhicli a man of 
 honour would be ashamed not to have been imposed upon. 
 
 NOr. the 23d. 
 
 Finished the perusal of Blair's Lectures on Rhetoric, The praise of ingenuity, of 
 a judgment in general accurate, and a taste for the most part timidly correct, I can 
 readily allow him ; but to the higher order of merit in a critic — to that superior sen- 
 sibility which imparts a just relish for transcendant excellence, and to that philosophi- 
 cal sagacity, penetrating discernment, and nice tact, which qualify the possessor for 
 tracing the pleasures of the imagination to their secret springs, he has certainly not the 
 slightest pretensions. There is no raciness — no smack of an original cast of thought 
 or feeling in his work : where little is hazarded, little can be gained ; and thougli 
 his Lectures (I feel the qualifying force of this title) are exempt, accordinglv, from 
 any gross or offensive errors, they are destitute, on the other hand, of whatever is 
 adapted powerfully to awaken interest, and enchain attention, on the most engaging of 
 all human speculations. — He starts on a right principle, by maintaining at the outset 
 (L. 2.), that Taste is founded on a natural instinctive sensibility to beauty, refined 
 by exercise, and guided and improve<l by reason ; whose office he appears to limit (on 
 this head)- to the ascertaining the resemblance of an imitation to the original, or the 
 reference of parts to the whole, or of means to an end, so far as any beauty depends 
 on such resemblance or reference. Thus far, he seems to think that reason may act 
 as a standard to taste : but then, as the application of this test is not sufficiently ex- 
 tensive, and as our reasonings appeal always, in the last resort, to feeling, he has re- 
 course for this purpose, to the concuri-ing sentiments of men placed in situations fa- 
 vourable to the exertions of taste. Truth, the object of reason, he remarks, is one; 
 beauty, the object of taste, manifokl ; so that men may differ in preferring one beauty 
 to another, according to their age, sensibility, &c. provided they agree in consider- 
 ing the same object as still beautiful, in sufficient consistency with justness of taste. 
 —Genius (L. 3.) he distinguishes as the power of executing, taste as the power of
 
 176 
 .U799.1 
 
 Judging, and criticism as the application of taste to the fine arts; and mainhiins here 
 again, that the rules of criticism are not formed by any induction a priori — by any 
 train of abstract reasoning — but are derived from an observation of such beauties as 
 most generally please, though reason afterwards approves them as just and natural. 
 His ideas on this subject, are, on neither occasion, so precisely and determinately 
 marked as one could wish ; but they are valuable as enforcing, however loosely, a fun- 
 damental distinction too generally overlooked in our researches into the principles of 
 criticism. — Abandoning the efficient causes of the pleasures of taste as inscrutable, he 
 proceeds to the consideration of sublimity .or grandeur ; which he divides, into sub- 
 limity in objects, and sublimity in writing ; and the former, into physical and moral 
 — the sublime in external things, and the sublime in sentiment. He differs from 
 Burke, who makes terror the source of the sublime; and suggests, with diffidence, 
 that if there is any one quality in which all sublime objects agree, and which is the 
 cause of their producing a similar emotion, it is " mighty power": but mighty pow- 
 er, Burke has very justly remarked, is terrible ; since so much does our sense of pain 
 predominate over that of pleasure, that we are instinctively prompted to anticipate 
 rather the evils such a power may inflict, than the benefits it may confer. Sublimity 
 in writing, he makes to consist (L. 4.) in describing sublime objects, or exhibiting 
 sublime sentiments, so as to give us forcible impressions of them, viz. with concise- 
 ness, simplicity, and strength — the result of lively feelings in the writer. — In treating 
 of beauty (L. 5.) he professes himself unable to discover any common quality run- 
 ning through all the varieties of objects regarded as beautiful, which entitle them to that 
 distinction ; and he proceeds accordingly to consider separately, the beauty of colovu' 
 figure and motion, the union of these, the beauty of expression of the mind — where 
 he takes occasion to observe, that the higher virtues (such as I should term, those 
 which turn on self-command) excite an emotion of the sublime, the social and more 
 gentle (those which turn on sensibility) of the beautiful, — and lastly the beauty arising 
 from the fitness of means to an end : — he distinguishes, too, an appropriate beauty 
 in writing, consisting in a certain turn in the style and sentiment, calculated to diffiise 
 a serene delight. The truth is, I think, that beauty, in its popular sense, and re- 
 garded as applicable to the exciting causes of every species of the gentler pleasurable 
 sensations, is much too lax to oppose to the sublime; except in the very vague sense 
 in which that term is employed by Longinus, who seems to include under it, what- 
 ever produces vehement emotion : and a consequent embarrassment, I suspect, must 
 ever take place in the treatment of this subject, till a more precise circumscription of 
 these qualities obtains. Besides beauty and sublimity, Blair considers that there are 
 other pleasures of taste, such as those arising from novelty, imitation, melody, har-
 
 177 
 
 monv, mimerousues?, and the effect produced by wit, luimour, and ridirulc; and 
 remarks, tliat poetry and eloquence avail themselves of all these modes of touching 
 the aftections. — In the 6th. and 7th. Ls., he treats of the progress of speech and wri- 
 ting. Of the former, he observes, that the understanding has, in all its successi-ve chan- 
 ges, been gaining ground on the imagination ; and that language was originally descrip- 
 tive in the sound, expressive in the utterance, figurative in the style, and that the 
 order of the words followed the order of events in the mind of the speaker, and not, 
 as in modern languages, their real order in point of time. Writing, he deduces, from 
 pictural representations, through hieroglyphics (in which the specific signification of 
 these pictures was extended by analogy), to arbitrary marks (probably originating from 
 this source) like the Chinese characters and Arabic numerals : thus far, the sign im- 
 mediately represented the thing signified ; till it occurred, that these signs might be 
 employed to denote, not the thing itself, but the sound by which it was known ; and, by 
 tracing these sounds to their elements, be simplified into the Letters of the Alphabet. 
 These two latter leaps, however, though easy in the statement, are in practice surely 
 immense. — In the Sth. and Qth. Ls., he discusses the nature of language in general, 
 and of the English language in particular; but as he takes Harris and Monboddo for his 
 guides, I have nothing to say about him. — From the 10th. to the 13th. lie treats of 
 style, in the choice of terms, and structure of sentences. I was most pleased with 
 his remarks on precision in the former dej)artment (L. 10.), illustrated by his distinc- 
 tions between words which are loosely regarded as synonymous; and his judicious re- 
 commendations (L. 11.) of unit!/, in the latter. He very justly observes, that our 
 modes of thinking, and our modes of expressing ourselves, mutually act and re-act 
 upon each other. — From the 14th. to the 17th. L. he treats of figures of style, which, 
 he well remarks, to have a good effect, must spring spontaneously from tlie feelings 
 of the speaker or writer. I cannot, however, agree with him in iiis censure (L. ] 5.) 
 of two passages, in the Tempest and Romeo and Juliet, " The charm dis-olves apace", 
 and " As glorious as is a winged messenger", as involving mixed metaphors : the lead- 
 ing figure is surely preserved with sufiicient distinctness in both instances ; and the 
 expressions at which he cavils, as incongruous, are so little obtrusive in their primi- 
 tive and metaphorical sense, as, with me at least, not in the slightest degree to im- 
 pair the general unity and beauty of the image presented to the mind. — There is 
 nothing new under the Sun. The passage I admired so much (April 10th., 17Q9)i 
 in one of the Papers of the Corresponding Society, saying of the Temple of Liberty, 
 " that it had the ample earth fbr its area, and the arch of Heaven for its dome", seems 
 to have been taken from the Epitaph on Charles the Sth. (L. l6.) " Pro tumuloponas 
 orbem, pro tegmine coelum" :— the rest spoils all — -"Sidera pro facibus, pro lachrymis 
 
 2 a
 
 178 
 
 maria": — yet it evinces, by how slender a partition the extravagant and preposterous 
 is divided from the sublime. — From the 18th. to the 24th. L., Blair treats of style. 
 His divisions of the subject are not, I think, sufficiently clear and distinct : but his 
 particular criticisms are in general acute and just ; and his strictures upon certain 
 passages in the writings of Addison and Swift, and the emendations he proposes, to 
 rectify and improve them, for the most part, eminently judicious. — In the 25th. L. 
 he at length enters upon Eloquence ; which he defines, the art of speaking in-such a 
 manner as to attain the end for which we speak — to please — to inform and con- 
 vince the understanding — and to actuate the will. The highest species of eloquence, 
 that which hurries along the hearer with the speaker, he contends, is always the off- 
 spring ot passion ; and he accounts for the inferior degree of liveliness in modern 
 compared with antient eloquence, partly from the progress of philosophy and correct 
 habits of thinking, which are averse to such excitations. — In the 26th. L. he insti- 
 tutes a formal comparison between Demosthenes and Cicero. I pretty nearly agree 
 with him in the result, though I differ widely in many of the particular criticisms from 
 which it is deduced. The character of Demosthenes, says he, is vigour and austeri- 
 ty; that of Cicero, gentleness and insinuation: — feeble characteristics, surely, of two 
 such mighty and opposite proficients in eloquence. With emotions still stronger 
 than those of dissent, do I listen to his immerciful depression of the moderns com- 
 pared with the antients, and of the English compared with the French, in oratoiy. 
 Did he never hear of such men as Chatham, Fox, or Burke ? Or would he deny the 
 praise of patlios, to those vehement and impassioned appeals of Erskine, which I well 
 remember to have seen draw tears down the veteran Bearcroft's cheeks, though op- 
 posed to him as counsel in the cause * : — a triumph more truly glorious, perhaps, 
 to eloquence, than Cicero's expulsion of Cataline from the Senate. — In the 32d. L. 
 he maintains, that the three great subjects of discussion among mankind, are, truth, 
 duty, and interest ; and that all arguments are directed to prove one of these three 
 things, that something is true, that it is right, or, that it is profitable : that where 
 we want, not merely to convince, but to actuate, we must touch the springs of 
 action, the passions : and, that to effect this, it is not sufficient to shew, that we 
 ought to be moved, but to exhibit the incentive of that passion which we wish to 
 raise ; and, for this purpose, to be moved by it ourselves. — In the 34th. L., amongst 
 other arguments to establish that virtue is necessary to true eloquence, he contends, 
 that from the fountain of virtuous feeling alone, are drawn those dignified and im- 
 passioned sentiments, which communicate a glowing ardour and flame to language ; 
 and, above all others, command the passions of mankind. — In the 35th. L. he ob- 
 serves, that as we advance in knowledge, systems of philosophy may perish ; but 
 
 ■* Parsloe v, Sykes.
 
 179 
 
 [1799-1 
 
 that works of taste arc addressed to the feelings; that these feelings are the sole 
 test of their merit; that the universal feeling of mankind, is the natural, and therefore 
 the right, feeling ; and that long continued reputation, consequently, is, in such cases, 
 decisive of excellence. — In the 38th. L. he enters on the consideration of Poetry ; 
 which he defines "the language of passion, orof enlivened imagination, formed, 7noit 
 commonly, into regular numbers": and the primary aim of the Poet, he justly main- 
 tains, is, not to instruct, but to please and to move; though, by pleasing and moving, 
 he may, and he ought to, endeavour to accomplish that end. — In the 42d. L. he elo- 
 quently remarks, that the respect which Epic Poetry must of necessity bear to the 
 moral sentiments of mankind, is such a testimony In favour of those sentiments, that 
 were it in the power of sceptical philosophers to weaken the force of the reasonings 
 which establish the essential distinction between virtue and vice, the writings of Epic 
 Poets were alone sufficient to evince the fallacy of their deductions, since by the ap- 
 peal which such Poets are ever making to the feelings of mankind in favour of virtue, 
 they irresistibly attest, that the foundations of it are laid deep and strong in human 
 nature. — In the 45th. and 46th. Ls. he discourses on Tragedy ; the characteristic of 
 which, he thinks, is to move, as that of Epic Poetry is to elevate, the mind. He 
 accounts for the gratification produced by the sorrows it excites, from the pleasure at- 
 tending the exercise of the social affections; which is peculiarly strong in pity and 
 compassion, and overbalances the distress arising from sympathy with the sufferers : — 
 the heart is warmed wltli kindness and humanity, while it is affected by the sufferings 
 in which it shares ; and the pleasure thus derived, is heightened by the satisliictory re- 
 flection, that we feel as we ought to feel on the occasion. If the pain involved in this 
 mixed emotion be made to predominate, the scene becomes too shocking for repre- 
 sentation. — His view of Shakespear, is most unworthy that great master of the human 
 heart: Blair is evidently not up to thehigh task of criticising such a Genius. — The 
 47 th, and final Lecture, treats of Comedy : and Is decidedly the poorest, and feeblest, 
 and flattest, of them all ; huddling up the Course to a miserable close. — After 
 having skirted, with a pale and ineffectual ray, the whole horison of Taste, this Ai'ctic 
 Phoebus sets at last in a fog. 
 
 NOF. the 15 th. 
 
 Looked over some of Rousseau's Letters, contained in the 1 5th. Vol. of his Works, 
 4to. Ed. Geneva, 17go. In a curious one, dated a Bourgoin, Ic 15me. Janvier 1769, 
 he defends the existence of a God ; a position which, after all, he rests upon " un sen- 
 timent Intcrleur", whose voice Is that of nature, whose judgment Is infallible, and
 
 180 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 whose dictates can alone preserve us against the delusions of reason, which in the end 
 
 would leave us nothing to believe : and maintains, that without a belief in God, vir- 
 tue must perish ; since virtue means/orce, a force exerted over ourselves, and which 
 requires a God, if not as a judge, at least as a witness, of its achievments. With 
 respect to the first position, if Rousseau means, as he appears to do, by a " senti- 
 m.ent interieur" a blind instinctive principle of belief, a principle which may be felt 
 but cannot be stated, the admission of such aground of credence, it is evident, would 
 o-ive the privilege of sanctuary to every prejudice of which we had forgotten the ori- 
 "•in. With respect to the second, though, in extreme cases, a belief in a supreme 
 Beino-, potent to reward and to avenge, or at least sympathising in omniscience with 
 the secret struo-oles of the human heart, may be necessary to support Virtue from 
 sinkinw under temptation or yielding to despair, this quality, I conceive, in the popu- 
 lar and just acceptation of the term which denotes it, is, in its nature and essence, en- 
 tirely distinct from all such considerations ; and, whatever succour it may occasionally 
 derive from their aid on extraordinary emergencies, is perfectly capable of subsisting and 
 flourishino- to a large extent without them. Rousseau. proceeds to combat the doc- 
 trine of necessity, as abhorrent, in its consequences on morals, to the same " sentiment 
 interieur" ; and then vindicates the superior character of Christ as a moral Teacher. 
 He seems to have been seized, on this occasion, with one of those fits of piety, to which 
 his erratic genius was casually subject, and into which it might at any time be exaspe- 
 rated by opposition. — In a subsequent Letter, a M. D'Offreville, he formally examines 
 the motives to virtue. He admits that we must in all cases be actuated by self inter- 
 est ; but then he distinguishes this interest into a higher and a lovier, a spiritual and 
 a sensual interest, the former of which is, the latter is not, compatible with virtue: 
 and to decide the question, whether there is not an interest immediately attached to 
 virtue, which makes it amiable for its own sake, or whether, according to the doctrines 
 of " la nouvelle philosophic" as he calls it, " nul ne peut faire aucun bien que par le 
 profit qu'il en attcnde d'autrui, quil n'y a, par consequent, quedes sots quicroient 
 a la vertu, et des dupes qui la pratiquent", proposes, as an experimentum crucis, 
 the case of the juryman, who was resolved to perish rather than convict another of a 
 murder which himself had perpetrated. — Swift observes in his Detached Thoughts, 
 " the self-love of some men inclines them to please others ; the self-love of others in- 
 clines them to ])lease themselves ; and this makes the great difference between virtue 
 and vice." — The difficulty which appears to have perplexed both Rousseau and Swift on 
 this subject, seems solved by the principle of sympathy : — by sympathy we are inter- 
 ested in the interests of others, ipso f ado. and antecedently to all reflection on conse- 
 quences.
 
 181 
 [1 799-1 
 
 NOF, the 2gih. 
 
 Finished the perusal of Rousseau's Miscellaneous Letters. The two a M. le 
 Marechal de Luxembourg, are admirably descriptive, the former of the manners of 
 the inhabitants, the latter of the aspect of the country, of the Val-de-Travers in the 
 Compte deNeufchatel : nothing can be more finished and exquisite than the painting 
 in both. The last sentence but one in the latter, breathes precisely the same sentiment 
 which occurs in Tooke's Dedication of his Diversions of Purley : " comment pour- 
 rois-je n'etre pas touchc des bontes qu'on m'y temoigne, moi qui dois tenir a bienfait 
 de la pai-t des hommes tout le mal qu'ils ne me font pas". I confess I Viave learnt to 
 lend a dull ear to these complaints of persecution from authors ; and to suspect, where 
 they are not mere rhetorical flourishes to conciliate and allure— (for "pity melts the 
 soul to love"), — that there is, at the bottom, something wrong, in those who make 
 them ; — some addiction to what, though plausible, is really culpable ; or gome per- 
 versity, at least, in pursuing what is right. There is a fund of good sense and honest 
 sympathy in the Public, which costs nothing in the exercise, and can scarcely fail to 
 render their moral judgments, on these occasions, in general as just as they are con- 
 clusive. — In a Letter dated, Motiers, le 4 Mars, 1764, he combats a disciple of the 
 New Philosophy, who endeavoured to deduce virtue from the love of order ; and main- 
 tains, that it must be founded on — an instinctive belief in a superintending provi- 
 dence — the immortality of the soul — and the freedom of the will : take the two first of 
 these considerations away, " je ne vois plus dans la vertuqu'uuefolie aquil'on donne 
 un beau nom" ; take away the last, and " ce'st un son qui bat i'oreille, ct rien de plus". 
 Self-love, he admits, is the sole principle of action in man ; but how virtue can be 
 founded intrinsically on this principle, he declares, passes his conception. — Rousseau 
 frequently vents his spleen against the doctrines and the professors of " la nouvelle 
 philosophie" as he terms it ; and when tolerably at ease in his own mind, strongly 
 inculcates on others a spirit of accommodation to the opinions and sentiments of man- 
 kind, especially with regard to religion — (see, particularly, the preceding and two 
 succeeding Letters) — : but there is no reliance to be placed on him ; and we feel 
 that the slightest and most unfounded disgust, would exasperate his irritable spirit 
 into a consuming fire against the cause, which a kindlier humour had led him to espouse 
 with all the warmth and earnestness of a decided votary. — " A mon avis", says he, 
 in a Letter dated, Wootton, Sep. '27 th, 17 07, " le sang d'un seul hommc, est 
 d'un plus grand prix que laliberte de tout le gcnre-humain." What a sentiment to 
 have flashed upon his deluded followers in France, in the midst of their atro- 
 cities !
 
 182 
 Li/99-] 
 
 DECEMBER the 6ih. 
 
 Read Jackson's (of Exeter) Four Ages. He inverts the usual order ; and pro- 
 mises halcyon days, from the improvement of every art and every science, in the gol- 
 den age to which we are rapidly advancing : — a more consolatory and a more plausi- 
 ble fallacy, certainly, than the prevalent one, of looking with regret on the past, 
 and dismay to the future. Many of his remarks are ingenious and acute; but they 
 are delivered in a very desultory form. 
 
 Looked tlirough the 3d. Book of Warburton's Divine Legation. It is impossible ' 
 to pursue this eccentric Genius steadily, through the mazy curves along which he 
 wheels his airy flight ; " fetching in and inclosing" (as Bacon expresses it) " by a wind- 
 ing expatiation, matter which speaks nothing to the purpose". He contends (sect. 
 2.) that the genius of their religion taught the antient sages to conclude, that utility, 
 not truth, is the end of religion ; that utility and truth, consequently, do not coin- 
 cide; and that it is lawful and expedient to deceive for the public good : he, himself, 
 (sect.6) on the contrary maintains, from a petitio principii, I think. That truth 
 is nothing but that relation of things which is attended with universal benefit ; That 
 truth and utility must, therefore, necessarily coincide ; That truth is productive of 
 utility, and utility indicative of truth ; and, consequently, That religion, or the idea 
 of the relation between the creature and the Creator, as useful, must be true. He 
 afterwards observes, very justly, that there never was a great conqueror, legislator, 
 or founder of religion, who had not a mixture of enthusiasm and policy in his compo- 
 sition ; — of enthusiasm to influence the public mind, and of policy to direct it. 
 
 DEC. thnQth. 
 
 Read Balguy's nine Discourses. They are all masterly ; but the first four, and the 
 8th., tower above the rest in excellence. In the /th. he says "To live without go- 
 vernment, belongs only to savages ; to be governed by will, is the condition of slaves : 
 the freest of men, are those who live by settled rules, under the influence of authority 
 prudently constituted, and temperately used". This nearly coincides with Mackin- 
 tosh's definition of Liberty in his Preliminary Dissertation. 
 
 Looked into Warton's Edition of Milton's Minor Poems. I am surprised that in 
 enumerating (in a note on Lycidas) the proofs of Shakespear's attachment to the 
 figure of the canker and the rose, he should have omitted the celebrated passage— 
 " But let concealment,, like a worm 'ith bud. 
 Feed on her damask cheek".
 
 183 
 
 [1799-] 
 
 " Sere", or " dry", which he mentions as one of the most uncommon of the obso- 
 lete words employed by Milton, is surely now very customary as applied to wood for 
 fuel. 
 
 DEC. the Qth. 
 
 Read Balguy's seven Charges, appended to his Sermons. In the last, he grows mys- 
 tical : it is a most unfortunate close : though, indeed, there appears to me something 
 very like inconsistency in the preceding part of the Volume ; and that what the Author 
 seems to grant very liberally with one hand, one moment, he with-holds very tena- 
 ciously witli the other, the next. I should say of the whole Volume, that it is Uie 
 product of a stout, well-furnished, reflecting mind ; too vigorous to bear the trammels 
 of prejudice, and thinking originally and deeply on whatever subject occurred ; but 
 which perhaps had not very curiously collated its opinions, and moulded them into 
 one consistent system. — In the 2d. Charge, Balguy explicitly maintains. That Chris- 
 tianity, did not promulge a new system of morals, which was unnecessary ; but merely 
 gave an additional sanction to the rules which previously existed on this subject. — In 
 the 6th. he observes, "That a heart which has hardened itself against all impressions 
 of gratitude to God, will be equally insensible of human kindness; and that all the 
 charities of neighbourhood, and kindred, and friendship, will be sunk and stifled in a 
 cool philosophical selfishness." 
 
 DEC. the 11th. 
 
 Looked into some of Dryden's Prefaces and Dedications. He is surely the most 
 rambling and desultory writer that ever wielded pen ! I take it, he never meditated 
 before he committed his thoughts to paper, or corrected a syllable afterwards : yet, 
 such are the exuberant stores of his mind, he weaves, as he goes along, a rich and 
 enchanting tissue. 
 
 Read the 1st. Vol. of Sully's Memoirs. They open a scene of manners, which, 
 to modern conception, appears perfectly romantic : — what a strange mixture of fe- 
 rocity and gallantry, generosity and treachery, cruelty and courtesy, heroic virtues 
 and the meanest vices ! Sully insists upon it, that Henry the IVth's conversion from 
 the Protestant to the Roman Catholic faith, was conscientious and sincere. Though 
 far from thinking that other motives, besides a preponderance of argument, may not 
 operate in producing belief, such a momentous change, so exactly synchronising 
 and quadrating with the dictates of policy, staggers, I confess, all my dispositions to
 
 184* 
 [1799.] 
 
 be charitable on the occasion. It is curious, that these Memoirs should have been 
 written by a French Protestant, and translated by an English Papist. 
 
 DEC. the 21st. 
 
 Looked over the 1st. and 2d. Parts of Watts' Logic. In recommending us (c. 4, 
 P. 2.) to cast away all our former prejudicate opinions, and form them afresh on an 
 impartial examination, he seems to feel the danger of following this advice to its full 
 extent ; and therefore more than once observes, that this is not proposed to be prac- 
 tised at once, as men of business or religion, as friends or neighbours, as fiithers or 
 sons, as magistrates, subjects, or Christians, but merely as philosophical searchers after 
 truth. — Watts, when he does not bewilder himself and his readers in scholastic sub- 
 tleties — (for Locke had not quite purged him from the taint of the Schools) — but 
 follows the dictates of his own sense, is very judicious. He may be regarded, I be- 
 lieve, as the last of that race of primitive divines, who united, in an eminent degree, 
 sanctity with learning. 
 
 DEC. the 13d. 
 
 Looked over the 3d. and 4th. Parts of Watts' Logic. In the former, on " reason- 
 ing and syllogism", I was in hopes of meeting with something which might throw 
 light on the principles of ratiocination ; but was disappointed. He defines reasoning, 
 " the joining several propositions together, and making a syllogism, i. e, an argu- 
 ment whereby we are wont to infer something that is less known, from truths which 
 are more evident." This more evident truth, forms the premises of a syllogism ; the 
 less evident, the conclusion: now the presiding principle, he observes, which governs 
 all syllogisms, is, that what is generally true, is true in all the particular instances 
 included in the general idea ; and the grand rule which he lays down as the test of 
 a true syllogism, is, that the premises contain the conclusion, or, that one of the 
 premises contain the conclusion, and that the other shew it is contained in it — c. 2, 
 sect 1. and c. 3, sect 2: — directly the inverse, I apprehend, of the method which the 
 mind really pursues in the advancement of its knowledge. 
 
 Pursued Sully's Memoirs. I blush when I read the account he gives of his Em- 
 bassy to our Court, on the accession of James the 1st. How much more respectable 
 do we appear in Henry the IVth's previous correspondence with Elizabeth 1 James 
 should have worn the petticoat, and Bess the breeches.
 
 18o 
 [1800.] 
 
 JANUARY the 4th., 1800. 
 
 Read the First of Alison's Two Essays on the Nature and Principles of Taste. 
 Taste, he defines, That faculty hy which we perceive and enjoy whatever is sublime 
 and beautiful: and he proposes to investigate, 1st., what is the effect produced on the 
 mind, when the emotions of taste are felt ; 2d!y., what are the qualities which produce 
 these emotions ; and 3dly., what is the faculty by which they are received. The present 
 Volume is confined to the first of these objects. In the 1st. chapter, he endeavours 
 to establish by examples. That whenever the emotions of sublimity and beauty are felt, 
 an exercise of imagination is excited, consisting in a train of thought; that withuuL 
 this exercise of imagination, these emotions are unfelt ; and, that they obtain in 
 proportion to this exercise : the consequence from which is, that the effect produced 
 by objects of sublimity and beauty, consists in the excitation of this exercise. Of this 
 train o( thought, howeuer, upon which the imagination is exerted whenever we feel 
 the emotions of Taste, he proceeds, in the 2d. chapter, to maintain, That it must 
 consist of ideas producing emotion ; and, That one uniform character, with respect 
 to the emotion produced, must pervade and connect the whole series. If the first 
 proposition, he proceeds to shew, be true, then no objects can be experienced to be 
 sublime or beautiful, which do not primarily excite some simple emotion, without 
 which no such train could be suggested: if the second, then no composition of ob- 
 jects can produce emotions of Taste, in which this unity of character is not preserved; 
 —and in this consists the great advantage of artificial compositions, such as garden- 
 ing, painting, and (above all) poetry, over natural combinations of objects; and the 
 great test of the excellence of the former, that composition being the best, in which 
 the different parts most completely unite in the production of one unmingled emo- 
 tion. The effect, therefore, of objects of Taste, may be considered as resting in 
 the production of a consistent train of ideas of emotion: and emotions of Taste, may 
 be distinguished from emotions of simple pleasure, in this, that the latter, as joy, pity, 
 gratitude, &c, terminate in themselves; whereas the former, though founded 6n 
 some simple emotion, require, in addition to this, an exercise of the imagination on 
 a consequent train of thought, from which we are conscious of a higher and more 
 pleasing emotion, to which he wishes to appropriate the designation of" delight". — 
 The characteristic of this solution of the pleasures of Taste, appears to be, the pla- 
 cing them in a succession of pleasurable images:— for as to the mere exercise of the 
 
 :2b
 
 186 
 
 [isoo.] 
 
 imagination, though lie takes up this idea decidedly enough at first, he very judiciously 
 abandons it, since the imagination, it is obvious, may often be exerted, without any 
 gratification whatever to the feelings. But surely this succession — (I wish to say it 
 without ofi^nce) — remindsoneof the hypothesis of the elephant and tortoise: for where 
 a train of similar causes, multiplied indefinitely (it should seem) for no other purpose 
 but to encrease the intensity or duration of the effect, is called in to account for one 
 grand result, we are still left to search for the efficient causes of that result, in the 
 agency of the separate principles which compose the series to which it is ascribed. 
 
 Finished Sally's Memoirs. The presages of Henry's death, are very extraordinary. 
 The connection, in these cases, no doubt, is only in the mind of the observer : the 
 emotion, however, which this supposed correspondence excites, when the feelings are 
 powerfully agitated by any great event, is so truly congenial and delightful, that the 
 most philosophical spirit can scarcely resist a temporary submission to its influence ; 
 and must find in its own illusions, however transient, a satisfactory solution of the 
 general propensity of mankind, at all times, and in all countries, to believe in pro- 
 digies and portents. — Henry's great political scheme for the perpetual peace and secu- 
 rity of Europe, appears more splendid than specious: — though, indeed, the political 
 face of Europe has been since so greatly changed, that it is difficult to form a just 
 opinion of it. — One wishes that Sully had retired sooner on the accession of the Queen 
 Regent. For his reputation, his career ought to have closed with that of his illus- 
 trious Patron. 
 
 JAN. the. Qth. 
 
 Read Alison's 2d. Essay — on the Sublimity and Beauty of the Material World. 
 He denies that mere matter is capable of exciting any emotion whatever ; and con- 
 tends—from the general turn of language, and by pointing out, removing, or chang- 
 ing, the associations through which he conceives them to be transferred — that the 
 beauty and sublimity of material objects, spring solely from their being the signs or ex- 
 pressions of such qualities as are fitted to produce those emotions. What these quali- 
 ties are, he leaves very undetermined ; merely observing, at the close, that, besides the 
 qualities of mind and matter, there are qualities arising from the relation of matter to 
 matter, of mind to mind, and of matter to mind : nor does he intimate, how he 
 means to distinguish the sublime from the beautiful, by these qualities ; though, from 
 incidental glances, he seems to agree in substance with Burke (whom he only once 
 slightly notices). That such qualities are sublime, as turn on pain and danger; and 
 beautiful, as turn on pleasure. — The mater'ial qualities he considers, are, 1st,, Those
 
 187 
 [1800.] 
 
 that we receive from Hearing — Sounds, simple and composed : 2dly., Tliose that we 
 receive from Sight — Colours, Forms, and Motions. The associations he enume- 
 rates, as the sources from which material qualities derive their power of producing 
 emotion, are, 1st., Those which obtain, with the ends for which they are destined ; 
 2dly., with the power by which they are contrived; 3dly., in the human form, with 
 the mental qualities they denote; 4thly., in inanimate substances, with resembling 
 qualities in animated ones; 5thly., such as arise from resemblances between the seiv 
 sations which material qualities excite, and certain emotions ; fithly., the associations 
 produced by language, which collects and confirms all others; 7thly., accidental 
 associations, peculiar to the individual. — There are repeated incidental observations 
 in the course of this Work, which display great depth of research and justness of 
 taste; but, upon the whole, it leaves the mind miserably dissatisfied with respect to 
 the main object which is proposed to be explored. 
 
 Read the Supplement to Sully's Memoirs. Sully — such is the total change of 
 manners — appears to have kept up more state in private life, after his retirement, 
 than a crowned head does at present, in the plenitude of power: yet I question whe- 
 ther Henry the 4th. himself, enjoyed half the personal accommodations and real 
 luxury of a respectable London merchant of this day. — ^The tryal of Ravaillac is ex- 
 tremely interesting. His answers are clear, collected, and consistent ; and evidently 
 shew him to have been an enthusiast, intrepidly pursuing the dictates of a misguided 
 conscience. The account of his torture, is horrible. 
 
 "J 
 
 JAN. the Qth. 
 
 Looked over the Introduction to Pemberton's View of Sir Isaac Newton's Philoso- 
 phy. He affirms (sect. 2.) that it is the gratification of our taste, which is the source 
 of our desire of knowledge ; perspicuous reasoning being not only beautiful, but, 
 when set forth in its full strength -and dignity, partaking of the sublime. In some 
 cases it may be so: but the general stimulus to the acquisition of knowledge, is, I am 
 satisfied, the mere love of novelty or ambition of distinction. — The proofs in Natural 
 Philosophy, Pemberton observes (sect. 20.), cannot be so conclusive as in the Mathe- 
 matics, because the subjects of the latter are merely ideas, the arbitrary productions 
 of our own minds ; of the former, objects without us. I confess I long for some 
 fair opportunity of exposing this superannuated distinction between abstract science and 
 physical knowledge. As if all knowledge that did not immediately refer to real ex- 
 istencies, would not be perfectly fantastic — as much so, as a disquisition on the natural 
 history of the Centaur, or a diatribe on the polity of Sylphs; and as if Euclid's Ele-
 
 188 
 [1800.] 
 
 inents of Geometry had not as absolute a reference to those existencies, and did not 
 as much derive its sole value from the means it affords of extending our knowledge 
 respecting them, as a dissertation on the properties of platinal — ^The three fundamen- 
 tal principles of the Newtonian Philosophy, are ; That more causes are not to be 
 allowed, than are sufficient to account for etFects ; That like effects are to be ascribed 
 to the same (to like) causes; and, That those qualities which belong to all bodies 
 with which we are acquainted, and which in the same body can neither be encreased 
 nor lessened, should be deemed the universal properties of all bodies. The obvious 
 tendency of these principles — resting solely, it should seem, on the general sim- 
 plicity and constancy which we observe to reign in all the works of nature — is, to 
 authorise the induction of general conclusions from particular experiments. 
 
 Finished Moore's Zeluco. This character is well contrived to purge the selfish and 
 malignant passions, by exhibiting the hideous effect of their unrestricted indulgence ; 
 and the crush of the sparrow at the outset, and of the child at the close, is felicitously 
 conceived for this purpose: but the last moments of Zeluco should have been deep- 
 ened with greater horrour; — it was a most inviting opportunity for applying the ter- 
 rible graces to a great moral purpose. 
 
 JAN. the 1 3th. 
 
 Assisted at the first distribution of Soup to the Poor, in this hard season : — a mode 
 of relief, which, however exposed to obloquy, seems eagerly and gratefully accepted. 
 It was gratifying to observe Churchmen, Presbyterians, Independents, Unitarians, 
 Quakers, all actively united in the same benevolent design ; and warmed, from this 
 circumstance, into complacency and kindness to each other. If no other good arises 
 from the imdertaking, this is a great one. 
 
 Read Pope's five Ethic Epistles, or Moral Essays. There is an occasional pert- 
 ness and flippancy in them, not to my taste ; and which would never iiave accorded 
 with the Essay on Man completed, of which they are professed to be " membra dis- 
 jecta". Pope, I suspect, felt himself unequal to the execution of this Essay in all its 
 proposed extent ; — if he ever seriously designed it, which I much doubt. 
 
 Finished Moore's Edward. The outset of this novel delighted me highly ; but as 
 it advances, the interest declines. Rather too many characters, with perplexing rela- 
 tions, are introduced ; the narrative is precipitated, on important occasions, too ra- 
 pidly for exciting a lively concern ; and the final denouement is forced and hurried. 
 Barnet's, however, is an original and finished portrait : and Edward, himself, forms 
 an admirable contrast to Zeluco.
 
 189 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 JAN. the I8th. 
 
 Read the 1st. Book of Pembcrton's Newton. The Laws of Motion on which 
 NewLon grounds all his conclusions, (and the simplicity of which Pemberton has in- 
 jured by pe-iphrasis), are these : 1st., That all bodies persist in a state of rest, or of 
 moving uniformly onwards in a straight line, till compelled to change tlii? state by 
 some forcq impressed upon them : 2dly., That the change of state thus produced, is 
 always proportional to the moving force impressed, and takes place in the right line 
 in which that force is impressed : 3dly., That the re-action of any body acted on by 
 another, is always equal in force, and opposite in direction, to the action of that 
 other body upon it. These Laws established — and uniform observation attests them 
 to obtain wherever we have an opportunity of making the experiment — by simply as- 
 suming an original projectile and rotatory motion impressed, and a power of gravi- 
 tation in all bodies, proportioned to their quantity of matter, and diminishing (as all 
 radiating power will of course diminish) in the duplicate ratio of the distance to which- 
 it extends, he accounts for all the planetary movements, and all the influences of 
 these bodies on each other. That such a power of gravitation retains the moon in its 
 orbit, seems past all doubt, because it is demonstrable, that the same power of gra- 
 vity which operates on the surface of the earth, extended to the moon, is precisely 
 what is requisite for effecting this purpose : and the exact solution which this princi- 
 ple affords, not only of all the simple planetary motions, but of all their disturbances 
 of each other — disturbances, which on the supposition of such a power must exist, 
 which observation exactly verifies, and which the assumption of such a power enables 
 us to calculate with the utmost nicety beforehand — can surely leave no doubt on the 
 most sceptical mind, that the same principle pervades and sustains the whole of our 
 system. — Such is the solid and broad basis of Newton's distinguishing fame as an ori- 
 ginal discoverer in science : and it may well sustain the loftiest column. 
 
 JAN. the 20th. ^ 
 
 Looked over Whitehurst's Theory of the Earth. His hypothesis is, Tliat our 
 globe was originally a confused mass of all the elements ; That from gravitation and 
 elective attraction, these elements gradually subsided into concentric layers, of which 
 water occupied the highest station ; That during this process, the whole mass as- 
 sumed, from rotation, a spheroidical form ; That the terraqueous part of the antedi- 
 Uivian world was formed of mud^ congested by the asstuation of the tides ; and. That
 
 190 
 [1800.") 
 
 the deluge, and present state of continents and islands, was produced by the super- 
 ficial water falling, through chasms, on an ignited stratum beneath ; and bursting, 
 by the expansive force of steam (twenty-eight times more powerful than gunpowder) 
 the superincumbent layers: — whence the ruins of order that we discover in moun- 
 tainous regions, together with the remains of animals and vegetables found imbedded 
 
 tliere. ^These Theories may amuse the imagination, but can surely never satisfy the 
 
 judgment. 
 
 Finished afterwards the 3d. and last Book of Pemberton s Newton ; — on Optics. 
 Bold and sublime invention may be regarded as the predominant feature of the Prin- 
 cipia, patient and sagacious investigation of the Optice ; but both these qualities emi- 
 nently obtain in each of these immortal Works. 
 
 JAN. the 23d. 
 
 Read the 1st. Part of Price's Essay on the Picturesque. After urging the propriety 
 of an attention to landscape-painting in the improvement of ground, on the principle 
 that landscape-painters have made the most pleasing selections from nature, he pro- 
 ceeds to the consideration of Picturesqueness. This he regards, not (what its name 
 mio-ht seem to denote) as whatever affords us pleasure in a picture—for beauty and 
 sublimity may do this ; but as a third quality, distinct from both, and furnishing a 
 pleasure sui generis : and he places it, in that intricacy and variety which obtain in 
 objects, rough, suddenly diversified, and irregular ; and which nourish, by partial 
 concealments and perpetual change, a lively and active curiosity in the mind of the ob- 
 server. — Picturesqiieness stands thus distinguished, from Beauty, which arises from 
 smoothness instead of roughness, and from gradual instead of sudden variation, and 
 which disposes the soul to languor ; and from Sublimity, which is promoted by sim- 
 plicity instead of variety, and whose tendency is to rigify with terror : it holds a mid- 
 dle station between these qualities : it is engrafted, not on pleasure like the former, 
 nor on pain like the latter, but on curiosity ; it neither relaxes, like the one, nor vio- 
 lently stretches like the other, but maintains the fibres, by its active stimulus, in their 
 full tone, and just tension ; and may thus advantageously mingle with either, correct- 
 ing the languor of beauty and the horror of sublimity, though it must necessarily 
 diminish in this case the peculiar effect of each. — As the sublime cannot be created, 
 the art of improving landscape must depend on cultivating the beautiful and the pic- 
 turesque; and the grand mistake in this art has hitherto been, in pursuing the for- 
 mer to the exclusion of the latter — the effect of mere beauty being repose, which may 
 degenerate into insipidity , of the picturesque, irritaiion, by which that faulty ten-
 
 1,91 
 [1800.] 
 
 dcncy is counLeracted, He proceeds to instance tlic presence of the picturesque, wherr 
 beauty alone has been supposed to obtain, — in the crisped and sliadowy hair of the 
 human head — the jagged and angular leaves of shrubs — and the sharp and rough or- 
 naments of architecture : to enforce this distinction still farther, he points to Claude 
 and Corregio on the one hand, and to Rubens on the other — to tlie light sprayey fo- 
 liage and fresh tints of spring, and to tiie rich masses of chicno oscuro and the 
 deep mellow glowing hues of autumn — as furnishing eminent examples, the former 
 of the beautiful, and the latter of the picturesque: and he closes, with endeavouring to 
 establish, that the properties of objects which constitute beautj/ of (orm, by having 
 their smooth and flowing outlines clogged up, degenerate, through insipidity, into 
 ugliness; whWe those which constitute picl?ires(]tieness, tend, by distortion, into de- 
 formity — so that deformity is to ugliness, what picturesqueness is to beauty. — Such, 
 on a rough view, seems the outline of Mr. Price's theory, and of the arguments 
 which he adduces to support it : and to me, I confess, they appear fully to justify the 
 separation he has made, of the Picturesque, from the other qualities with which it is 
 commonly confounded. It is only by discriminations like these in the different spe- 
 cies of delight with which we are touched in contemjjlating the physical and moral 
 world — modes of affection, which, however distinct in their nature, are, in ordinary 
 language, usually lumped together under some general title expressive of the gratifi- 
 cation they in common afford — that we can ever hope to arrive at any clear and 
 precise views of the pleasures of taste, or qualify ourselves to form any satisfactory hy- 
 pothesis respecting them. 
 
 JJN. the iQili. 
 
 Read the 16.. Part of Price on the Picturesque : in which he exposes, with great 
 wit, force, and effect, the insipidity, monotony, and ugliness, of the clump, the 
 belt, the fir groves, serpentine walks, and aqueous sheets, of Kent, Brown, and the 
 herd of modern landscape-gardeners; and deduces, as a general conclusion, that 
 that artist is the best improver of landscape, who leaves, or who creates, the greatest 
 variety of pictures, such as painters will least wish to alter. — He admits, nay contends 
 for, the propriety of rich artificial scenery near the house , and derides the affectation 
 of simplicity, and what is called nature, there. — Whatever becomes of his theory, we 
 must allow that his taste in practice — in the practice, I mean, which he prescribes — 
 is admirable : for who would not wish to realise, around him, the scenes which he 
 paints so vividly to the imagination as examples of his principles !
 
 ]92 
 
 [isoo.] 
 
 JAN. the 11th. 
 
 Looked over Gilpin's Two Essays ; on Picturesque Beauty, and Picturesque Travel. 
 The former of these, evidently manifests the necessity, and points to the establish- 
 ment, of Price's distinction. Gilpin enforces the propriety of discriminating, be- 
 tween such objects as are beautiful, and such as are picturesque ; such as please in 
 their natural state, and such as please from some quality capable of being illustrated 
 in painting ; and he makes roughness, this distinguishing quality : but ivhy rough- 
 ness should make this essential difference between the beautiful and the picturesque, 
 tlie objects of nature and the objects of artificial representation, he cannot satisfy him- 
 self: and Reynold's Letter leaves the question still more perplexed. — Dipped after- 
 wards into Knights' Landscape. He inculcates the same practical doctrine as Price ; 
 though his theory, which he does not clearly propound, seems to be different. 
 
 Read Fielding's Life of Jonathan Wild; a caustic satire, in Swift's coarsest man- 
 ner ; but displaying a wonderful knowledge of low and villainous life: and his Journey 
 into Another World ; in which much useful irony is couched in a very wild and ori- 
 ginal form. 
 
 FEBRUARY the 2d. 
 
 Finished the perusal of the First Six Books of Milton's Paradise Lost. The scene 
 betwixt Satan, Sin, and Death, in the 2d. Book, is transcendantly sublime : the Al- 
 legory, to which Addison objects, is lost amidst such force and vividness and majes- 
 ty of description, as, I think with Atterbury, renders the grandest passages in Ho- 
 mer and Virgil comparatively feeble and dwarfish. — In the 3d. Book, not all the pow- 
 ers of Milton's skill and genius, tho\igh vigorously exerted for the purpose, can 
 palliate the monstrous absurdities, or reconcile the glaring inconsistencies, of the 
 orthodox faith : they rather stare out in higher and more offensive relief, from the 
 strength with which he has brought before us, the personages, and the state of be- 
 ing, to which they attach. — Relieved from these shackles, in the 4th. Book, Milton 
 once more towers into native excellence, and " is himself again". 
 
 ********
 
 193 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 In a note on v. 53, of the 5th. Book, 
 
 fair it seem'd, 
 Much fairer to my fancy than by day : 
 Newton remarks, that our sensations are more vivid in dreams than when awake ; 
 and represents Milton as ascribing it, to the action of some spiritual Being on the 
 sensory. I see no reason to alter the opinion I long r-uce formed upon this subject. 
 
 Of the fact itself, there can be no question — it must have fallen, I should suppose, 
 within almost every one's experience ; and tliis superior susceptibilitv seems bv no 
 means confined to impressions from the fair and beautiful, but to extend to every 
 species of emotion whatever. If it be a scene of horror — if we are encountered, on a 
 trackless heath, by some dire form ; if it hunts us, with a murderer's knife, to the edge 
 of some hanging precipice ; if we struggle to shriek for some near help, and utterance 
 is denied — there is a degree of anguish and wretchedness in our sufferings, and a pros- 
 tration of all manly energy under an irresistible and overwhelming terror, exceedino- 
 far, I conceive, what any mortal ever endured from real apprehension. If it be a 
 scene of sensibility — if we recognize some long-lost friend ; if we meet, after hapless 
 separation, the dear object of our tenderest affection ; if we hold sweet intercourse, 
 if we mingle heart with heart and pour out all our fondest wishes, the melting soul 
 dissolves in a deliquium of tenderness and delight, which I doubt whether the warm- 
 est friend or most passionate lover ever experienced. We feel when we awake from 
 such glowing visions, and while their effects still vibrate on the mind, that every 
 thing in this life is stale and flat and tasteless on the comparison. It is related of the 
 celebrated Tartini, that he once dreamed he had entered into a compact with the 
 Devil, who, to exhibit a specimen of his powers, played him a solo so divinely on 
 the fiddle, that the Musician waked with transports, seized his violin, and tried to 
 catch the fleeting idea, but felt his utmost efforts at imitation so tame and unavailing, 
 that he dashed his instrument in despair to the ground ; and ever after declared, he 
 should never have brought himself to touch catgut again, could he possibly have 
 gained a livelihood without it. This story is by no means incredible : though, pro- 
 bably, had Tartini heard, when awake, the same notes which ravished him in vision. 
 he would have formed a very different estimate of their merit. I have always found, 
 at least, when successful in recalling any specific object — a piece of poetry or elo- 
 quence, for instance — which delighted me beyond measure in a dream, that it has 
 appeared on the revision very puerile or uncouth. For a time indeed, and whilst the 
 intense idea still breathes its charms or its horrors on the mind, the delusion may con- 
 tinue : but it soon vanishes ; and had we an opportunity of making the comparison, 
 I suspect we should invariably discover, that the strength of the emotion in our dreams, 
 
 2 c
 
 194 
 [1800.] 
 
 was quite disproportionate to the apparent occasion which produced it. 
 This curious phasnomenon, which seems to have escaped investigation, may perhaps 
 admit of the following easy and simple solution. In sleep, not only are our senses 
 closed against all impressions from without, but the command which we possess over 
 the train of our ideas, wKen awake, seems entirely suspended ; nor do these ideas 
 appear to suggest many of th.e various associations with which on other occasions 
 tliey are usually combined : of course, whatever image is presented to the imagination 
 under these circumstances, must exert its whole influence on the sensibility, undi- 
 minished by any disturbing action whatever ; and enjoying full occupation of the mind, 
 must excite there all the effect which such a cause operating on such a substance is 
 capable of producing. Thecase is obviously very different when we are awake; since, 
 to say nothing of the constant importunity of what is passing around us, some volun- 
 tary or some spontaneous suggestion is for ever mingling with the immediate object 
 of our thoughts. If we are assailed by distress, the mind naturally turns to its resources ; 
 it looks backward, it looks forward ; it adopts some fortifying reflection, it encourages 
 some soothing hope; and contrives to abate its present suffering, by the powers of 
 consolation or the prospect of deliverance. In our happiest moments, on the other 
 hand, our delight is not unadulterated : some obtrusive care, some obscure suspicion, 
 some c!"uel jealousy or apprehension ; the mere reflection that all this bliss must soon 
 end, and may be interrupted, alloys and vitiates our very purest enjoyments. We 
 are more poignantly aflected in our dreams than when awake, not because our sensi- 
 bility is more acute, or the objects presented to it are more forcible and Impressive 
 than in real life — for the contrary may rather be presumed ; — but because whatever 
 affects us in this state, operates undisturbed by the various interfering influences which 
 are perpetually mingling with the proper current of our ideas when awake, and abating 
 the force of the predominant impression which obtains there. — A consideration of 
 two or three cases something analogous to dreaming, will perhaps throw some ad- 
 ditional light and evidence on this attempted explication. 
 
 I. The susceptibility of little children to gratification or distress, is obvious to every 
 one. Children have little to look back upon ; and they look forward, still less ; nor 
 is their attention diverted by any of those associations which farther experience con- 
 tracts: their minds are almost entirely engrossed with the occupation, whatever it be, 
 of the moment. The morning of life, therefore, is something like a dream ; and 
 real existcncics aftcct us, in this state, much in the same manner as visions do in sleep. 
 A child who has its favourite plaything taken away, suffers more than a monarch 
 from the dismemberment of his empire. The monarch, indeed, by summoning be- 
 fore him, in succession, all the consequences of his loss, his diminution of revenue.
 
 195 
 
 [1800.1 
 
 of power, and reputation, may protract his sufferings longer ; but it is impossible 
 not to think, that tlie little urchin, who shrieks, ar.d stamps his foot, and is convul- 
 sed with grief, endures, for the time, more real vexation and anguish, than the un- 
 hap])y Sovereign, who eats his dinner very calmly, and partakes, though somewhat 
 cloudy perhaps, of his ordinary amusements. " I despair", says Mr. Burke, in his 
 Introduction to the Sublime and Beautiful " of ever receiving the same degree of plea- 
 sure from the most excellent performances of genius, which I felt, atthatatje, from 
 pieces which my present judgment regards as trifling and contemptible". Mr, B, 
 ascribes this principally to the fastidiousness which a mind acquires from cultivation. 
 And in some measure, no doubt, this accounts for the phajuomenon ; but not, I 
 think, completely. There are many persons who pass in the woild for men of fair 
 understandings and competent taste, whoare just as incapable, I apprehend, of dis- 
 covering the blemishes of a first-rate composition, as a child is, of detecting the non- 
 sense of Tom Thumb; yet I much question whether such a reader would derive half 
 the gratification from the first perusal of the iEneid, which infant curiosity eagerly 
 extracts from the life and achievments of the other ill-fated hero. It is not merely that 
 in early youth we are blind to defects, but that we enter with an entire and cordial in- 
 terest into whatever captivates the imagination. When I first read Robinson Crusoe 
 — (the remembrance of it is still delightful, and refreshing to the spirits) — I went 
 along with him completely — I was absorbed in his adventures : I sailed with him on 
 the raft; I saw the print of the foot upon the sands; I prattled with Friday. The 
 most devoted novel-reader, in maturer life, I should suppose, never attains to such 
 a perfection of illusion and interest. It is indeed scarcely possible that he should. As 
 we advance in years, a thousand collateral considerations, the iruits of our knowledo-e 
 and experience, break in upon our thoughts, and mingle their influences with what- 
 ever engages our attention ; that tnlegrity of feeling, which gave to youth its frank- 
 ness and its fire, its keen susceptibility and ardent passions, gradually jields to the 
 temperament of suggestions, which at once abate our joys and sorrows, our pleasures and 
 our pains ; and life insensibly assumes, under this equalising process, that subdued 
 tone and evenness of tenor, which distinguish old age, and for which a mere decay 
 of sensibility, or of the stimulus of novelty in the objects which act upon it, (though 
 these causes no doubt co-operate), will be found, in themselves, verv insufficient to 
 account. 
 
 II. Intoxication, like sleep, induces an oblivion of the past and neglect of the 
 future; dissolves the associations by which our ideas are ordinarily combined; and 
 disposes us to a vivid perception of the images and feelings of the moment, by ob- 
 structing the avenues to other impressions. I am not sure that it materially promotes
 
 196 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 hilarity in any other than this negative way; for those who besot themsekes privately, 
 are often sufficiently grave, and conscious of no other effect from the stimulus of their 
 potations, than the dispersion of care. Men assemble at the table on purpose to 
 begav: and festivity usually accompanies the social circulation of the bottle: our 
 hearts expand ; trifles delight us; an ordinary anecdote assumes poignancy and spirit ; 
 we are enchanted with a joke which our returning reason disdains; our mirth is in- 
 temperate, boisterous, and absurdly disproportionate to the occasion. It is not how- 
 ever to joyous emotions, exclusively, that wine quickens us, but, as we should natu- 
 rally expect from the influence of such a cause, to the predominant impression, what- 
 ever it may be. Joy commonly prevails at the table, because it is preconcerted that 
 it should do so : this convivial arrangement, however, is sometimes disturbed : men are 
 often exquisitely sore and irascible in their cups, whether replenished with Falernian 
 or Champaigne ; and, though certainly more rare, and somewhat ridiculous, I have 
 witnessed scenes of drunken grief and tenderness, surpassing, to all appearance, what 
 sober sensibility ever felt, and which the parties concerned have compared, on recol- 
 lection, to the vivid mockery of dreams. 
 
 III. Though it be difficult to speculate on a condition of our unhappy species 
 which we never experienced, and whose afflicting presence, wherever it prevails, we 
 approach with trembling and horror, yet, as far as we can explore this obscure and 
 dreadful visitation, there seems a striking analogy between insanity and dreaming. In 
 both cases, an unreal vision is presented to the fancy, which extinguishing memory 
 and foresight, and arresting the whole attention of the mind, induces the deluded pa- 
 tient to think and reason and act, in a way, which, however consistent with the scene 
 before him, appears to the waking and rational spectator in the highest degree inco- 
 herent and preposterous. In dreams, indeed, these apparent extravagancies are usually 
 veiled ; they are not however alwavs so. There are persons who preserve in sleep a 
 sufficient knowledge of their actual situation, to rise, dress themselves, and perform 
 many of the common offices of life, though actuated all the time by a phantastic illu- 
 sion. Such persons, on such occasions, exhibit the picture of madness. When 
 Lady Macbeth, under the visitation of those " terrible dreams" that " shake her 
 nightly", seizes her taper and stalks forth ; when she sees and smells the blood upon 
 her hand — which is not there; when, in vacancy, she communes with her husband 
 -—so express an image does she present of mental alienation, that an audience, not 
 previously prepared for the purpose, would naturally conclude that the great Master of 
 the human heart designed to exhibit, in her person, the hideous, but less original 
 and striking spectacle, of a mind impelled to distraction, and permanently deranged, 
 by the complicated pangs of horror and remorse. The maniac, indeed, perceives more
 
 197 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 distinctly than the somnambulist, the real situation of things around him : his exter- 
 nal senses are ct)!nmonl\' perfect and acute; nor is there visibly any thing in the con- 
 struction of his organs, ailculatcd to distort the re[)resentations they transmit. It is 
 the vision within that disturbs him. Partly, this vision confounds the real represen- 
 tation, and assimilates it to its own ideal fcjrms : partly, it should seem incapable of 
 completing the delusion. The lunatic discovers that things about him are not, as 
 according to the phantasm that possesses his mind, they ought to be: this distracts 
 his hurried timcy ; every thing around, seems wild and discomposed ; his dearest friends 
 appear his bitterest enemies; the order of nature, to his imagination, is subverted; 
 he feels oppressed by a general conspiracy of his species ; and is filled with those c'lark, 
 jealous and malignant suspicions, which are considered, I believe, by those conver- 
 sant with this dreadful calamity, as, above all others, the most decisive tokens of in- 
 sanity. As insanity beai'S this resemblance to dreaming, so it seems to partake of 
 that extreme susceptibility, and to be exposed to those excesses of delight and sorrow, 
 which form so remarkable a feature in our dreams. That there are "joys in madness 
 which none but madmen know", has been affirmed by one who is supposed to have 
 felt them ; and is attested by the tumultuous and frantic transports which some ma- 
 niacs exhibit. We shudder. Indeed, at beholding them ; and Gray's image, of 
 
 Moody madness, laughing wild 
 
 Amidst severest woe,, 
 is amongst the most affecting that poetry presents : the ivoe, however, seems alto- 
 gether confined to the spectator, who is naturally shocked at witnessing such insensi- 
 bilitv to the heaviest affliction with which it has pleased the Almighty to humble the 
 arrogance of man : the maniac himself, appears perfectly and eminently happy. As 
 there occurs, in some sorts of madness, a vacancv from care and a swelling rapture of 
 heart, surpassing, apparently, the most pleasurable emotions a sane mind ever feels,, 
 so, in other descriptions of this deplorable malady, we behold a settled and brooding- 
 melancholy, a deep despair, whose gloomy horrors no art can divert, no consolation 
 can assuage, and of whose unutterable anguish, the sound imagination, it may be 
 presumed, can form no conception whatever. The mind shrinks with dismay from 
 the aspect and contagion of a woe, which, as it springs from no visible cause, ad- 
 mits of no discoverable relief; nor can we easily account for the exorbitance of misery, 
 any more than for the extravagance of joy, in disordered intellects, but by supposing 
 (as in dreams) a total absorption of the soul in the scene presented to it, and an en- 
 tire seclusion from the influence of those palliative principles, which, in a waking 
 and sober and rational agent, produce a sort of equanimity through all the vicissitudes 
 of existence, and if they deaden our sensibility to some of the most endearing and ex-
 
 198 
 
 [isoo.'l 
 
 alted pleasures of life, seem designed too, in the constitution of our being, to miti- 
 gate its insupportable afflictions. The poignancy of existence, no doubt, is degraded 
 by their action : but Hope, which may be regarded as a kind of voluntary and flat- 
 tering dream of the future, still remains, our last best friend, to triumph over ex- 
 perience ; and by antici[)ating only the bright side of the prospects before us, to shed 
 a ray of interest upon scenes, which, were they presented to the mind with all the 
 drawbacks that we are morally assured must attend the actual accomplishment of 
 our fondest wishes, would stifle every generous exertion, and sink the human heart 
 in listlesness and despondency. 
 
 FEB. the 1th. 
 
 Finished the remaining Six Books of Paradise Lost. The Battle of the Angels, in 
 the 6th. Book, — a most daring effort of invention, — is supported with wonderful 
 force, fire, and sublimity; and rises to the last: — nor do /, myself, when warmed 
 with the subject, object to the taunting jeers, and scornful puns, of Satan and Be- 
 lial-. — In the Qth. Book, Milton naturalises the Fall of Man, with admirable address. 
 —The interest of the Poem, no doubt, in some measure declines as it advances; but, 
 upon the whole, my opinion of this astonishing efibrt of genius, is greatly raised by 
 this review of it. Compare the slender and unpromising stamina on which Milton 
 had to work, with the stupendous production which he has formed upon them:^ 
 this is the way to estimate his powers of Invention, the great characteristic of a 
 Poet. 
 
 Read the 4th. and last Book of Fielding's Joseph Andrews. I see no necessity for 
 the marvellous in incident, at the conclusion of this Novel : which might have ended 
 in the same easy and natural strain in which it had been conducted ; and asserted its 
 claim to interest, solely from the masterly effect with which it exhibited a picture of 
 real life and manners, though sketched by one who has an evident propensity to seize 
 their coarser features. 
 
 FEB. the nth. 
 
 Read Lindsay's Sermon on the death of Dr. Towers ; containing a most eloquent 
 and masterly display of the advantages of Revelation over Reason, in our prospects be- 
 3'ond the grave. He who can write thus, one wishes should write more. 
 
 Finished Fielding's Amelia. There is a still stronger and more disgusting taint of 
 ^^Igarity, in this Novel, than in Joseph Andrews. The authors' grand agent in all
 
 199 
 
 [ISOO.] 
 
 his women, but his heroines, seems the furor ulerinus; whose priuiencc, when in- 
 sufficient for his purpose, he elegantly and ingeniously contrives to exasperate by cor- 
 dials and philters 1 — Fielding, after all,- is but a Dutch painter of manners : he cannot 
 soar higher than the lowest scenps of liigh life ; and he appears to descend, con amore, 
 into the vilest and most blasted depths of low life. — Yet, whilst I deliver this cen- 
 sure, I must forget (for its other merits) Tom Jones. 
 
 Looked over Dr. Parr's strictures on Dr. Combe's Horace, in the Britii^h Critic 
 for Jan. Feb. March and April, 1794- They evince great force of mind, and depth 
 of erudition ; but are evidently dictated by a spirit of personal and exceptions hosti- 
 lity, which, however warranted by circumstances, and however becoming in a se- 
 parate and specific attack, but ill accords with the air of dignified impartiality and judi- 
 cial candour which should pervade every article of a Work professing to sit in judgment, 
 indiscriminately, on all the literary productions of the day. His character of Horace 
 at the outset (p. 4Q.) is exquisitely finished: and what he alleges (p. 122.) in defence 
 of verbal criticism in general, and closes (p. 423.) with saying of Bentley in parti- 
 cular, towers into transcendant excellence. 
 
 FEB. thn. iQth. 
 
 Finished the 1st. Book of Dr. Hey's Lectures in Divinity. His manner struck me 
 as stiff and perplexed, at first : but this wears off, as J advance. — Hey understands 
 (c. 12, sect. 15.) what Mosheim affirms of the Platonists — that they asserted the in 
 nocence of maintaining truth by.fraud — as applied to the Platonic Christians : I incline 
 to think the ecclesiastical historian means, the revivers of the Platonic philosophy in 
 general. What Hey says, in a note immediately afterwards, of Warburton's talking 
 of the roguery that is apt to mix with enthusiasm, relates, I suppose, to that passage 
 in the D. L. (B. 3. sect. 6.) which maintains the mixture of enthusiasm and policy 
 in all great conquerors and founders of states, — though it hardly sustains this charge. 
 — ^The exposition (c. 13.) of the inconceivable difficulty of forging narratives which 
 shall pass as true, as applied to the Scriptures, has great force indeed. — The princi- 
 ples on which (cs. 15. and l6.) he defends the credibility of miracles, and with res- 
 pect to which he seem.s to have been misled by Hume, leave the question more invol- 
 ved, and the mind more dissatisfied, than they found it. Twice he intimates (sect. ' 
 22, c. 15, and sect. 10, c. lO.) that, after all, we must refer something to the same 
 powers of judging that we unconsciously exercise about prudence, beauty, virtue, &c; 
 of which we scarcely know the nature, nor can well describe the action: though we 
 must not rest in these feelings, where it can be avoided ; but should endeavour to
 
 200 
 
 [ISOO.] 
 
 analyse them, and to regulate their operation by reason and utility. Ultimately, no 
 doubt, belief must be referred to inexplicable feeling; but the farther we can ad- 
 vance in simplifying and classing the principles on which this feeling is produced, the 
 better. — He denies (c. 18, sect 11.) that Christians, as such, are intolerant : Istill 
 think, however, that Gibbon's imputation of a tendency to intolerance in the very 
 natureof the Christian faith, is perfectly well founded. — Morality, he considers (c. IQ, 
 sects. 3 and 12 ) as nothing but a set of rules conducive to happiness, established 
 and recognized by the moral sense ; that this moral sense is generated by degrees ; 
 and tliat these rules must arise from experience. He distinctly lays it down (sect. 14.) 
 that he who performs his duties from any principle which extends not beyond maii- 
 kind — as rectitude, honour, benevolence, prudence, moral sense, the general good, 
 the law of nature, or the fitness of things — acts from motives of virtue ; he who 
 performs them from any view to God, acts from motives oi religion. I perfectly 
 concur in tiiis distinction. — ^That part of the Appendix, which developes the effects 
 that the general principles of human nature, and the particular character of dif- 
 ferent states and stages of society, would naturally have, in modifying the Christian 
 religion as delivered to us by its Founder, is uncommonly able. 
 
 FEB. the list. 
 
 Head the 2d. Book of Hey's Theological Lectures. Controversy, he wishes (cs. 
 1. and 2.) to be conducted on the principle, of the two Parties, not decidedly differ- 
 ing, but having doubts in common, which they desire to have cleared up by the as- 
 sistance of two advocates and a judge properly qualified for their respective offices. 
 He is not (c. 3.) for excluding, but limiting, the use of the great characteristic of 
 man — ridicule ; a topic which he treats very felicitously. The whole evincesgreat can- 
 dour, and refined discernment. To ridicule a subject (c. 3, sect. 11.) he defines, to 
 be the exhibiting two different views of it, at the same time ; one, which shall excite 
 some sort of respect ; the other, an opposite and predominant feeling : and on the pro- 
 priety of employing this test, he enquires, at the close of the chapter, whether it is 
 not the part of a larger proposition, That we should correct our reason by our feelings, 
 and our feelings by our reason? — Under the limitation, that the topics of ridicule 
 should be drawn from the subject itself, or from some matter with which it stands na- 
 turally andstrictlv connected, there seems no just exception to the application of this 
 criterion: but otherwise, it is surely possible, by a mischievous dexterity, to reflect 
 derision and disgrace, on anv theme, however serious, and however true — and indeed 
 ihe more solemn its character, the more easy it will be to effect this injustice. —
 
 201 
 [ISOO.] 
 
 Stating (sect. 12, c. 2.) the object of controversy to be truth, heappends, inaaiote, 
 " Truth or justice; either word might do: all virtues have been considered, as spe- 
 cies of truth ; and also, as reducible to justice". — Key's general seriousness, is occasi- 
 onally chastised by a festivity which is highly pleasing ; and not the less so, for being 
 unexpected. 
 
 FEB. the 25th. 
 
 Finished the 3d. Book of Hey's Lectures. In the first five chapters he contends 
 for the propriety of Articles of Faith, as promotive of unity of doctrine, which unity 
 conduces to public woi'ship, which mode of worship tends (through the principles of 
 association and sympathy, from which, he thinks, most of our sentiments and affec- 
 tions may be deduced) to cultivate religious sentiments, which sentiments actuate 
 our conduct : — something after the manner of " The house that Jack built". He 
 then proceeds to prepare the way for his construction of the Articles of our Church, 
 by maintaining, That (cs. 6. 7- and 8.) the sense which the Church, for the time 
 being, entertains of its Articles, though it be a new one, is the sense in which 
 they should be taken ; That (c. g.) in regarding their primitive sense, the circum- 
 stances under which they were imposed — as the heresies they were designed to guard 
 against — should be particularly considered ; and, That (c. 10.) unintelligible Articles 
 may with propriety be subscribed, the object here, being, not truth, but utility, in 
 not neglecting the revelation of God though at present obscure, and preserving that 
 uniformity of worship by which devout sympathy is heightened — a proposition which 
 savours a little of "la morale des Jesuites". — Superstition (c. 15. sect. 11.) Hey 
 grounds in fear ; and places it, in seeing the immediate agency and design of the 
 Deity in external phaenomena : enthusiasm, in presumption ; and places it in seeing 
 the same agency and design in the internal affections of the mind : the joint and un- 
 determined influence of both, bethinks, properly constitutes yanai/cwm : mysticism 
 he regards as the result of inordinate devout affections. 
 
 FEB. the. 2&th. 
 
 Finished a perusal of Ovid's Metamorphoses : a most extraordinary contexture of 
 strange tales undoubtedly, and woven one into the other with exquisite and inimitable 
 address, but of which it is surely impossible to think, with Warburton, (D. L., B. 
 3, sect. 3.), that it was constructed on a grand and regular plan, as a popular history 
 of Providence; inculcating, by a methodical series of fables founded on a corruption 
 
 2d
 
 202 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 of Pagan history from the creation of the world down to his own times^ — that the 
 Gods punished impiety! — a discovery, in all respects, worthy of its author. — Ovid, 
 one would think, must have known best ; but surely the fulsome adulation paid to 
 Augustus, in the close, at the expence of Julius Caesar, never could have flattered. 
 The friend of Horace, Virgil, and Maecenas, must have had a better taste. — From 
 the, " impleratque uterum generoso germine"', B. 9, v. 280 ; and again, " ingen- 
 t'lque implet Achille", B. 11, v. 205, Milton probably caught his "-^lledher with 
 thee a daughter fair".— -Ovid's exuberant imagination often carries us delightfully away ; 
 but T am afraid, with all its charms, we shall search in vain, in the Metamorphoses, 
 for those great characteristics, which Hume, in his Essay on Eloquence, considers 
 as distinguishing " a work of genius, from the adulterate beauties of a capricious wit 
 and fancy". 
 
 M^RCHthe2d. 
 
 Read the first Eight Chapters (each Chapter corresponding to an Article) of the 
 4th. B. of Hey's Lectures. The doctrine of the Trinity, he inclines to think (c. 1.), 
 was not reduced into form till the 4th. century : he confesses that it is perfectly unin- 
 telligible, and would better be expressed by negative terms; that it is a mere hypothe- 
 sis framed to make the different texts on the subject consistent — as gravitation has 
 been assumed to account for the various phaenomena of nature — and at the same time 
 to guard against the various false suppositions which have been started for the pur- 
 pose ; considers Trinitarians and Anti-Trinitarians as having formed their respective 
 doctrines in a different way, the former consvdting the expressions of Scripture, and 
 submitting their reason to the result, the latter drawing first their conclusions from 
 reason, and then eudeavouring to interpret Scripture conformably — on some occasi- 
 ons, with so much violence to the text, and at the expence of such extrusions from 
 it, as might seem to admit that the doctrine is really contained there ; and expresses 
 a wish — a candid and judicious one, I think— that this mysterious topic had been 
 suffered to remain in the indefinite state in which it rested before Christians engaged 
 in controversy on the subject. — In the 2d. c. he applies the same train of observa- 
 tion, but as it appears to me with less success, to the 2d. Article: and concludes 
 with suggesting, whether the texts of Scripture from which such doctrines are taken, 
 ought to be studied scientifically ; whether they were not the indefinite expressions of 
 strong /ee//»o- ; and whether, regarding them in this light. Christians of different 
 opinions and tastes, might not unite in the same worship, and partake of the same 
 spiritual food, as guests of different palates join in the same convivial repast .!* There
 
 20S 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 is sometliing macli above the mere theologian in these suggestions. — With respect 
 to Morals, Christianity, he remarks (c. 6, sect. 5.) is not systematical — does not 
 describe limits of rights and obligations : it rather enforces what it takes for granted, 
 than teaches what is new ; but then it searches, rectifies, and warms the heart, from 
 which all particular modes of conferring happiness, flow ; and gives a sanction to vir- 
 tue of every kind, in every stage of its progressive improvement. This is happily 
 conceived ; and not less felicitously expressed. — Hey considers (c. 7.) only the moral 
 part of the Mosaic dispensation, as binding upon Christians; but then he seems to 
 think, that some of the ceremonial laws are moral in substance ; and distinctly con- 
 tends (sect. 13.) that the 4th. Commandment, enjoining the observance of the Sab- 
 bath — (indeed that the whole Decalogue) — is of this description. — In treating of the 
 Athanasian Creed (c. 8.), he pushes his refinements, till he loses his credit. " No 
 minister", he expressly affirms, " has a right to say, you will be damned if you do 
 not account my doctrines essential to the Christian faith" ; yet he zealously defends 
 the damnatory clauses in that Creed. Common sense revolts at such a glaring con- 
 tradiction. 
 
 Read the First Book of the yEneid. There seems to be much the same relative differ- 
 ence between Ovid and Virgil, as between Ariosto and Tasso : Ovid's fancy, is wild 
 and luxuriant; VirgiTs, chaste and elevated : Ovid's expression, exuberantly varied ; 
 Virgil's, pure, elegant, and sometimes exquisitely felicitous — " pleno se proluit auro", 
 what can be finer ! — : but in force of genius and sublimity of invention, I cannot 
 think that Virgil will endure comparison with Milton. By the bye — did not Milton 
 catch his 
 
 " O! Son.— 
 
 " My word, my wisdom, and effectual might!" P. L., B. 3, v. 170. 
 from Virgil's "Nate: meae vires, mea magna poteutia ! " ^Eneid, L. l.v. 668. 
 Something seems very faulty in the passage beginning " Id metuens, &c." v. 27. 
 
 MARCH the 7th. 
 
 Pursued Hey's Lectures, B. 4. In the Introduction to the 2d. Part, he very justly 
 remarks, that popular language expresses merely our immediate feelings ; and that 
 when we expand these expressions into general propositions, those propositions will 
 often clash with each other. — Original Sin, he construes (c. Q.) into our appearing in 
 the world as members of an offending community ; and having a corrupted natuie, 
 derived, as bodily and mental evil is transmitted in the natural course of things, by in- 
 heritance: and he inclines to ascribe the source of both, to Adam's transgression.
 
 204- 
 [1800.] 
 
 There appear, says he (sect. 38.) two Laws of God's government: one is, " parents 
 by their conduct affect their children"; the other, " each man must work out his 
 own salvation": as rules of action, these do not clash; the first is for the parent, the 
 second for the child. — On a similar principle he endeavours (c. 10.) to solve the seem- 
 ing difficulties and contradictions respecting free-will and necessity — spontaneity and 
 divine grace — by remarking the different lights in which the same fact is, and ought 
 to be, regarded, in different points of view. When we enter into the situation of the 
 agent, we speak of his actions as free; when we enter into the situation of the specta- 
 tor, we speak of them as necessary : beforehand, we should consider our future con- 
 duct as entirely depending on ourselves ; afterwards, we should refer the good of 
 it, to God : the same offence as instigated by Satan, is sin ; as suggested by God, 
 a judgment. The fad, is the same ; the expression of that fact, springs from, 
 and is addressed (in popular language) to, the feelings ; which are different, accord- 
 ing to the different relations in which that fact is viewed: and he employs on this 
 subject (sect. 4g.) very felicitously, the illustration of a man within side, and another 
 withoutside, of a sphere, disputing on its convexity or concavity. — So(c. 11.) on the 
 doctrine of Justification: looking forward, we must strive to act as if all depended on 
 ourselves ; looking backward, even on the best course of conduct, we can only hope 
 to be justified, in the sight of God, through the merits of Christ: — the former view, 
 should stimulate our diligence ; the latter, humble our pride. 
 
 Read to the end of the 6th. Book of the ^neid. I felt far more' affected than, 
 from recollection, I expected I should have been, with the last moments of Dido. 
 Virgil appears to have exerted all his pathetic powers on this interesting occasion : yet 
 one may a little question his judgment in doing so; for the more we sympathise with 
 the unhappy Oueen, the more his Hero is degraded, ^neas, in no instance, makes 
 a respectable figure ; but in his final interview with Dido, he is contemptible. — The 
 Games, in the 5th. Book, are admirably conducted ; and exhibit a fine example of im- 
 provement on their prototypes in Homer. — In the 6th. Book, I do not discover a 
 single trait which warrants Warburton's wild hypothesis. Both the topography and 
 oeconomy of the regions below, appear perplexed and obscure ; and the whole sub- 
 terraneous scene — even Elysium itself— most fearfully gloomy. 
 
 MJRCHthe llth. 
 
 Pursued Key's Lectures, B. 4. On the doctrine of Atonement,— or our accep- 
 tance with God, notwithstanding our imperfections, in consequence of the merits and 
 sufferings of Christ,— he observes (Appendix c. 1 1. sect. 29) that there is nothing in
 
 205 
 [1800.| 
 
 it repugnant to the natural sentiments of mankind : — we reward the son of a benefac- 
 tor, for his father's sake ; and a whole society may be benefited, on account of the 
 services of the head of it.-— On Predestination (c. 17.) he observes, that the texts in 
 favour of this doctrine, were originally introduced in such a manner as to excite some 
 good and pious sentiment ; and that we may properly refer important events, in a ge- 
 neral way, to the purpose of God — not Tis a practical rule, or speculative truth — but 
 with a view to excite or assist devotional or moral feelings. We do the same, he ob- 
 serves, perpetually, in common language, on common occasions. With respect to 
 prescience and free-will, he thinks (sect, go) it maybe impossible certainly to foresee 
 how free agents will act ; and God has only all possible knowledge. — His softenings- 
 down, and smoothing, and varnishing of the Articles — the 18th., for instance, and 
 the 23rd — are infinitely curious. — It appears (c. 22, sect. 4) that the Jubilees at the 
 close of the century, were kept in the years 1300, 1400 &c. : Hey thinks the 
 preceding year is more properly the last: — he is surely wrong. — " He who refuses to 
 admit a doctrine", Hey observes (c. 22, sect. 21), "does not of course deny it; and it 
 may be wrong, in some cases, either to adopt or reject a notion." — In c. 21. sect. Q, 
 he classes Voltaire and Jortin (of whom he had before, B. 4. c. 9. sect 8, spoken 
 disparagingly) together, as flippant writers ; in some little deviation, surely, from his 
 own canons of Controversy : and the mode in which he treats Robinson (c. 27, sect. 
 16) shews how the mild and candid Hey can occasionally feel and express him- 
 self. Such discords, unprepared and unresolved, are, Jrom him, quite shocking. 
 
 Pursued the ^neid. In the 7th. Book, there is a very perceptible falling off, I 
 think, in smoothness and finish : Virgil becomes slovenly, harsh, and perplexed: the- 
 callidajuriclura, the easy flow, and natural transition, are coiv-^picuously wanting; 
 and I am persuaded we have only the rough draft of the Poet's thoughts, .which his 
 correct and exquisite taste would afterwards have polished into perfection — all the 
 perfection, 1 mean, of which the productions of his genius are susceptible. — The com- 
 parison of Amata (v. 378, &c.) agitated into madness by the furies, to a whipped top. 
 is surely very puerile and ridiculous : the '' Dant animos plagas", at the close of this 
 simile, would be no bad quotation in favour of birch. 
 
 MARCH the iQth. 
 
 Finished the 39 Chapters (corresponding to the Articles) which compose the 4th. 
 and last Book of Hey's Lectures. Noticing (c. 28, sect. 10) the doctrine of the Ro- 
 manists, who maintain that Christ's Body is naturally at the right hand of God, and' 
 Sacramentally at other places, he acutely remarks, *' where ideas are wanting, how
 
 20^ * 
 
 [1800."] 
 
 useful are words !"— -The 32d. c, he opens with observing, " That if one could give the 
 natural prindples of any subject, they would connect all facts; and make the best 
 hey to the history of men's practice: for all practice is only the operation of natural 
 principles in different circumstances" : — a remark at once profound and just, — Speak- 
 ing of rites and ceremonies (c. 34, sect 4) he eloquently says, " all our best and finest 
 tastes and feelings are to be set in motion, and made subservient to religion — our 
 love of truth; our relish of order ; our taste for beauty, sublimity, harmony, are to 
 be solicited, engaged, interested : our passions are to be thrown into a devout course ; 
 and to have objects presented, which will excite and inflame them". — The being 
 " moved by the Holy Ghost" to take holy orders, he pares away (c. 36, sect. 17) into 
 " being conscious of good intentions" in undertaking the priestly office :— " it may 
 afterwards be referred, with other good events, to the influence of the Spirit". — The 
 spirit of improvement, he observes (c. 37, sect. 3), with great truth, is mild and 
 gentle, when actuated by the good expected to accrue from it : — harsh and austere, 
 when goaded by the faults and failures which seem to obstruct it. Speaking after- 
 wards (sect. 19) of some of the difficult precepts of Christianity, he judiciously re- 
 marks, that what is desirable, must be limited by, and can only be attained through, 
 what is practicable : and that though rules are delivered singly, they must not be ta- 
 ken as single rules and applied universally, to the exclusion of all others; but, that 
 one rule must limit another ; and that all must be tacitly limited by considerations of 
 the greatest good. 
 
 Perspicacity, and a spirit of subtle and accurate discrimination, appear the distin- 
 guishing features of Dr. Hey's mind : but it is impossible not to perceive and mark, 
 that these qualities are employed, on the subject which he treats, rather in the cha- 
 racter of ari advocate, who most ingeniously defends a difficult cause with which he 
 has been entrusted, than in that of a sincere enquirer after truth, who impartially deli- 
 vers his best judgment on the merits of a question which he has undertaken to inves- 
 tigate. — Putting all arguments on the case aside, is it not the most extraordinary thing 
 in the world, that those who settled the doctrines of our particular Church, two 
 centuries and a half ago, on questions the most abstruse and the most controverted, 
 should, on every occasion, have been exactly right! 
 
 Perused the " Farmer's Boy" ; a rural Poem, by Robert Bloomfield ; edited by 
 Capel LofFt. Works of mere comparative merit — which derive their claim to atten- 
 tion, not from any intrinsic excellence, but the unpropitious circumstances under 
 which they were executed — are usually sickening ; but I confess myself to have been 
 sincerely and highly delighted with this pleasing Poem, which vividly reflects the se- 
 ries of interesting images that touched the sensibility of a young and untutored ob-
 
 207 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 server employed in rustic service through the year. Originality, on tlicines so liack- 
 neyed as pastoral deliglits, is invaluable ; and we have it here, free from all taint of 
 affectation, pure and unadulterate. 
 
 MARCH the igth. 
 
 F'inished Pearson's Remarks on the Theory of Morals. He opens (c. 1 .) with in- 
 vestigating the foundation of virtue; and defines it " voluntary obedience to the will 
 of God" ; contending that this, and this alone, it is, which constitutes any action 
 virtuous or the contrary : — " what God commands, is right, and right because he 
 commands it; what God forbids, is wrong, and wrong because he forbids it": — in 
 perfect consistency with which principle, when he proceeds, in the next chapter, to 
 consider the rule of virtue, he observes, that no 07ie rule or criterion, other than one 
 equivalent with the Jbundation of virtue, can comprehend all virtuous actions, or 
 denote in any the quality which alone makes them so ; but that the different rules 
 which have been proposed on this head, though each exclusively inadequate and in- 
 sufficient, have all their value, considered as indicative of the will of God ; which 
 consideration alone, however, can constitute any action performed under them, vir- 
 tuous. — I object to this Theory of my learned and amiable Friend, in toto. In treating 
 any popular subject, a philosopher has an unquestionable right to affix precise limits to 
 the signification of the term, by which, in popular language, that topic is loosely and 
 vaguely denoted: — he may perhaps venture to extend this signification, in some points, 
 where it appears to include too little; and restrict it in others, where it appears to em- 
 brace too much : but he will exercise this power with extreme caution ; and will al- 
 ways endeavour to keep distinctly and steadily in view, in spirit and in substance, the 
 real subject-matter which that term, in its customary import, is meant and employ- 
 ed to designate. Without this, it is obvious, his speculations, however correct in 
 themselves, must necessarily be delusive in application. " Oliedience to the will of 
 God", may be a better rule of conduct — may be derived from a higher source, and 
 present stronger incentives to its observance — than any which mere Virtue can boast ; 
 but I do most strenuously contend, that it is a rule of conduct quite distinct from 
 virtue, as virtue is distinct from that; that the quality of actions which stands recog- 
 nized in the sentiments and expressions of mankind as virtuous, and which, of neces- 
 sity, can alone be virtue, involves no consideration whatever of the divine will ; and, 
 consequently, that the System which places the essence of moral distinction in an in- 
 tentional obedience or disobedience to that will, however felicitously descriptive of a 
 more exalted principle of action, as a Theory of Virtue, is fundamentally erroneous.—
 
 208 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 Mr, Pearson (c. ] .) ver_v justly objects to Dr. Paley's definition of virtue, which, in 
 addition to obedience to the will of God, requires our being actuated " by the hope 
 of everlasting- happiness", that it excludes a multitude of actions approved by all 
 mankind as virtuous: but surely the same objection applies, with equal force, though 
 in somewhat a less extent, to his own. Will it be contended that an atheist is quite 
 incapable of virtue or vice — that whether he poisons a kind benefactor to get posses- 
 sion of his wealth, or at the imminent hazard of life rescues an oppressor from des- 
 truction, there is no moral difference whatever in his actions? — If virtue consists in 
 intentional obedience to the will of God, vice can consist only in a designed disobe- 
 dience to that will — will this consequence be admitted ? — But without putting extreme 
 cases, I should broadly and unecjuivocally maintain, as a fundamental distinction on 
 the subject, that actions performed from a sense of obedience to the divine will, are, 
 in their nature and essence, emphatically, not virtuous, but religious. In practice^ 
 no doubt, these two principles will often be found to conspire, in inciting us to the 
 performance of our duties: but for the purposes of accurate enquiry, it is essentially 
 requisite that we should keep them, in speculation, perfectly distinct. 
 
 MARCH the 22(1. 
 
 Read Hall's Sermon on Lifidelity. It is really a most eloquent and masterly dis- 
 course ; and nearly deserves the unbounded and unqualified praises bestowed upon it 
 in the last Monthly Review. He has caught much from Burke, something from 
 Mackintosh, and a little from myself: but what he has thus snatched, he has fairly 
 made his own ; and the whole composition bears, throughout, that strong impress 
 of original character, which always distinguishes the productions of true genius. 
 
 Finished the j^neid. Virgil's excellence, it is obvious, consists, not in the da- 
 ring flights of a vigorous and sublime imagination, but in the exquisite art and con- 
 summate taste with which he turns, and polishes, and refines into perfection, both 
 of sentiment and expression, the graceful products of a chaste and elegant fancy. 
 Works of transcendant genius, are often rather enfeebled than improved by the last 
 touches of the artist ; and the rudest sketch of a great master, has power to fill us 
 with admiration, by asserting the mighty energies from which it sprung : but in com- 
 positions whose principal merit is high finishing, the want of that finish, is the want 
 of their most engaging charm — of all by which they can hope to allure our regard, 
 and decoy us into approbation. Had Virgil lived, he would, no doubt, have greatly 
 improved the latter portion of his Poem : but it is in the subordinate department of the 
 Epic, that he was alone qualified to shine ; and we may be quite sure, that his
 
 209 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 Hero, partaking of his own characler, would never have Ijccn great. From his first 
 appearance, in a panic, to his final demolition of Tunius — an event ill contrived to 
 set off either his magnanimity or prowess — iEneas exhibits few traits which either 
 conciliate our affection or command our respect: and after all the efforts which have 
 been made to interest us in his favour, we dismiss him at last from our recollection 
 with frigid indifference. Homer's second rate actors, amuse and engage us infinitely 
 more than Virgil's principal performers. 
 
 MARCH the 25th. 
 
 Read Godwin's St. Leon. In the Preface, he explicitly abjures the doctrine of ex- 
 tinguishing the private affections, which he had inculcated in his Political Justice ; and 
 the subsequent pages bear repeated testimony to the sinceritj' and completeness of his 
 conversion : — yet he professes to see no cause to change the fundamental principle of 
 that Work ! I flatter my self with having been instrumental in a little humanizing liim ; 
 but the volcanic and blasphemous spirit still peeps, occasionally, through a flimsy 
 disguise. His sentiments and expressions are often borrowed; and the account of the 
 interrogatories at the Inquisition, with the decoy employed there, are directly and 
 impudently stolen from Mrs. Radclifle. In his struggles to be sublime, there is 
 something inexpressibly hideous and revolting : — they are not the exertions of mighty 
 power, but the convulsive throes and ghastly agonies of a distempered sensibility.-— 
 After all, too, though one may be amused with the adventures of St. Leon, what 
 impression do they leave upon the mind ? They do not indoctrinate the unsatisfac- 
 tory nature of boundless opulence and immortal youth, asNouijahad does, — for St. 
 Leon seems rather persecuted by his ill fortune, than by the natural consequences of 
 his supernatural acquisitions. What, then, do they inculcate? — I am quite unable to 
 tell. 
 
 Read Warner's Metron Ariston, reviving Mekerchus' scheme of reading Greek 
 and Latin verse according to quantity. This work is teasingly written ; but it con 
 vinces me. If quantity is not observed in recitation, why should it be observed in 
 writing? He is certainly right. 
 
 AlyiocKM ajyoiKoo ^^c-^7oe.i (ru.txux.yil'^s Tf TS'ovros 
 How grandly and expressively does this verse sound, pronounced with the emphasis 
 which the measure demands! And who that has read it thus, will read it again in the 
 common fashion, under the directionof those severe sticklers for quantity, whose chaste 
 ears aflfect to be struck with pious horror at a false accent, while by those very accents 
 
 2 B
 
 210 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 they are for ever violating the only rational purpose for which the rules of prosody^ 
 enjoining the observance of that ^uctni/iy, could possibly have been framed! 
 
 MARCH the 27th. 
 
 Read, after a long intermission (April 27th., 1797) the 2d. Volume of Gregory's 
 Essays. The distinction which he labours to establish, between the relation of mo- 
 tive and action, and that of cause and effect, and on which he endeavours to found 
 the liberty of human action, is this, that in the mind there is a self-governing, self- 
 determining power (properly denominated ybrceo/mmc^, he thinks), which enables 
 it to act in opposition to any motive presented to us. — That such a distinction exists, 
 and that we possess such a power, liis most striking illustration is, the case of a por^ 
 tfer assured of a certain reward for going in one direction, and of another reward for 
 going in another. Were intellectual mo/me*, like physical causes, irresistible, and 
 constantly conjoined with actions as the latter with effects, then, Gregory contends, 
 he must take a diagonal course between the two; or else there would be an effect 
 wholly or partly without a cause, or a cause wholly or partly v^'ithout an effect:-— for, 
 that motives wliich do not exactly concur do not directly oppose each other, is not only 
 contrary to physical analogy, but to experience ; since we often do really act fiom com- 
 bined motives of this kind, differently from what we should have acted from the in- 
 fluence of either separately. If it be urged, that the stronger motive, only, is con- 
 joined with its proper action, and all weaker and opposing motives separated from 
 theirs, then if two equal and opposite motives are applied to a person at the same 
 time, he cannot act at all: and if a small inclining motive be superadded, it follows, 
 that a person must act from that superadded motive alone, however trivial, precisely 
 as he would have been compelled to act from the greater motive, either applied aloncj 
 or opposed by an equal motive and assisted by the additional one in question ; which 
 he consideisas a rediictio ad ahsurdnm. — ^To the advocate for necessity, who contends, 
 that the will is determined by the judgment of the understanding, and the judgment 
 by the case presented to it, Gregory seems to reply, that our judgments are by no 
 means involuntary, since attention, on which they are founded, is in a great degree 
 voluntary ; and that we frequently act in direct opposition to our judgment — as, he 
 maintains, would perpetually be the case, were it not for that very self-deternining 
 power on which he founds the freedom of our actions. This power — this force of 
 mind —he admits, is different in different persons : but though we should allow that 
 it might be overpowered in all, it would not therefore be annihilated in any. — The 
 relation of evidence and belief, (where no such power obtains), bearSj he thinks^ a
 
 211 
 
 [l800.] 
 
 nearer affinity to cause and effect, than that of motive and action does ; but even 
 these, he contends, are inanifestly different. — Gregory is so abundantly slow and cau- 
 tious in all his steps, and so tediously prolix in descanting as he crawls along, that it 
 is often difficult to collect a just sense of his meaning ; and I am not sure of having 
 extracted the rectified spirit of his voluminous labours correctly. 
 
 MARCH the 3Ut. 
 
 Looked over Dionysius Halicarnasseus ITcf/ 2ui/^£(r£Wf "Ovo^tujv ; in which there 
 is an infinite deal about nothing — great preparation and Httle advance — pompous dis- 
 play of learning and trifling instruction. The distinction he makes (sects. 10 and 
 11.) between to 9' '-/^v and to kocKov, might, I once thought, throw light on Horace's 
 " non satis est pulchra esse poemata, dulcia sunto"; but it would be endeavouring to 
 illustrate " obscuruin per obscurius". — In the 17th. and 18th. sects, he gives a good 
 account of the different feet in prosody. If the observance of these, was so essential 
 (as he makes it) to constitute a good discourse, they must have been observed in speak- 
 ing: — it is impossible that their soleeflTect should have been (as it now is), to please 
 the eye upon paper, or the fancy on reflection. 
 
 Finished Moore's Mordaunt. It has no pretensions in point of flible, but it pleases 
 me more than any of his novels. All the personages brought forward, are spiritedly 
 and characteristically sketched; and the poetical justice of the piece, is exeniplarily 
 observed: — .it is impossible not to be delighted at the appropriate retribution to 
 Grindill and Lady Deanport, springing out of their own flagitious principles and con- 
 duct. I will not dwell on the defects of this Work : they are but icw. 
 
 APRIL the 6th. 
 
 Read Cicero De Inventione. After vast parade of preparation, but little (as might 
 be foreseen) is effected. The exercise of Invention, is a fit subject of regulation ; 
 but of all the prerogatives of genius. Invention itself, seems the least capable of be- 
 ing communicatal, or materially assisted, by art ; and even the prolific vigour of 
 Cicero, appears to sink under the exhausting and hopeless attempt to impregnate a 
 barren fancy. — Under the head of " probabilia in opinione", he gives as examples 
 (L. 1, c. 29.), " Impiis apud inferos poenas esse praeparatas: Eos, qui philosophise 
 dent operam, non arbitrari deos esse" : — what are we to make of this? — In consider- 
 ing (L. 2, c. 22.) the origin of Law, he defines "jus naturas", " quod nobis, non 
 opinio, sed quaedam innata vis afferat" ; though he seems to think, that independently
 
 212 
 [1800.] 
 
 of these dictates of nature, we are led to the enactment of laws, sometimes by the 
 perception of utility, and sometimes by the force of custom. — " Res expetendaB" he 
 divides (c. 52.) into the " honestam", the object of virtue, which, " sua vi nos 
 alliciat, et propter se est petendum",' — as science, truth, &c; and the " utile", 
 which, " non propter suam vim et naturam, sed propter fructum, petendum est",— 
 as money; and objects combined of both — as friendship, fame, &c. — There is a 
 strange similitude (in treating of this and the former subject) between passages in 
 c. 22, and others in cs. 53 and 54: the same sentiment is repeated in nearly the 
 same terms — a mark of carelesness, which I do not remember to have observed be- 
 fore in any of Cicero's compositions. — In the last paragraph of c. 54, he remarks, 
 that it is not merely the opposite to virtue, which is vice ; but that which appears to 
 be near, though it is in fact remote : thus " fidentise contrarium, est diffidentia, et ea 
 re vitium est ; audacia, non contrarium sed appositum est ac propinquum, et tamen 
 vitium est". This observation, however acute, is perplexing as Cicero puts it : but 
 the subject clears up, on reflecting, that virtue consists in the possession of a certain 
 degree of any quality; and that the excess or defect of it, are equally faulty. A certain 
 degree of confidence in the professions of mankind, is essential to the maintenance 
 of social intercourse ; an excess of this quality, in a rash reliance on those profes- 
 sions; or a defect of it, in a temper for ever suspicious and distrustful, are both, in 
 nearly the same proportion, culpable: the supposed opposition and propinquity are 
 merely verbal or ideal. — The common-place topics by which Cicero endeavours to 
 prompt Invention, in this piece, display astonishing fertility of fancy on his part ; but 
 they must be consulted, rather than j-etained. 
 
 APRIL the gth. 
 
 Looked into Marsh's Michaelis. Michaelis reckons 292 Mss of the whole or a 
 part of the New Testament, in Greek, which have been wholly or partially collated; 
 to which Marsh adds 1 77 more, making in the whole 46g : of these, only two, the 
 Montfortianus and Ravianus, and those both modern, contain the disputed passage 
 in the 1st. Epistle of John, c. 5, v. 7. The four fundamental printed editions, from 
 which all the rest, with one or two exceptions, are taken, are, the Complutensian 
 (Editio Princeps), Erasmus', Beza's, and Stephens'. It appears (Vol. 2, p. 730) 
 that a Ms copy which belonged to Cromwell, is deposited, with his other Mss, in the 
 Bodleian Library. — Marsh (Vol. 2, p. 892) mentions a Greek, who, in reading 
 verse, distinctly marked both accent and quantity ; raising or depressing his voice, 
 according to the former ; and shortening or prolonging it, according to the latter ;
 
 213 
 [isoo.] 
 
 and this independently of each other. JVe, he observes, reject the Greek accents, and 
 pronounce it as if it were Latin ; wliich we again pronounce, not according to quantity, 
 but av-ceut — in dissyllables, accentina; the first syllable, whether long or short ; — 
 in polv'syllables, the penultimate, if long ; if short, the aiitipenullimate, whether 
 long or short : so that there is only one case in which the accent and quantity must 
 necessarily coincide — which is, where the penultimate is long. It is to this mixture 
 of coincidence and disagreement, that he ascribes the harmony of Latin verse ; which 
 is greatest, he conceives, where this mixture most obtains ; while the etiect, he as- 
 serts, would be intolerable, did accent and quantity ahvays coircide — instancing an 
 hexameter consisting of six words, of which the first five are dactyls. But suppose 
 two or three of those words to be, not real dactyls, but trisyllables which we dactylise 
 in defiance of quantity : — here the effect, on the ear, would be precisely the same ; 
 yet the mixture he talks of, complete. From what authority, too, I should wish ta 
 ask, is our mode of accenting Latin as we do, derived? 
 
 APRIL the \2th. 
 
 Read Frend's Animadversions on Prettyman's Theology : — more temperate and 
 chastised than I expected; though the spirit of this bold reformer still sliines through 
 him. The Bishop has unquestionably brought himself into an awkward scrape, by 
 requiring implicit assent to the Articles from others, while he with-holds il from them, 
 in some instances, himself. — Baptism, and the Lord's Supper, Frend regards as 
 merely temporary rites : — the former, for new converts, in compliance with Jewish 
 prejudices; the latter, for the Apostles merely, so long as they obseiTed the Pass- 
 over. 
 
 Finished Person's Letters to Travis, on the disputed passage in John : displaying 
 uncommon robustness of judgment, keenness of perspicacity, and vigour of argumen- 
 tation. In the consciousness of transcendant superiority, he dandles Travis as a tyger 
 would a fawn ; and appears only to reserve him alive, for a time, that he may gratify 
 his appetite for sport, before he consigns his feeble prey, by a rougher squeeze, to 
 destruction. — ^The whole argument is ably summed up at the close of the last Letter^ 
 
 APRIL the l6th. 
 
 Finished a perusal of Warton's Essay on the Genius and Writings of Pope. In- 
 vention, he regards as the characteristic of a Poet ; and therefore looks upon Burnet 
 (the cosmogonist — not the Bishop), and Addison in his prose works, as displaying a
 
 214 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 truly poetic, ie, creative genius : Pope, though an excellent improver, he esteems no 
 great orir^inal inventor; and rests his pretensions to immortal fame as a poet (as he 
 afterwards narrows those of Dryden to his Fables) on his Windsor Forest, the Rape 
 of the L )ck, and Eloisa's Eoistle to Abelard — observing, that wit and satire, are 
 transitory and perishable ; biit nature and passion, eternal. — ^The fine arts, he thinks 
 (p. 182.), — poetry, painting, music- -naturally flourish in the luxury of monarchy; 
 but the sciences, eloquence, history, and philosophy, demand the freedom of a re- 
 public to raise them to their full vigour and growth. I doubt exceedingly whether 
 this distinction can be sustained either bv reason or experience. At first glance, I 
 should suppose, that such productions as most powerfully agitated strong feeling, 
 would be most in request, and most likely to be supplied, in a republic ; those which 
 administered gratification to a delicate and refined taste, in a mcmarchy : — but this is 
 a very hasty view of the subject. — In enquiring into the causes, whv genius declines 
 as taste improves, he asks, at the close of the 3d. sect., "whether that philosophi- 
 cal, that geometrical and systematical spirit, so much in vogue, which has spread 
 itself from the sciences even into polite literature, by consulting only reason^ has not 
 diminished and destroyed sentiment ; and made our poets write from and to the head, 
 rather than the heart.} " This is just, as far as it goes: but why, as knowledge, 
 civilization, and refinement, advance, reason should thus encroach upon sentiment, 
 is not so obvious. Partly, no doubt, it arises from the dissipation of those illusions 
 by which, in times less knowing, sensibility was excited and cherished ; partly, from 
 the difficulty with which a fastidious taste can be satisfied by what remains to be pre- 
 sented to it from the regions of imagination : but much, I think, must be ascribed 
 to the discovery, that in a settled and quiescent state of things — a state rather of spe- 
 culation than action — we are far more uniformly and steadily accessible to what is 
 addressed to our reason, than our feelings ; to be gratified with what is rational, tlian 
 to be amused with what is pleasing, or touched with what is moving. Nature and 
 passion, it is true, are eternal ; and just representations of them will ever continue to 
 delight : but addresses to our vinderstanding, we find, are more constant, and sure, 
 and appretiable in their efTects ; and they accordingly rise, with the progress of socie- 
 ty, in our esteem. — The use, the force, and the excellence, Warton observes (sect. 
 10.) of language — an excellence essential to poetry — consists in raising clear, complete, 
 and circumstantial images; and thus turning readers into spectators: the prevailing 
 fault in poets, is the dwelling in generalities ; and Homer was fortunate in writing 
 before general and abstract terms were invented. Tacitus, on this occasion, he calls 
 a great Poet ; and soon afterwards pronounces Pain's-Hill, and Persefield, fine ex- 
 amples of practical /(oe^r^? ; and Brown, a great />am<er^— vivid and forcible expres-
 
 215 
 [ISOO.] 
 
 sions. — Of Pope's Preface to the Iliad, he spenks in very different terms Vol. 1, p. 
 115 ; and Vol. 1, p. 475: a change of opinion, which may in some measure he ex- 
 plained by the length of time which elapsed between the publication of these Volumes. 
 — He sums up and concludes, with ascribing to Pope, in a tone more subdued (I 
 think) than that with which he started, the characteristic excellence of Judgment 
 rather than Invention. — The multifarious erudition and exquisite taste which Warton 
 displays in his critiques, the various productions he takes occasion to perstringe in his 
 progress through Pope's Works, and the curious anecdotes with which he occasion- 
 ally seasons his remarks, render this Essay one of the most interesting and delight- 
 ful compositions in the English language. 
 
 APRIL the \7tli. 
 
 Read Pope's Preface to the Iliad. He makes Invention the grand characteristic of 
 genius, of poetical excellence, and of Homer, It is Homer's superiority of Inven- 
 tion, that renders his fable, so extensive and copious ; his manners, so lively and for- 
 cibly marked ; his speeches, so affecting and transported ; his sentiments, so warm 
 and sublime-, his images and descriptions, so full and animated; his expression, so 
 raised and daring ; and his numbers, so rapid and various. — ^Pope could at least enthu* 
 siastically praise, the quality which Warton imagines he did not eminently possess. — 
 As Homer's peculiar excellence is invention, so Virgil's, in Pope's estimation, is 
 judgment. He is certainly right: though one always listens with some scruples ot 
 caution, to a comparative estimate of poetical merit by a translator of one of the parties. 
 Looked over Price's Three Essays on the Picturesque ; in which he attempts the 
 difficult task of reducing his principles, on this subject, to practice. In the first, on 
 Artificial Water, he is more successful than I expected. In the 2d., on the Decora- 
 tions near the House, he contends, very forcibly, for the spirited effect here, o( sym- 
 metrical abruptness, in terraces, parapets, ballustrades, statues, fountains, &c, after 
 the old Italian style of gardening ; as, in the distance, he would have the picturesque 
 effects of irregular abruptness, in rocks, broken ground, and nature unreformed ; 
 employing the modern style of landscape gardening, to form a gradual and easy tran- 
 sition between them. — The 3d. Essay, on the Picturesque in Architecture, is very 
 unsatisfactory. 
 
 APRIL the 20th, 
 Read again Hard's Dissertations, on Universal Poetry, and The Provinces of the
 
 216 
 
 [iSOO.] 
 
 Drairia.--In the fcrmer, on the ground that the end of Poetry is pleasure, to which 
 use itself must submit, as in all other kinds of literary composition pleasure is subor- 
 dinate to use, he infers the necessity of an ornamented, figurative, and numerous 
 style ; — of fiction, to represent the fairest objects only, and in the fairest lights ; — 
 and of verse, to charm the ear ; for the want of which latter requisite, apparently, 
 he blazes out into an outrageous fury against novels and romances. The principle 
 he takes up, it is obvious, is much too general and vague to support the specific 
 conclusions he deduces from it ; and the whole disquisition has more the air of a mere 
 trvrJ of skill, than a serious exercise of critical sagacity. — On the "Provinces of the 
 Drama", he makes the object of Tragedy to be, the excitation of the passions of pity 
 and terror ; of Comedy, the gratification arising from a just exhibition of the human 
 character, with its specific shades of difference ; and of Farce, the mere provocation of 
 laughter. Tragedy, he infers, requires for its subject, actions rather than manners ; 
 important actions; and the actions of important personages; Comedy, manners ra- 
 ther than actions; these not too interesting; and of private persons. Both, demand 
 a plot ; an unity and even simplicity of fable ; and that the characters exhibited, should 
 neitlier be perfectly good or bad: but differ in this, that a good plot is most essential 
 to Comedy ; that Tragedy succeeds best when the subject is real, Comedy when it is 
 feigned ; Tragedy requires more particular characters. Comedy more general — so that 
 a sameness of character is tolerable in the former, but not in the latter'; and, that 
 Comedy is most successful when the scene is laid at home. Tragedy when abroad. 
 The genius of Comedy, he considers to be humour, or the just expression of charac- 
 ter without design — a happy definition ! This expression may, or may not, be en- 
 livened with ridicule ; and the drama, in consequence, may take the complexion of 
 serious or pleasant ; or it may unite both : but when the qualities common to human 
 nature at large, are overcharged in the exhibition ; or when, instead of the peculiari- 
 ties of particular characters and times, some real individual is personated, the represen- 
 tation degenerates into the lower province of Farce. — Hurd's qualifications as a critic, 
 are obviously subtlety and acumen, rather than sensibility and taste ; but we must 
 allow that he makes the most of the powers with which he has been gifted* 
 
 APRIL the 23d. 
 
 Finished Marsh's Tract on the Politics of Great Britain and France, from the 
 Conference at Pilnitz, to the Declaration of War ; in which he demonstrates (as 
 far as such a subject is susceptible of demonstration) from authentic documents, that 
 we were reluctantly forced into the present contest by a series of unprovoked and in-
 
 217 
 [l800.] 
 
 tolerable injuries. The vhole is conducted in a very tcmpeiate, but dignified, and 
 masterly manner ; and appears conclusive on the subject, I do not envy Mr. Erskinc 
 his feelings on the perusal of this Work: — it operates as the most ccmpietc extin- 
 guisher that could possibly be placed on the doctrines of his pamphlet. — Whether, in 
 point of policy, it might not have been prudent, as we had borne so long, to have 
 endured with patience our wrongs a little loi:ger, just when things were drawing to a 
 crisis ; so that we might have extorted convit^tion of our moderation and forbearance 
 from the most obdurate, and heaped coals of hotter fire on the heads of our frantic 
 aggressors — may perhaps admit of question: but that we were fully justified, by the 
 law of nature and nations, in the measures wcdid pursue, preliminary to the rupture, 
 is a point which Mr. Marsh appears to have put beyond all contestation. — One is sur- 
 prised that a Work of this nature should not have been exhibited to the Public, before: 
 it has been delayed, till the period for its immediate efficacy is past; and it become? 
 principally valuable, as an historical memorial. 
 
 JPRIL the 27th, 
 
 Read again, and with more attention, Kurd's Discourse on Poetical Imitation. 
 He considers what is called invention, in criticism, as being, in philosophical language, 
 simply an imitation of natural objects ; that these objects, from which it is the office 
 of genius to select its sentiments and images, fall under the heads, either of, 1st.- 
 the material world; 2dly., the internal workings and movements of our minds; or, 
 3dly., those internal operations that are made objective to sense, by gesture, attitude, 
 or action: and, that, being by the constitution of our common nature, 1st., sen- 
 sible to the same beauties in external objects; 2dly., subject to the same passions, 
 affections and sentiments; and, 3dly, expressing our internal feelings by the same 
 outward signs, — mere resemblance in subject-matter between tvio single images or sen- 
 timents, is no sufficient proof that one was copied from the other. This respects the 
 matter of poetical composition: and with regard to themanner, he thinks that com- 
 mon principles may determine us to adopt, not only the same general form of com- 
 position, but even similar constituent members — as episodes, descriptions, and simi- 
 lies ; and that peculiarities of expression, are the surest tests of Imitation, Having 
 thus reduced the criteria for detecting plagiarism, within as narrow a range as pos- 
 sible, he proceeds to vindicate Imitation itself, by maintaining, that we are naturally 
 led to regard the copies rather than the originals ; and that the two great faculties, of 
 Judgment and Invention, are exercised in the highest degree, in selecting from, and
 
 ai8 
 
 [isoo.] 
 
 improving upon, these. — Nothing can equal the exquisite subtlety which Hurd displays 
 in spinning the texture of his Theory: — an awkward assailant would find himself en- 
 tangled in a web, from which extrication would be rendered hopeless, by the multi- 
 tude, and tenuity, and involution, of the filmy threads that compose it. — ^The com- 
 parison (P. 1, sect. 1.) of the influence of certain sentiments on the human form, to 
 tlie gentle breathings of the air on the face of nature, is wonderfully fine, and highly 
 wrought up. Parr's vivid description of the effect of these isolated passages, of bright 
 and unsullied lustre, on his feelings, flashed instantly and forcibly upon my mind, on 
 the occasion. 
 
 MAYihr2d. 
 
 Looked into Kurd's Notes on Horace's Art of Poetry. — On v. 94, he remarks, that 
 figurative language is not to be rejected in dramatic writing ; but only such images 
 to be given to the speaker, as the passion by which he is affected naturally suggests to 
 the human mind. This is very just : the prevailing fault of dramatic writers in this 
 respect, is, the imparting to their characters under the agitation of the passions, not 
 such images as passion rouses in the mind immediately subject to its fervour, but as the 
 observer is prone to indulge on contemplating this spectacle and aiming to describe 
 it. — On v. 244, he ascribes the pleasure derived from pastoral poetry, to its addres- 
 sing itself to the three leading principles in human nature, the love of ease, the love 
 of beauty, and the moral sense ; by exhibiting the tranquillity, the scenery, and the 
 innocence of rural life : — a happy example of a solution exact and complete in all its 
 parts; and which leaves nothing wanting, to give absolute and entire satisfaction to 
 the mind of the enquirer. — On v. 317, he contends, that both in poetry and paint- 
 ing, an artist may confine himself too much to individuals, and thus fail in exhibiting 
 the kind ; or, in giving the general idea, he may collect it from an extended view of 
 real life, instead of taking it from the nobler conception existing only in the mind : 
 and that by deviating from particular, he more faithfully imitates universal truth — on 
 which principle, Aristotle affirms fiction to be (piXo<ro(pM''r3pov wii gTrti^ixiaripov (more 
 philosophical and instructive) than history. — On v. 410, he remarks, that of Longi- 
 nus' five sources of the sublime, two — a grandeur of conception, and the pathetic, 
 come from nature ; three — a just arrangement of figures, a splendid diction, and 
 dignity of composition, are the province of art :— but, even in this view of it, it is 
 impossible to conceal, that Longinus' division of the subject, is miserably lame and 
 defective.
 
 219 
 [1800.] 
 
 MAYtheQth. 
 
 Read Gildon's Essay, prefixed to Shakespear's Poems; in which he largely discusses 
 Dramatic Poetry. Poetry, he considers as an art ; and he is a grand stickler for the 
 rules of this art, which he regards, rather as the original suggestions of right reason, 
 instructing us how to please, than the mere conclusions of experience from what has 
 pleased : — a preposterous piece of folly, nearly akin to that which attempts to solve 
 the phaenomena of nature from the chimaeras of the fancy, instead of collecting the 
 materials for this solution from a patient investigation of the laws by which nature is 
 really governed in all her operations ; but as a practical piece of folly, leading to con- 
 sequences still more absurd. According to Gildon, all excellence flows from the ob- 
 servance of the rules of composition, and all deformity from their violation .- to such 
 a taste, Shakespear's Dramas must have a most untoward aspect; yet his " wood- 
 notes wild" occasionally extort, even from this sturdy champion o( \he. surmrmm jus in 
 critical jurisprudence, an approving nod, with — " this is very well". — At the close of 
 his Remarks on Shakespear's Plays, he observes, that " verisimilitude in the Drama, 
 is more essential than truth, because fact itself is sometimes so barely possible that It 
 is almost incredible". Hurd has caught this idea : and it is not the only instance in 
 which I fancy I have detected him poaching on this antient and neglected manor. 
 
 MAY the 7th. 
 
 Looked into Cicero's Brutus. From the 49th. to the 55th. c. Cicero contends,, 
 that the popular judgment on oratory — though not on poetry — is always right, and 
 coincident with that of the best judges. One does not see much ground for this dis- 
 tinction : except, indeed, that the people of Rome were more likely to be conversant 
 with speeches than poems. — Parr has professedly drawn much from this piece, in his 
 Preface ; and he has taken more than he has acknowledged. — " Peringeniosis neqne 
 satis doctis hominibus, plerumque contingit, ut meliCis putent se dicere posse, quam 
 scribere" : Parr. " Videmus alios, quod meliiis putent dicere se posse, quamscribere ; 
 quod peringeniosis hominibus, neque satis doctis, plerumque conligit" : Cic. c. 24. 
 — " Propter expeditam ac profiuentem quodam modo celeritatem" : Cic. c. 01 : ver- 
 batim. — " Haec cui contingimt, eumscito Attic^ dicere": Cic. c. 84. " Hsec cui 
 contingant, eum itertim ac saepiiis dixerim Attice loqui": Parr. — " Nemo erat quj 
 videretur exquisitius * * * studuisse Uteris, * * * nemo, qui philosophiainc omplexus 
 csset, matrem omnium bene factorum beneque dictorum * * * nemo, <\x\i meiiiorian^
 
 220 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 rerum Romanarum teneret * * * nemo, qai * * * laxaret judicum animos, atque a 
 severitate paulisper ad hilaritatem risumque traduceret * * * nemo, qui delectar.di gra- 
 tia digredi parumper a caus^ ; nemo, qui * * *. judicem * * * ad fletum posset addii- 
 cere": Cic. c. 93, "Nemo, qui * * * diligentiiis* * * litterarum scientias sedederit; 
 nemo, qu iphilosophiam illam, matrem omnium bene factorum beneque dictorum, co- 
 luerit exquisitius ; * * * nemo, qui rerum et veterum et recentiorum memoriam vel 
 arctiiis vel copiosiiis tenuerit ; nemo, qui delectandi gratia j ucundiiis sit a proposito 
 parumper egressus et a severitate ad risuni leniiis deduxerit animos audientium ; 
 nemo qui ad fletum * * * vehementiiis deflexerit" : Parr. — " Doleo me in vitam paulo 
 seriCis, tanquam in viam, ingressum, priusquam confectum iter sit, in hanc reipub- 
 liccE noctem incidisse" : Cic. c. 96. " Antequam in hanc senatus noctem incidimus": 
 Parr, In Cicero, the metaphor is clear: it is not so in Parr. — I have still attended 
 only to that part of the Preface, which gives the character of Burke. 
 
 MJTthegth. 
 
 Looked into Prettyman's Theology. The Dedication to Pitt, is insufferably ful- 
 some. Fawning adulation, is at all times, and on all occasions, surfeiting; but from a 
 bishop to his political creator, such cant is peculiarly offensive and detestable. — It is 
 remarked in the Preface, that if all religions must be examined, to ascertain the best, 
 none could be chosen : nor, on the same principle, could practice of any kind be 
 adopted, by him that should teach, or him that should be taught; and because we 
 know not every thing, we must do nothing. 
 
 Read Cicero's Orator : in which he endeavours to exhibit the portrait of a perfect 
 orator, according to Plato's notion of an archetypical idea, superior in excellence to 
 any existing form : but his tigure, after all, is strangely patched ; and he perpetually 
 slides, from exhibiting, to instructing. 
 
 MAY the 12th. 
 
 Read Hurd's Notes on Plorace's Epistle to Augustus. In the Dedication, he requires 
 in a perfect critic, reason, or what he calls a " philosophic spirit", to penetrate the 
 grounds of excellence in every dili^erent species of composition ; and taste, or wliat he 
 terms a " strong imagination", to feel those excellencies himself, and to impress them 
 upon others : Aristotle, he considers as transcendant in the former department ; Lon- 
 ginus, in the latter : and then — Oh ! monstrous adulation ! — he compliments War- 
 burton, as perfect in both; and as exciting jealousy, because great to judge as to in-
 
 221 
 
 Lisoo.] 
 
 vent! How could such a sycophant write the Note on v. 15. — On v. 63, he observes, 
 that the popular voice, after partialities have had time to dye away, is sacred ; and 
 fixes the unalterable doom of authors. — On v. 210, he affirms, that all didactic wri- 
 ting, is employed in referring particular facts to general principles ; and defines criti- 
 cism, the referring to general rules the virtues and the faults of composition. The 
 perfection of criticism, he thinks, would consist in referring evenj beauty and blemish to 
 a separate class ; and every class, by a gradual progression, to some owe single princi- 
 ple. Critics, he continues, are properly employed, in confirming established rules, 
 which can only be done by referring more particulars to them ; or by inventing new 
 ones, which implies, 1st., a collection of various particulars, not yet regulated; 2dly., 
 a discovery of those circumstances of resemblance or agreement whereby they become 
 capable of being regulated ; and, 3dly., an arrangement into one class, according to 
 such similitude: when this is done, the rule is completed ; and its object is, to direct 
 the caprices of taste by an authority which we call reason. Longinus, Bouhours, and 
 Addison, he censures as dwelling too much in generals : not only the gemix to which 
 they refer their species , is too large ; but the species themselves, are too comprehen- 
 sive. This is as just and philosophical a view of criticism, as I have any where met 
 with. 
 
 MAY the \3th. 
 
 Finished Malone's Life of Dryden, prefixed to an Edition of his Prose Works. By 
 the drudgery of searching deeds, wills, genealogies, registers, and records of all sorts, 
 Malone has discovered some new facts, and detected a few mistakes, respecting Dry- 
 den and his Family, of very little consequence though they regard so great a charac- 
 ter ; and the whole substance of which, might have been appended, in a few notes, to 
 Johnson's Life. — What a contrast between these two pieces of biography ! Malone 
 admits, indeed, that his is the life of the man, and Johnson's of the poet. — In the Pre- 
 face, Malone states, that Burke greatly admired, and had diligently read, Dryden's 
 Miscellaneous Essays ; and that his own style was perhaps originally formed on Dry- 
 den's, it bearing a greater resemblance to his, than that of any other English writer. 
 Fox, I am told, entertains a similar predilection for Dryden's prose style: — a singular 
 coincidence of opinion, in two such men; whose taste, in their own compositions, ap- 
 pears to differ so essentially. — In a note (p. 140, of the Life) Malone gives to Bacon, 
 an allusion which was intended for Hooker ; — the passage referred to, is the very 
 first sentence of Ecclesiastical Polity.
 
 222 
 [ISOO,"] 
 
 MAY the \5th. 
 
 Read Daines Barrington's curious Observations on the Notes of Birds. It appears, 
 That birds are not prompted by instinct in their song, but that they will imitate, as far as 
 their organs allow, the earliest notes they hear; and that canary birds, which are na- 
 turally silent, are thus taught from the nightingale and titlark. ; That cock birds alone 
 sing ; That the notes of birds are of a higher pitch than the shrillest instrument can 
 reach; That the intervals of these notes, are too minute to be appretiated by the gross 
 intervals of our musical scale ; That as there is no apparent dissonance though a dozen 
 birds are singing different tunes, they probably pitch on the same key, which seems to 
 be G. with a flat third; That the oldest airs with which we are acquainted (Morva 
 Rhyddlan particularly) are composed in a flat third ; and. That there is a much high- 
 er combination of mellowness of tone, sprightliness, plaintiveness, compass, and 
 execution, in the nightingale's song, than in that of any other bird. 
 
 Read Campbell's Pleasures of Hope. Parts of this Poem, are animated and fine; 
 but the imagery is frequently obscure, the meaning involved, and the connection 
 perplexing. The beautiful allusion with which this Poem opens, is borrowed from 
 one in Johnson's Collections for the Rambler; which I believe he never employ- 
 ed, but which was certainly too good to be lost: see Boswell's Life, 8vo. Ed., 
 Vol. 1, p. 180. 
 
 Looked into Kirkman's Life of Macklin : he ascribes to Lord Chatham, the Speech 
 on the licensing of Plays, which Maty gives as Lord Chesterfield's ; but, whoever 
 furnished the materials and the name, was not the manufacture Johnson's ? 
 
 MAY the \Tth. 
 
 Began Dryden's Prose Works. In the Preface to All for Love, he contends against 
 the judgments of self-created critics ; maintaining, that an artificer must be the best 
 judge in his own art; that poetry, as a picture of nature, must generally please, but 
 that every species of it may not please every taste ; and that it is not enough to be 
 pleased with any species, to be a judge of it, since it is necessary, for this purpose, 
 thoroughly to understand in what its excellencies consist. Previously to this (p. !7> 
 Vol. 2) he makes an acute remark — " that the civillest man in company is common- 
 ly the dullest". — Morris' definition oi wit, as quoted by TVIalone (P. to Albion and 
 Albanius, p. 152, Vol. 2.) — " the lustre resulting from the quick elucidation of one 
 subject, by a just and unexpected arrangement of it with another", seems a good one:
 
 223 
 [1800.] 
 
 but when Dryden defines it, *' a propriety of words and thoughts", it should be re- 
 collected, that " wit", in his days, had a much more general signification than that to 
 which it is now restricted: — the context makes this apparent. Dryden's observation, 
 in the same piece, that the first inventors of any art or science, provided they have 
 brought it to perfection, are in reason to give laws to it, seems specious, but in 
 truth has no foundation. In the republic of genius and letters, hints may be suppli- 
 ed, but legislation is out of question: there can be but one law on the subject — to 
 attain the ends of composition by the best possible means. — As an excuse for the 
 violation of the unities of Time and Place in Dramatic Poetry, he observes (P. to 
 Don Sebastian, p. 191, Vol. 2.), that to " gain a greater beauty, it is lawful for a poet 
 to supersede a less" ; — that " it is better" (P. to Cleomenes, p. 228, Vol. 2.) " to trespass 
 on a rule, than to leave out a beauty"; — and (D. to Love Triumphant, p. 239, VoL 
 2), " that there are not, indeed, so many absurdities in their supposition" — (the 
 supposition of the sticklers for these unities) — " as in ouis; but it is an original ab- 
 surdity for the audience to suppose themselves to be in any other place, than in the 
 very theatre in which they sit; which is neither chamber, nor garden, nor yet a pub- 
 lic place of any business but that of representation" : this is the germ of the argument 
 so finely expanded and wrought out by Johnson, in his Preface to Shakespear. — The 
 strongest resemblance I have yet met with to the style of Burke, is in the paragraph 
 (Dedication to Amphytrion, p. 198, Vol. 2.) beginning, " All things of honour, 
 &c". — Much of the matter inserted in Malone's Life, is appended in his notes: — I 
 suspect that the Life was an after-thought. His political rancour, like that of most 
 underlings, is extreme. 
 
 MAY thelOlh. 
 
 Pursued Dryden's Prose Works. In his Account of Annus Mirabilis, he states 
 (p. 260, Vol.2.) that the composition of all Poems, is, or ought to be, wit, which 
 he defines, " the happy product of imagination" ; and this exercise of the imagination 
 he divides into, 1st., Invention, or the finding a thought ; 2dly., Fancy, or the va- 
 rying, deriving, and moulding that thought, as judgment directs ; and, 3dly., Elo- 
 cution, or the expressing it in apt, significant, and sounding words : the quickness 
 of the imagination is seen in the first exertion, its fertility in the second, and its ac- 
 curacy in the third. Ovid, if I understand him, he considers as personating better 
 than Virgil, and Virgil as describing better than Ovid : remarking on Virgil's descrip- 
 tions (p. 262.) that " we see the objects he represents as within their native figures 
 and proper motions ; but so we see them, as our eyes could never have beheld them
 
 224 
 [1800."] 
 
 so beautiful in themselves" — a just thought, though clumsily expressed. The proper 
 end of Heroic Poetry, he states (p, 205.) to be. Admiration. — At the close of the Pre- 
 face to ReligloLaici (p. 329, ^^o]. 2.) he observes, that for the purpose of touching 
 the passions, objects must be represented out of their true proportion — either greater 
 or, less ; but for the purpose of instruction, they must be represented as they are. — 
 His statement of the comparative advantages of biography over history, in his Life of 
 Plutarch, furnished hints, I think, to Barton in the address prefixed to his Edition of 
 Plutarch's Lives — a critical composition of very considerable merit, though little known. 
 Dryden's view, in thispiece (p. SQS, Vol. 2.), of the general use of history, asassisting 
 us '■ to judge of . vvhat will happen, by shewing us the like revolutions of former times, 
 # « * * mankind being the same in all ages ; agitated by the same passions, and moved 
 to action by the same interests", is clear and just, — The opening of the P. S. to the 
 History of the League, gives us a good idea of the doctrines of divine right and pas- 
 sive obedience. — Dryden's images are thickly sown ; and some of them are wonder- 
 fully forcible. 1 am not surprised, that the greatest judges are charmed with his style; 
 though debased with many uncouthnesses, it bears, throughout, the manly stamp of 
 our genuine vernacular idiom — true English. Yet it is difficult to separate the con- 
 sideration of his style, from the stream of thought which it involves : this usually breaks 
 out, at once, in great force ; and deriving vehemence and expansion, as it flows, from 
 a thousand auxiliary rills, hurries us along through; a rapid succession of ever shifting 
 scenes; which if they fail to inform the judgment, at least, by their variegated splen- 
 dour and beauty, replenish, invigorate, and delight the imagination. 
 
 MJV the 25th. 
 
 Finished Dryden's Prose Works. In his Discourse on Satire (p. 73, Vol. 3.) he 
 wavers strangely, as it was natural he should, in giving his preposterous preference to 
 Juvenal over. Horace, as a satirist. Whatever immediately occupied Dryden's fervid 
 mind, appears to have assumed a disproportionate importance there. — By a note ap- 
 pended to the Parallel of Poetry and Painting (p. 323, Vol. 3.) it appears, that Aris- 
 totle accounts for the gratification afforded by imitation, on the principle, that to 
 learn ( /A«i/5(ajvi«/ ) is a natural pleasure. Burke, in his Introduction on Taste, ob- 
 serves, that the mind has a far greater alacrity and satisfaction in tracing resemblances 
 than searching for differences, because, by making resemblances we produce new 
 images; we unite, we create, we enlarge our stock; whereas, by making distinc- 
 tions, we offer no food at all to the imagination: — whence arises our inclination to 
 belief, rather than incredulity. It does not appear to me, that' the passion for mental
 
 225 
 [1800.] 
 
 acquisition, is at all competent to tlie eftccts ascribed to it by either of these writers: 
 
 —though indeed, if we deduct from tiie efiect of imitations, the pleasure derived from 
 
 the agreeable qualities of the object represented, and the skill and genius evinced by 
 
 the artist in executing the representation, there will be little gratification of any kind 
 
 left, to be accounted for from any casse whatever. 
 
 MAY the iQlh. 
 
 Read Mrs. RadclifFe's Tour to the Lakes. Much might perhaps be expected from 
 this Lady's well known powers of description, exerted on so congenial a theme: buf 
 to paint from the imagination, and to copy nature, are such ditFerent achievments, 
 that I was surprised, I confess, to find that she had succeeded so well, and failed so 
 little. Her pictures, though somewhat overwrought and heavy compared with the ex- 
 pressive etchings of Gray, exhibit as clear distinct and forcible images to the minds' 
 eye, as it is well possible for words to convey. Such a series of them '' where pure 
 description holds the place of sense", would probably pall on most palates ; but so 
 strong a passion do I feel for the keen delights of picturesque and mountain scenery, 
 that I was gratified, I own, to the last. — She appears to make the predominant 
 character of Windermere, beauty ; of Derwent Lake, picturesqueness ; and of Ulls- 
 water, sublimity. 
 
 MAY the 28th, 
 
 Finished the two first Volumes of Soame Jenyns' Works, edited by Cole. His 
 Poetry does not rise above mediocrity — indeed it scarcely deserves the name: but 
 the style of his Prose, is smooth and lucid ; his turns of thought, are neat and un- 
 expected ; and when he sports in irony, in which he apparently delights to indulge, 
 he is uncommonly playful and airy. — In his Essay on Virtue, he inculcates in verse, 
 the same doctrine that he propounds in his Origin of Evil, in prose, — that virtue con- 
 sists solely and simply in promoting the general good ; and promises himself great 
 things from the diffusion of this discovery. — In his tract on American Taxation, he 
 defends both the right, and the expediency, of taxing the Colonies ; — the former, by ex- 
 ploding the received theories of political representation. — In hisRefiectionson Parlia- 
 mentary Reform, he derides the projects for securing an independent Parliament ; and 
 endeavours to prove, that it would be the destruction of our Constitution, if it could 
 be obtained. — In his Thoughts on the National Debt, he contends, that as the principal 
 borrowed, and the interest raised, from the Public, are both restored to it, the pub- 
 
 2g
 
 226 
 [1800.] 
 
 lie wealth cannot be impaired by this imaginary burthen ; and that by enabling us to 
 circulate the prodigious sums to which that principal and interest amount — (the cir- 
 culation of money, being money) — it must, of necessity, greatly enhance that wealth: 
 • — it is from this encrease of our wealth, that he alone apprehends any danger. He 
 makes one remark on this subject, which Burke has borrowed in his last-published 
 tract. That the sum raised for interest on a new loan, coming again into circulation, 
 is expended in taxed commodities, which bring into the Treasury an additional income 
 that goes far to discharge the interest on the sum borrowed. — Jenyns has evidently a 
 predilection for paradoxical opinions : and why, he might reasonably urge in his defence, 
 should a man address the Public, who has nothing new to offer to it ? 
 
 MAY the 30th. 
 
 Read Jenyns' Metaphysical Disquisitions, in the 3d. Vol. of his Works.-— In the 
 5th., he contends, that God has implanted in the material and intellectual world, pow- 
 ers and propensities greatly analogous : by which they are enabled and impelled, in a 
 similar manner, to perform their appointed parts; to restrain their own excesses; and 
 to call back each other, whenever they too far deviate from their respective destina- 
 tions. This is profound and just.— In the 6th., on Rational Christianity, he repro- 
 bates the plan for reducing the doctrines of religion to the standard of our reason, in- 
 stead of aiming to exalt our reason to the comprehension of those doctrines ; and ob- 
 serves, that Revelation, in its very nature, implies information of something which 
 reason alone was not competent to discover. The distinguishing doctrines of Chris- 
 tianity, he states to be. That we come into the world in a depraved and fallen con- 
 dition ; That we are placed here, to purge off this original guilt, and recover our lost 
 state of innocence and happiness; That we cannot effect this, without the grace of 
 God; and, That, after all, we can only hope for pardon, through the merits of 
 Christ, and the atonement made for our transgressions by his sufferings and death. 
 It would be diiTicult, I believe, in the work of any divine, to meet with so clear, suc- 
 cinct, and masterly an exposition of the orthodox faith. — In the 7 th., on Govern- 
 ment and Civil Liberty, he combats, with great shrewdness, the doctrines, that men 
 are born free and eijual ; that all government ia derived from the people ; that it is a 
 compact between the governors and governed ; and that it should be dissolved when 
 not to the equal advantage of both parties. To be sure, at first view, it seems very- 
 preposterous to attempt to regulate authority, and submission to authority, on a gra- 
 tuitous assumption which has unquestionalily no foundation in fact ; — for except (per- 
 haps) in the case of the American States, history records no instance in which such a
 
 227 
 [1800.] 
 
 compact vasever enterrdintor but the divine right to dominion being justlv exploded, 
 there appears to remain nothing, in the shape of a rational motive, to plead, either 
 in support or limitation of government, but mere convenience. Now, to gi\e some- 
 thing" like form and stability to so very loose a principle, there seems no impropriety', 
 where the government is f^uch as a wise man would rather choose to abide by than 
 incur the hazard of change, m supposing, not indeed that this government was ori- 
 ginally instituted, but that it continues to subsist, by virtue of a compact between 
 the Rulers and the People. Such a doctrine may not have much efficacy in instruct- 
 ing governors in their right to rule, or the people in. their duty to obey; nor, till of 
 late, has any such lesson been necessary : — force and prejudice, the two real main- 
 springs of all go\ eminent (though not to be offered, in theory, as rational induce- 
 ments on the subject) will, in ordinary cases, prove amply sufficient, in practice, for 
 this purpose: but by the clear, just, and forcible view it exhibits, of the true nature 
 and destination of all political authority, it- can scarcely fail to teach to Sovereigns, of 
 whatever denomination, the duty of consulting the good of the people in the exercise 
 of their power, as the only end for which that power is vested in their hands ; and to 
 the People, the right of insisting on this attention to their welfare, as the only prin- 
 ciple on which their submission is due: — a species of admonition, which, whatever 
 epidemic fevers of the mind may occasionally rage, will probably prove salutary in 
 the main, as long as the world endures. — In refutation of the fashionable apophthegm, 
 that the People should be tlieir own governors, Jenyns judiciously and acutely re- 
 marks, that the verv essence of government consists in coercion : but when he pro- 
 ceeds to observe, that the advocates for liberty are usually tyrannical in j)Ower, be- 
 cause resistance to their power becomes, in that case, an infringement of their liber- 
 ty, he evidently pushes the refinements of speculation too far. The love of power, 
 whatever may be the cant of hypocrites, is a natural and indelible passion in the hu- 
 man mind : and the more precarious the tenure by which that power is held — as pre- 
 carious, in the hands of demagogues, it ever must be — with the more jealousy will it be 
 guarded, and the more impatiently will resistance be endured. This forms, indeed, one 
 of the capital objections to {Mjpular governments ; which usually, on this account, 
 infringe far more on personal liberty, than constitutions in which the supreme autlio- 
 rity is stable and secure. — In the 8th. Essay, on Religious Establishments, Jenyns 
 maintains, That such institutions are necessary, because all religious sects seek for 
 power, and Government, for its own security, must espouse one; That genuine 
 Christianity can never, on account of its doctrines, become a national religion ; and. 
 That as citizens we are bound to accept an imperfect scheme of it, though as mea 
 we should aim to approach as near to its original purity as we can. — Burke has bor- 
 rowed from the 7th. ol these Disquisitions ; and Hey, from the ()th. and 8th,
 
 228 
 [1800."] 
 
 JUNE the 3d. 
 
 Read Jenyns' View of the Internal Evidences of Christianity ; in which he endeavours 
 to establish the truth of our reliffion, principally on its most singular and extraordinary 
 character — as exhibiting doctrines to our faith, which, while they surpass in excel- 
 lence, are totally unlike in nature, whatever before entered into the mind of man to 
 conceive ; — and enjoining precepts on our practice, which, while they carry all the real 
 virtues to a much higher degree of purity and perfection than any preceding moralist 
 had advaui-ed them, scrupulously omit whatever are spurious and founded on lalse 
 principles, and inculcate, in tlieir stead, new and peculiar duties exactly corresponding 
 with the new objects which this religion opens to our view. The false virtues omit- 
 ted, he makes, valour, patriotism, and friendship ; — the two latter, because exclusive 
 of universal benevolence: the new virtues added, poorness of spirit, forgiveness of in- 
 juries, charity to all men, repentance, faith, self-abasement, and a detachment from 
 the world. Is it likely, is it possible, that a religion thus distinguished, should have 
 been the work of imposture? — He then proceeds to obviate objections. From the suf- 
 ficiency of reason ; — by shevvingits insufficiency to construct a code of faith and practice 
 comparable to that which Christianity unfolds. From the errors and inconsistencies 
 to be detected in the Scriptures ; — by contending that they are merely the history of 
 God's revelations, and consequently subject, like all historical records, to such ble- 
 mishes. From the opposition of Christianity to our natural propensities, and its in- 
 compatibility with the business of the world ; — by maintaining, that its universal ac- 
 ceptance was never expected; and that it has performed all it was designed to effect, 
 by enlightening the minds, purifying the faith, and amending the morals of man- 
 kind ; while, without subverting the policy of the worid, it has opened a gate, though 
 a straitone, to the kingdom of heaven. From its corruptions ; — by proving them to be 
 the natural consequence of such a religion, delivered to such a being asman. From the 
 incredibility of some of its doctrines; — by evincing the inadequacy of reason to the 
 discussion of such topics. And, lastly, from its apparent partiality and injustice ; — by 
 pointing out the same seeming contradictions to our notions of impartiality and jus- 
 tice, in the ordinary dispensations of Providence : observing, that this objection as- 
 sumes man to be as wise and perfect as his Creator ; whereas, being imperfect and 
 ignorant, it is to be presumed that the dispensations of a Being of perfect wisdom, 
 justice, and goodness, will appear to us absurd and unjust, so as almost to justify 
 the pious rant of a mad enthusiast " credo, quia impossibile" ; on which principle, 
 he conceives, it is, that faith is so particulariy inculcated as a duty — an injunctioa
 
 229 
 [1800.] 
 
 which is not unreasonable, since belief is in a great measure voluntary, as what we 
 wish to believe, we are never far from believing. — Such, on a contii utd, but not in- 
 attentive, perusal, appear Mr. Jcnyns' leading arguments in defence of Christianity ; 
 and I confess myself to have been powerfully impressed by tiieir novelty and force. 
 He seems to me to enter very fully into the true genius and character of the Christian 
 Religion ; which all attempts to soften down and rationalize, only render more incre- 
 dible: and by meeting the difficulties it really presents, in their entire force, heat 
 any rate takes the surest course to win our confidence and our esteem.— I ha\e been 
 told, but I know not on what authority, that the whole of this defence is a merejeu 
 d^esprit ; an exercise of skill and ingenuity on the part of its author, unaccompanied 
 by any serious conviction of the truth of what he professes to establish. If so, he has 
 unquestionably carried on the deception with admirable address ; for, throughout, 
 there appear the strongest marks of sincerity and even earnestness; but I should very 
 xuiwillingly believe such an imputation to be true, as it would imply a disingenuous 
 imposition on the Public, and a cruel mockery of the reason and feelings of mankind, 
 on a subject where all but idiots and madmen must be disposed to be serious, that 
 from every candid and honourable mind would imperiously call for the severest repro- 
 bation. An argument, it may be urged, can derive no quality from the quarter whence 
 it proceeds, or the spirit in which it is advanced: there it is: if weak, it must be fu- 
 tile, however solemnly alleged ; if strong, it must be cogent, however sportively ad- 
 duced : " valeat", therefore, " quantum valere potest" : it can make no difference, 
 nor have we any business to enquire, by what motives the author was actuated: provi- 
 ded his proofs are satisfactory, that is sufficient ; and we are bound to surrender our- 
 selves to his conclusions with the same facility, though he should have been prompted 
 by no other design than to impose on our simplicity and to expose us to derision, as 
 if he had been stimulated by the sincerest zeal to impress us with a conviction corres- 
 pondent to his own. But let us sophisticate as we may, nature will infallibly rebel 
 at such an audacious attempt to subjugate her instincts: and there is no man, I sup- 
 pose, who, if apprised of the fact, would listen with complacency to arguments thus 
 urged ; or who, if unwittingly seduced by their influence, would not instantly, on 
 detecting the imposition, withdraw, with scorn and indignation, an assent filched 
 from him by so iniquitous a fraud on his good faith and understanding. 
 
 JUNE the \ 1th. 
 
 Dipped into Boswell's Life of Johnson. Johnson pronounces Hume either mad or a 
 liar, for having maintained to Bosvvell, that he was no more uneasy to think he should
 
 230 
 fl 800.1 
 
 not beaker this life, than that he had not been before he began to exist : yet it is not 
 easy, I conceive, to devise a satisfactory answer to an argument which I once urged 
 upon this subject. 
 
 If ever there was a clear and incontestible proposition, it surely is, that an event, 
 of which, and of whose effects, we must ever remain unconscious, is one, in which, 
 whenever it takes place, we can have no possible interest : and if ever there was a par- 
 ticular case obviously and indisputably referable to a general principle, it is, that an- 
 nihilation, which implies a total extinction of all consciousness, not only of that spe- 
 cific event and its consequences, but of all events and all consequences whatever, is 
 precisely an occurrence of this nature. To compare such a casualty, in point of in- 
 terest, with what is passing in Jupiter or Saturn, would be doing injustice to the 
 argument. So curious and exquisite is the concatenation of causes and effects, that 
 it is impossible to say how much we may not be affected, while existence continues, by 
 incidents apparently the most remote : but the contingency in question, instantly places 
 us beyond all possibility of benefit or injury from any cause ; and ought, therefore, 
 to be regarded as purely and absolutely indifferent. It cuts us off, it may be said, 
 from all the pleasures of existence, and is therefore an evil: Johnson has caught this 
 idea — " when he dies, he at least gives up all he has" : but what is a deprivation, of 
 which we neither are, nor ever can be, in the slightest manner sensible? Obviously 
 nothing at all ; and little better, indeed, if seriously considered, than a contradiction 
 in terms. Pat the strongest case possible : suppose a being in the full enjoyment of the 
 most exquisite delights of which his nature is susceptible, that he promises himself a 
 continuance of these joys throughout the endless duration of time, and that in the 
 midst of his career he is suddenly extinguished. Is he disappointed ? He feels no dis- 
 appointment. Is he injured? He feels no injury. It is a loss, you say: he loses 
 eternal happiness ! H'ho loses it ? We forget that the being whom we suppose to 
 sustain this deprivation, is no more. Such an instantaneous disappearance might in- 
 deed alarm those who witnessed it ; but so far as the individual disappearing was con- 
 cerned, there is surely nothing in the event which would not be perfectly consistent 
 with the plans of entire and infinite benevolence. The " insect of the hour" enjoyed 
 a state of high and unmixed gratification, whilst it lived ; and the fond illusion of fu- 
 ture bliss, ordy vanished with that existence which it so eminently tended to exhili- 
 rate. — In annihilation, therefore, regarded merely as an occurrence, and an occur- 
 rence vvhicii takes by surprise the object on whom it falls, there is obviously 
 nothing eitntr desirable or terrible : but, it will be said, that the ex/)ectntton of this 
 eventj-is dreadful ; that the prospect of ceasing to exist, of parting for eva- w ith all that 
 we hold dear m the world, of bidding an eternal ^ieu to all our fondest pleasiu-es^
 
 231 
 [1800.1 
 
 our most favourite pursuits, our tendercst connections, by arming death with tenfold 
 terrors, must embitter every enjoyment of life, and cloud the desponding broV with 
 comfortless despair — For who would lose. 
 
 Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 
 
 Those thoughts that wander through eternity. 
 
 To perish rather, swallowed up and lost 
 
 In the wide womb of uncreated night, 
 
 Devoid of sense and motion ? 
 
 Par. Lost, B 2, v 146 &c. 
 To such representations, however, just echoes as they may be of the natural workings 
 of the human heart on the occasion, the obvious and the conclusive aiiswer surely is 
 this. That if annihilation be incontestibly, in itself, an event of perfect indifference, 
 to expect it with terror, must be in the highest degree absurd ; since what can be more 
 so, than to dread as an evil, what we are morally assured, whenitcomes, is no evil at all? 
 The vainest fear of the most base and abject superstition, is sensible and judicious, 
 compared with so groundless an alarm. Whenever we look forward to any privation, 
 not involving positive pain, — the decay of sight or hearing for instance — ,with dismay, 
 it is because we anticipate, that whenever that privation occurs, we shall be conscious 
 of our loss. This it is which constitutes that privation an evil, when it takes place ; 
 and renders it most justly such, in prospect. Remove, with the departed possession, all 
 consciousness of what is fled, and as the whole evil (which can consist only in regret), 
 disappears, so all just apprehensions respecting such a contingency, must necessarily 
 vanish with it. It is possible, for many have believed it to be true, that, in former 
 stages of existence, we ourselves may have enjoyed inlets to gratification, which are 
 now no longer open ; or derived pleasures from the senses we retain, which they are 
 no longer competent to transmit : all memory and knowledge, however, of such de- 
 lights, if they ever existed, having passed away, it is precisely the same as if they had 
 never been: we cannot repine at the loss, of what we never remember the possession; 
 and as we are now sensible that it would have been absurd, in that previous state of 
 being, if it ever obtained, to look forward with anguish to our present condition ; so 
 it must be equally absurd to anticipate, with sorrow, a partial or a total extinction of fa- 
 culties of enjoyment, whose loss, whenever it takes place, we are satisfied we shall 
 be equally unable to feel or to deplore. — All this, it may perhaps be said, is very true ; 
 but whence, then, proceeds that sentiment of horror which does m/ac< accompany the 
 prospect of annihilation. From an illusion, I conceive, on this very point, which 
 however obvious, and however simple, it is by no means easy to expell. With the 
 loss, whatever it be, which we incur, it is presumed that all consciousness of that 
 loss will be extmguished : the whole argument rests on this assumption ; but the mind.
 
 232 
 [1800.] 
 
 whose " thoughts", as Milton so finely expresses it, " wander through eternity", 
 tliough it admits, in terms, with difficulty acquiesces, inspirit, in this supposition. 
 We cannot, in speculation, separate the loss, from the sense of that loss, nor the feel- 
 ings with which we conceive that sense must be accompanied. In contemplating the 
 fate of others who have undergone any partial privations of this nature — a failure of 
 memory and reason for example — however assured we may be that they are insensible 
 totheirdeperdition, and suffer nothing from it, we cannot, by any effort, refrain from 
 entering into their situation, and feeling, by substitution, for them. What we are 
 thus irresistibly impelled, in defiance of the plainest dictates of reason, to feel for 
 others, it would be strange indeed if we did not feel, with a still acuter sense, for our- 
 selves: and in looking forward, accordingly, even to a condition, which, from its 
 very nature, precludes all possibility of regret — in anticipating a total extinction of 
 our existence — the mind finds it impracticable to stop short at this natural boundary 
 of hope and fear; but anticipating in imagination, what is impossible in fact, obscure- 
 ly figures to itself, at the termination of life, a dark and dismal abyss, a blank and 
 boundless void, into which we are condemned to plunge, and where we must ever 
 remain, in a state of comfortless solitude and seclusion; cut off from those pleasures 
 to which we were once so strongly attached ; and disappointed of those prospects which 
 we once so fondly indulged ; while other and happier beings, the productions of un- 
 born ages, are busied in those stations, and participating in those delights, which we 
 are no longer in a capacity to fill or to enjoy : — not reflecting, or rather, not being 
 sufficiently impressed with the reflection, that all consciousness of darkness, solitude, 
 and horror, all recollection of past enjoyments or future prospects, all knowledge of 
 what is passing in the universe, all joy and sorrow, all regrets and disappointments, 
 must, on the supposed contingency, for ever cease. 
 
 Such, if I remember, was the substance of the argument : but however conclu- 
 sive it may appear in itself, so powerfully is it opposed by the illusion just considered, 
 that I should deservedly incur the reproach which I have conditionally bestowed on 
 Jenyns, were I seriously to propose it, without acknowledging, that it seemed to me 
 exactly to meet Hume's description of a truly sceptical argument — that it admits of 
 no answer, and produces no conviction. 
 
 JUNE the 13 th. 
 
 Began Herder's Outlines of the Philosophy of the History of Man, of which J had 
 heard high praise ; — but was soon obliged to desist. He appears to write like a great 
 child^ eager to communicate its late acquirements, however trivial and however trite.
 
 233 
 [1800.] 
 
 with wonderment and nipture, as new and most important intbrniation. His tedious 
 rhapsodical method, is, iiowevcr, b}' no means peculiar to him. In the writings of all 
 the modern German philosophers I have ever met with, there is an encumbered lieavi- 
 ness and wearisome prolixity, arising from a generous but most fatiguing disposition 
 to leave nothing upon trust, but to impart, at full length, and in all the amplitude 
 of ponderous detail, the whole mass of whatever they have laboriously collected — 
 which gradually extinguishes every spark of curiosity and interest, and overwhelms 
 the spirits with lassitude and languor. Something of this, may perhaps be ascribeilto 
 the particular state of science in that country ; but much must be owing to the pe- 
 culiar genius of the people. I fancy that in their poetry, 1 discover a distinguishing 
 cast of character somewhat allied to their prosings. We search in vain, in the effu- 
 sions of the German Muse, for what the French emphatically term " la spirituelle" — 
 for traits of a delicate and refined sensibility, and cultivated imagination : but are struck, 
 at every step, with indications of powers, rather clumsily robust, than vigorously active; 
 and feelings, rather coarsely strong, than nicely susceptible; — a sort of intellectual coi;- 
 stitution, which appears to accomplish every thing by effort ; which can neither exe- 
 cute what is trifling, with grace, nor what is great, with dignity ; but is for ever mis- 
 taking rudeness for simplicity, violence for pathos, appetite for passion, delirium for 
 fancy, enormity for grandeur, and whatever is ghastly ferocious and horrid, for the 
 terrible and the sublime. 
 
 Met Dr. Garnet at a party in the evening. He was very full of the late original 
 and important discovery, that the cold and wet weather we have had for some time, 
 is owing to the explosion of gunpowder by the contending armies on the continent : 
 calculating that 30,000 men, in 6o discharges, would disengage 300 cubic miles of 
 air ; and descanting largely on the consequences of such a su0alwn. This foppery of 
 philosophy deriving countenance, I suspect, from an endeavour to accommodate sci- 
 ence to the taste of the grown scholars of the Royal Institution, is surely mighty ri- 
 diculous. What sensible and permanent effect is it possible to suppose that 300 cubic 
 miles of air of any description, received into the vast alembic of the atmosphere, and 
 blown about by all the winds of heaven, can produce on whole regions 300 miles off! 
 The only chHl which these explosions have occasioned, is of a quality, I am afraid, 
 which Count Rumford, with all his pyrotechnical devices, would find it far above his 
 skill to remedy. — Dr. G, could not solve a diff.culty I started— Why the Sun's rays, 
 notwithstanding they are concentrated to produce a degree of heat one hundred times 
 moreintensethan that of the fiercest furnace, will impart t^/rec^/^ no perceptible warmth 
 to water; though the same water, inclosed in a vessel the most perfectly transparent. 
 
 2h
 
 2S-i 
 [1800.] 
 
 and insulated in the completest manner from all conductors of caloric, will soon acquire 
 a very sensible degree of heat from exposure to a common fire ? 
 
 JUNE the IQlh. 
 
 Glanced over Pye's Commentary on Aristotle's Poetics. Pye, in his last note, 
 discusses the question, whether Beauty results from Fitness and Utility ; but without 
 coming to any general conclusion : though he inclines to decide, in most instances, 
 in the affirmative; and controverts Burke's examples in favour of an opposite infer- 
 ence. Voltaire, he quotes, as broadly determining in the negative : illustrating his 
 argument by a dose of physic, which however obviously beneficial to the constitution, 
 is not on that account a whit more delectable to the palate: and maintaining, that our 
 moral sentiments are universally the same in all ages and countries; but that our sen- 
 timents of beauty and deformity depend altogether upon habit, and will of course vary, 
 at different times, and in different regions, as different habits prevail. 
 
 JUNE the 10th. 
 
 Had a long conference with Mr. M. — He maintained pretty nearly the same po- 
 litical sentiments as when I last saw him — June 1 3th, 1799; except, that he spoke 
 more despondingly of the revival of the spirit of freedom in this country. — Of — he ob- 
 served, that, with all his wisdom, he was foolish enough to be factious; and from an 
 aversion to the present Administration (in common with himself) as enemies to free- 
 dom, to lend his countenance and support to a Party, who were prepared to intro- 
 duce-a domination ten times more formidable. Expressed a vehement disgust at the 
 intolerance of these bigots for pretended liberality. — Exhibited, in a very striking 
 point of view, the difficulty of the return of order, combined with liberty, in France, 
 in consequence of the enormous confiscations which had taken place there ; and which 
 he computed at not much less than nine tenths of the whole landed property of the 
 country : and remarked on this subject, that a similar proceeding was felt, to this 
 very hour, in producing a fund of discontent and disaffection, in Ireland.-— Mention- 
 ed, that upon asking Fox's opinion of what he had observed, of the necessary com- 
 plexity of all free governments, from the various elements out of which they must 
 arise, and the various interests with which they must be charged. Fox said, that no- 
 thing certainly could be more true ; nor any thing more foolish, than the doctrine 
 of the advocates for simple fonns of government. In addition to his History of this 
 Country from the Revolution, had talked of preparing Mmoirs of his own Times —
 
 2S5 
 [1800.] 
 
 to be published after his death. His mind perfettly composed noic, and resigned to 
 the dereliction of power. — M. recited some passages he had extracted, at Cambridge, 
 from a Work of Leibnitz, de Jure Gentium ; in which that acute philosopher seemed 
 to place Virtue, simply in promoting the good of mankind ; and to account for the 
 motives to it, by considering the interests of others as in some way incorporated with 
 our own :■ — illustrating his notion on this subject, by the interest which we are na- 
 turally led to take in sublime and beautiful objects. — Had received a Letter from L., 
 remonstrating on his calling Rousseau a sophist ; which L. construed, a propagator of 
 sophisms for hire : M. answered, that he considered a " sophist" as a f)romulger of 
 specious but false doctrines, whatever were his motives ; and that the term applied 
 
 most pertinently to Rousseau. 
 
 « 
 
 JUNE the IZrd. 
 
 Looked in at the House of Commons, in the afternoon. The Question, the Third 
 Reading of the Bill for restricting Monastic Institutions in this Country. The prin- 
 cipal speakers — Mr. Wyndham, colloquial and ingenious, but desultory and inef- 
 fective ; — Mr. Ryder, precise and affected ; — Sir William Scott, solemn, neat and 
 elegant; — Mr. Johnes, coarse and ridiculous ; — Mr. Hobhouse, plain and inexpert. 
 The first and last, against the Bill, as unnecessary. Left the House at eight, when 
 Erskine was speaking for it. After having' listened, Term after Term, with delight 
 and exultation to this pride of the English Bar, in his place, I confess I never hear 
 him, above stairs, but with some emotions of shame for my profession. The constant 
 habit of advocating private suits before a superior Tribunal, generates a species of elo- 
 quence, which, however excellent in itself, appears to cruel disadvantage in a delibe- 
 rative assembly of legislators and statesmen, debating, as equals, seriously and in ear- 
 nest, the most important interests of the Empire. Bearcroft, indeed, whom I once 
 heard on Erskine's Libel Bill, appeared to suffer little by the change of station : but 
 then, with a vein of the driest and happiest humour I ever met with, there was a so- 
 lemn gravity in his deportment, and a didactic energy in his manner, which, even at 
 the Bar, removed the Advocate from sight ; and frequently rendered the argument of' 
 the Counsel, more dignified and impressive than the Judgment from the Bench. 
 
 JUNE the 24th. 
 
 Read a very elegant piece of criticism, intituled " A Letter to the Rev. Mr. T.. 
 Warton, on his late Edition of Milton's Juvenile Poems"; ascribed, and I believe
 
 23e 
 
 [1800.] 
 
 truly, to the late Rev. Simuel DsLrhy, of Ipswicli. In most of the strictures, I very 
 heartily concur ; there is oie, ho.vever, from which I am disposed to dissent more 
 vehemently, perhaps, than the occasion may seem to warrant. 
 
 " Towred Cities please us then." 
 
 Milton ; Allegro. 
 " Then, that is, at night !" 
 
 Warton. 
 " An odd time, surely, for Towred Cities to please, when they cannot be seen. It 
 is not Milton's wont to throw about his epithets thus at random. I remember, in- 
 deed, a party of young students from the Universitv, who skaited down the river to 
 Ely, and, arrivmg there late, would view the cathedral by candle and lantern. But 
 the fact is rather singular ; and it may be said in thffir excuse, that they were educated 
 — -juncosi ad littora Cami. Then serves only, I apprehend, to shift the scene from 
 the country to the town. The description of the morning is inimitable ; and Milton 
 must have been a very early riser, as well as an excellent poet, to mark its progres- 
 sive beauties so distinctly and minutely as he has done. The lark startling the dull 
 night with his song — the dappled dawn — the cock with lively din scattering the rear 
 of darkness, and strutting out before his dames — the poet stealing forth to take his 
 walk by hedge-row elms or hillocks green, to meet the sun (as Gray expresses it) at 
 his Eastern Gate — robed in flames of amber, the clouds dight in a thousand colours, 
 (forgive his liveries) — the plowman, the milkmaid, the mower, the shepherd, all 
 with their proper attributes — the eye catching new pleasures as the sun advances — the 
 discovery of the lawns, fallows, nibbling flocks, clouds resting on the breast of the 
 mountains, meadows, rivers, towers and battlements bosomed high in tufted trees- 
 form, in the whole, a picture which is unequalled, and would give new force and spi- 
 rit to the glowing pencil of Reubens. I think the words, v. 67. — " Every Shepherd 
 tells his tale" are well explained, as in this interpretation (which I own is new to 
 me) the time is precisely marked. The description of the day is carried on with the 
 same spirit, and the evening closes with a display of rural amusements and rural super- 
 stition. We are then carried to town amidst the busy hum of men. We are not to 
 expect here the same entertainment we met with in the country. There is, how- 
 ever, a day-piece and a night-piece ; and the evening is passed in a manner most a- 
 greeable to a man of taste and i-eflection, with Johnson and Shakespear, or in hear- 
 ing soft Lydian airs, married to immortal verse." P. 7. 
 
 This is certainly ingenious and acute ; and evinces a very delicate perception, and 
 just relish, of the beautiful and appropriate imagery which Milton has employed, with 
 such exquisite taste, in the most truly delicious and engaging, perhaps, ofallhiscom-
 
 237 
 [1800.] 
 
 po'iition^: I cannot help thinking, however, that the reasons for excepting to War- 
 ton's, and (as I conceive) the ordinary, interpretation of the passage, are far from con- 
 clusive; and I must confess, at the same time, that I should very reluctant!) submit 
 to their authority, if they were, as infinitely preferring an agreeable iihision, to an un- 
 accejitable truth. 
 
 The only objection expressly alleged against the obvious construction of the line in 
 question, is derived from the epithet " towred", regarded as inapplicable to a night- 
 piece : but there seems an indirect reference to another — the description of " the busy 
 hum of men" — as a circumstance equally unsuitable to such a season ; and an oblique 
 glance at a third — in a supposed allusion (I conceive) of the Poet to tilts and tour- 
 naments, as forming part of the amusements of the Town — which, if it could be fairly 
 established, would, no doubt, fix* the period to the day. Let us examine each of these 
 objections in its order. I. The epithet " towred" is manifestly employed to denote 
 populousness and opulence — 
 
 " Huge Cities, and kigh-towefd, that well might seem 
 The seats of mightiest monarchs" — 
 
 Par. Regained, B. 3, v. iGl. 
 — such qualities, as would fit the imagined Capitals for those splendid scenes with which 
 the Poet was preparing to enliven them ; and which are by no properties more em- 
 phatically indicated, than by the clustering turrets, and aspiring battlements and pin- 
 nacles, of castles, churches, palaces, and public buildings. These, no doubt, are au- 
 gust and striking objects to the eye: let them be ever so imposing, however, it is not 
 on their account that the Poet, on this occasion, exhibits Cities as delightful ; but for 
 considerations of a very different order, which these symbols of magnificence, thus 
 slightly suggested to the imagination, merely serve to introduce. This, I conceive, 
 would be a satisfactory answer to the objection, were the epithet in question altop-e- 
 ther inapplicable, as depictive of the efi^ect of such objects in the night: but there 
 is no necessity for any such concession. Every one who has entered a considerable 
 town, by moonlight, or amidst the glare of high rejoicings, must have been struck 
 with the sublime effect of its loftier edifices, either majestically reposing under the 
 pale but resplendent tint which '' sleeps" (as Shakespear so exquisitely describes it) 
 upon the face of nature ; or partially illumed, in vivid gleams, by the immediate blaze 
 of lamps and torches. Such objects may be more picturesque and pleasing, viewed 
 at a distance — (Milton had before so viewed them) — ,gilded by themorning sun, or 
 trembling in the hazeof noon ; but they are incomparably more grand and impressive, 
 when approached — (and the Poet here evidently supposes them near) — ,under either 
 of the former aspects. II. But what shall we say to the circumstance by which this
 
 2S8 
 [1800.] 
 
 proximity is so strikingly marked — to '' the busy hum of men"? Does not such a 
 description instantly suggest the noontide buzz of populous cities — the indefatigable 
 murmur of Cheapside and the Change ; and can such an image possibly comport 
 with the stillness and solitude of night? Certainly, not with stillness and solitude: 
 but are these the necessary accompaniments of the close of day ? Are they such ac- 
 companiments as the inhabitants of crowded Capitals are accustomed to witness ? Are 
 they the accompaniments of «McA an evening as, I contend, the Poet is about to intro- 
 duce? To sechided peasantry, indeed, the objected image might well appear unsuited 
 to the evening; but a frequenter of the parties of gaiety and fashion, will surely at- 
 test its admirable adaptation to express the first effect upon the ear, of a scene, how- 
 ever late the hour, 
 
 " Where throngs of knights and barons bold. 
 
 In weeds of peace, high trivimphs hold ; 
 
 With store of Ladies" — . 
 The busy bee may close his labours with the day : but Man, intent on pleasure, holds 
 another language — 
 
 Rigour now is gone to bed. 
 
 And Advice, with scrupulous head : 
 
 Strict Age, and sour Severity, 
 
 With their grave saws in slumber lie. 
 
 We that are of purer fire. 
 
 Imitate the starry quire ; 
 
 Who in their nightly, watchful spheres. 
 
 Lead, in swift round, the months and years. 
 
 ********** 
 
 What hath night to do with sleep ? 
 
 Night hath better sweets to prove — 
 
 Venus now wakes, and wakens Love. 
 
 —Come! Let us now our rites begin. 
 
 Comus, 107, Sec. 
 in. The last objection, appears at first view by far the most formidable of the three ; 
 and, could it be substantiated, would undoubtedly be decisive of the question. If 
 tilts and tournaments are really introduced as parts of the entertainment in the Town- 
 scene, the time is irrevocably fixed to day. Let us view the passage, then : 
 
 Where throngs of knights and barons bold. 
 
 In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold ;
 
 239 
 f 1800.1 
 
 With store of Ladies, whose bright eyes 
 Rain influence, and judge the prize 
 
 Of wit or arms, while all contend 
 
 To win her praise whom all commend. 
 Here is a manifest and direct allusion, indeed, to jousts and tournaments ; but surely 
 nothing which determines them to be passing at the time. On the contrary, there 
 are three expressions which seem purposely introduced to obviate such an interpreta- 
 tion: — the knights and barons are emphatically stated to be clad " in weeds of 
 peace" ; whereas a tournament was, in all respects, and particularly in dress and ac- 
 coutrements, the express image of war : — the occasion of assembling, is denominated 
 a" triumph"; which Steevens, in a note on Shakespear's expression (1st. P. of King 
 Henry the 4tli., Act 3, scene 3.) " O, thou art a jierpetual triumph, an everlast- 
 ing bovfire-li^ht", defines to be " a general term for any public exhibition, such as a 
 royal marriage, a grand procession, &c, wJiich commonly being at night, were atten- 
 ded by a multitude of torch-bearers" : — and the prize of wit is adjudged on the occa- 
 sion, as well as arms. Whatever interpretation explained, in an easy way, these appa- 
 rent inconsistencies, would merit attention, if not reception, on that consideration 
 alone. Now it appears from M. De St. Palaye's Memoirs of Chivalry, that it was cus- 
 tomary to close these martial exhibitions of our ancestors, with a solemn banquet — a 
 supper — called the Feast of Tournaments ; that at this high festival, this " triumph", 
 all the guests, the dames, the barons, knights, and squires, appeared in their robes 
 of state and ceremony ; that, in the course of it, the prize of arms was frequently 
 adjudged; that the parties afterwards engaged in contentions o( wit and games of 
 skill ; and that the splendour of the evening was often still farther heightened by the 
 introduction of masques and pageants, after the taste and fashion of the times : 
 " There let Hymen oft appear. 
 
 In saffron robe, with taper clear ; 
 
 And pomp, and feast, and revelry, 
 
 With masque, and antique pageantry". 
 We have only to conceive ourselves transported to a festival of this nature, and every 
 . circumstance of Milton's description will correspond exactly with the scene into which 
 we are ushered : — there can be little difficulty, therefore, in conceding, that this is the 
 scene which the Poet designed to exhibit. 
 
 That Warton's construction, then, is at least admissible, I trust, may safely be 
 assumed ; and that, if admissible, it is incomparably the most poetical, is surely past 
 all dispute. — Milton's design in the Allegro and Penseroso, has perhaps been regarded 
 with too much refinement by Johnson, when he considers it as beins: — not whatTheo-
 
 240 
 
 j_l800."l 
 
 bald, with still more refinement, supposed, " to shew how objects derived their co- 
 lours from the mind, by representing the operation of the same things upon the gay 
 and the melancholy temper, or upon the same man as he is differently disposed" — 
 but rather " to illustrate, how, among the successive variety of appearances, every 
 disposition of mind takes hold on those by which it may be gratified". To me, the 
 Poet's aim^appears simply, to exhibit a succession of such appearances as are best adap- 
 ted to interest and cherish a cheerful or pensive disposition. But hoxvever this may 
 be, his conduct, in the pursuit of what must be regarded as his leading object, under 
 any supposition, is clear and admirable. He personates, in turn, both characters ; 
 and conducts himself through a series of scenes and images congenial to each. These 
 scenes and images are not promiscuously thrown together : they are exhibited in the 
 order in which they naturally occur — in the succession in which they might actually 
 have been witnessed and enjoyed; and thus essentially contribute to the vivacity and 
 dramatic effect of the piece. In the Penseroso, the scene commences in the even- 
 ing, and is pursued through the next day : in the Allegro, it opens in the morning, 
 when first " * * * the lark begins his flight, 
 
 " And singing startles the dull night" ; 
 and is continued, through periods marked by the most characteristic imagery, true 
 to natuie and exquisitely touched, ' 
 
 " Till the live-long day-light fails" : 
 But the recreations of a country life are not yet exhausted: the spicy, nut-brown ale 
 is introduced ; and the rustic beverage is accompanied with appropriate tales of village 
 superstition, till the hour of rest (an early hour) arrives, the whispering winds lull all 
 to slumber, and universal stillness closes up the evening. Then — at this pause — if 
 Warton's interpretation be received, the Poet shifts the scene ; and from the se- 
 questered hamlet, hushed in silence and repose, transports us suddenly, and by an 
 unexpected and awakening contrast, into the midst of luxurious cities, now revelling in 
 the height of their festivities; where he mingles with whatever is most crowded, and 
 brilliant, and exhilirating — the sumptuous feast, the gorgeous pageant, the splerdid 
 drama, and the inspiring concert. A transition more truly animating and delight- 
 ful, never was conceived : ithas the same effect, as when, in some entrancing Sympho- 
 ny, after a Minor-movement gradually softened by a lentando and diwirwtvdo to a 
 close that dies away upon the ear, the whole force of the orchestra abruptly breaks 
 forth in the original key and to brisk measure. The transition it not only exquisite 
 in itself, but its introduction is infinitely happy. It possesses perfectly both the re 
 quisites of that " curiosa felicitas" which constitutes the fondest wish of the aspirer 
 to elegance of composition ;— it has all the ease which seems the gift of fortune, with
 
 i-l 
 
 In the justness wWcl, forms '^"'""^^l'^^ X' ,J, i„ U.e evening to cite ; 
 country tlnougl. the day, the Poet ,, ""'" f^j' ' ,^,,, i,,,es „hich contrast 
 
 and ciL, at this juncture, rca.1 y '''™* *°"j^^:'' Vtro, this continuity-snp- 
 so admirably with the tranqu.l P'--" ^^ ' j^^^ after having left us to skunber 
 pose a total break in the sccne-conce ve tha the Fo. ^^^ ^^^^ ^_^ ^^.^^^ 
 
 through the night, goes over ^i-"'^J^\^^lZlry. and-, will not say that the 
 
 he had, the evening «"-. ^^^ f ^ ", ^ ^ erabl impaired. Every readerof 
 
 spirit ofthe piece -s gone- ^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 taste, must forcbly feel the d«erence ^^^^^ ^,,,1, 3,„. 
 
 TdX nli aria who should compel him to such a measure- 
 sturdy d,sc.pUnar.a ^ ^ ^ , , , , p^,_ ^^ occidisus am.ci. 
 
 Non servSstis, ait; cul sicextorta voluptas, 
 Etdemptus, per vim. mentis gratiss.mns error. 
 
 L. 2, EpiS. 2, V. l>so> **^'
 
 INDEX, 
 
 OP 
 
 SUBJECTS CRITICISED, DISCUSSED, OR DESCRIBED. 
 
 Aberdillis Mill, Page 147 
 
 Aberyswith, 153 
 
 Abstract Knowledge, 1S7 
 
 Addison's Travels, 21 
 
 ■ Trtinslations from Ovid, &c, 54 
 
 — Critical Papers in the Spectator, 104i 
 jEtna, aspect and ascent of, 26, 156 
 
 .Eneid, Vir-il's 203, 204, 205, 208 
 
 Alison's Essays, 185, 186 
 
 Allegro, Milton's, construction of a passage in, 235 
 
 Alluni Bay, 87 
 
 Annihilation, 229 
 
 Annual Reiiister, New, 2, 47 
 
 Antients and Moderns, comparative merits of 48 
 
 Arabian Nights Entertainments, 53 
 
 Architecture, Gothic and Grecian compared^ 140 
 
 Aristotle's Poetics, 110, 234 
 
 ' on Imitation, 224 
 
 Arreton Downs, Isle of Wight, 84 
 
 Association, doctrine of illustrated) SO 
 
 Athenian Letters, 119 
 
 B 
 Bacon's Essays, 98 
 
 — Letters, 135* 
 Bala, Lake of 157 
 Balguy's Discourses, 182 
 . ~ Charges, 183 
 
 Barrington (Daines) on the Statutes, 59 
 
 " on the Notes of Uirds, 222 
 
 Barruel on the Anti-Social, &c. Conspiracies, l63, 
 
 164 
 Barton's Preface to Plutarch's Lives, l65 
 Bath, 141 
 
 Bavian and Maeviad, 58 
 Bearcroft, 235 
 Beattie's Essay on Truth, 22 
 
 — - Elements on Moral Science, 33 
 
 Beeston Castle, 159 
 
 Beggar's Opera, 53 
 
 Bentley's Horace, 25, 29, 30, 32, 41 
 
 Berkeley's Principles of Human Kuowledge, 117, 
 
 118 
 Bertrand's, de Moleville, Memoirs, 78 
 Bissetl's Life of Burke, QO 
 Blair's Lectures, 175 
 Bloomfield's Palmer's Boy, 206 
 Boileau's Longinus, 48 
 
 • Satires, 6l 
 — — Epistles, 62 
 
 Art Poetique et Lutrin, 63 
 
 Bolingbroke's Correspondence, 30, 1 10 
 
 — — Letter to VVyndham, lOd 
 
 Boswell's Life of Johnson, 6, 139 
 Brecknock, 148 
 Brigsbury Hill, 89 
 Bristol, 142 
 
 ■ Channel, 143 
 Briton Ferry, 147 
 
 Brown's Essays on Satire, 53. 
 
 — Estimate, 99 
 
 •Buftbn, 45 
 Burgher's Leonora, 16 
 Burke compared with Johnson, 10 
 I consistent in his Political Principles, If, 
 
 111 
 — — quotation from Livy applied to him, 14 
 — — Letters on a Regicide Peace, 15, 34, 52,^ 
 
 119 
 — — criticized in the iMonthly Review, 23 
 
 ■ European Settlements, 20 
 
 — - Sublime and l)e lUtiliil, 30, 105 to 110 
 ——- an Account of his Death, 06 
 
 • Memorial on Secession of Opposition, 38 
 — - Memorial on French Atlairs, 44, 45 
 
 — — criticized by Gibbon, 48 
 — — Letter to Elliot, 50 
 
 ■ Letter to Murphy, 53 
 
 — — Eloquence compared vf ith Fox's, 92 
 
 ■ Memorial ou the Conduct of the Minoritv, 
 93 
 
 - alludes to Brown's Estimate, 99
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Burke Vindication of Natural Society, 102 
 
 on Taste, 105 
 
 Short Account of a Late Administration, 1 10 
 
 — - Thoughts on the present Discontent?, 1 1 1 
 ■ Speech on Ameiiciin Taxation, 112 
 
 — Letter to the Sheriffs of Bristol, 112 
 1^-^- Speech on CEconcinical Reform, 113 
 
 Address to the Electors at Bristol, 113 
 
 RertectKins, 115 
 
 Head's for Consideration on the state of 
 
 Affairs, 128 
 
 - Anecdotes of 13.9 
 
 Eirlv distinguished, 156 
 
 doctrine of the Sublime controverted by 
 
 Blair, 170' 
 Burnet'sTheory of the Earth, 128 
 Burnev's (Dr.) opinion on Graces in Music, 60 
 Burton's Anatomy of iMehincholy, 14 
 
 C 
 Cader Idris, 154, 155, 157 
 Caerleon, 144 
 Caerphyli, 145 
 Cffisar's Commentaries, 6, 7, 8, 10 
 
 i. First landing in Britain, 7 
 
 Passage of the Thames, 8 
 
 Cambridge's Scrihleriad, 174 
 Campbell's Journey from India, 6S 
 
 Rhetoric, 67, b"S 
 
 Pleasures of Hope, 222 
 
 Cardiff, 144 
 
 Carisbrook Castle, 83 
 
 Castle of Otranto, 23 
 
 Charles the 1st. Character of, 170 
 
 • and Commons, cause at issue between, I"! 
 
 Chemistry, nomenclature of, 15 
 
 Chepstow, 144 
 
 Chatham, Lord, 99 
 
 Chesterfield, Lord, vindicated, S 
 
 Prediction of French Revolution, 9 
 
 , Characters, 100 
 
 Chinese Language, 51 
 Cibber, Colly Life of 69 
 Cicero de Finibus, 44, 45, 133 
 — — — Lucullus, 131 
 
 De Ndlur^ Deorum, 136 
 
 De Legibus, 136 
 
 De Officiis, 167 
 
 De Senectute and Amicitii, l6S 
 
 Stoical Paradoxes, l6"9 
 
 ■' De Inventione, 211 
 
 Brutus, 219 
 
 Orator, 220 
 
 Clifton, 142 
 
 Composition, Musical 4 
 
 " Compromise", 1 1 
 
 Conversation on the Prophecies, 3. 34 
 
 Conversation respecting Burke and Earl Fitzwilli- 
 am, 1 1 
 
 . Necessity, 17 
 
 . Tooke, is 
 
 '— on different Modes of Society, 18 
 
 respecting Fox, 57, 91, 121. 130, 
 
 234 
 
 Rousseau, 71 
 
 the Mutiny in the Fleet, 7^ 
 — — on Theory of Morals, 101 
 
 Correspondence of the American Envoy and French 
 Diiectorv, 79 
 
 Coulthurst's Sermon, Geddes' version of 33 
 
 Cowes Isle of Wight, 82 
 
 Craig y Llain, 5i), 155 
 
 Cromwell, 172 
 
 D 
 
 Dacier's Horace, 24, 25, 27, 29, 30, 31, 33, 
 3-1, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41 
 
 D' Alembert's Elemens de Musique, 93 
 
 Dalrymple's Memoirs, 79, 96 
 
 Democratic Government, 139 
 
 Demosthenes Orations, 37 
 
 De Pouilly's Critique sur la fidelite de 1' histoire, 25 
 
 Devil's I5ridge, 151 
 
 Dionysius Halicarnasseus, 2H 
 
 Dolgelle, 155 
 
 Drama, 97 
 
 Dreams, 193 
 
 curious one related of Tartini, 193 
 
 Dryden's Dedication of his Fables, 60 
 . Original Poems, 61 
 
 Dedication to his Translation of Juve- 
 nal's Satires, 172 
 
 Prefaces and Dedications, 183 
 . Prose Works, 222, 223, 224 
 
 Du Bos sur la Poesie et Peinture, 101 
 
 E 
 
 Eloquence, defined by Blair, 178 
 English Character, 140 
 Erskine's Pamphlet on the War, 25, 217 
 
 M Eloquence at the Barand ia the House 
 of Commons, 235 
 European Magazine, 8, 6I 
 F.;xhibition of Italian Pictures, 90 
 
 F 
 Farmer's Boy, 206 
 Farnhaiii, 89 
 
 Fieldin:.'s Life of Jonathan Wild, 192 
 Joseph Andrews, 19S 
 Amelia, 198 
 Flint, 159 
 
 Fox C.J. conversation respecting 57, 139, 174 
 234 
 
 high estimation of his Character, 91 
 
 in Private Life, 121
 
 INDEX. 
 
 I'ox and Burke compared as orators, 1 39 
 
 ■ Deportment dining French Revolution, 92, 
 13.0* 
 
 _— Pniiso of r.urkc, 13.0 
 
 ■ approved MackniUisli's Preliminary discourse 
 139 
 
 — — Averse to Jebl>'s Plan of Reform of Parlia- 
 ment, 174 
 
 i< Characteiised by Tookc, 175 
 
 -^— Opinion on the Necessary Complexity of Free 
 Governments, 234 
 
 Trend's Principles of Taxation, 120 
 
 —' Animadversions on Preltynian's Theology, 
 
 213 
 
 Frejeton Antient History, 27 
 
 Freshwater Cliff, Isle of Wight, 80" 
 
 Fuseli, 13S 
 
 G 
 
 Garlli's Dispensary, 64 
 
 Geddes, 33, 43 
 
 Gedoyn's Dissertation de 1' Urbanite Rornaine, 27 
 
 Gibbon's Remonstrance, 29 
 
 Gibbon, 4 
 
 Miscellaneous Works, 18, 47 
 
 Memoirs of himself, 28 
 
 - attack on the Government of Berne, 43 
 _ Correspondence, 4(j, 
 
 .^ Extraits Uaisonncs, 48 
 
 Vindication, 130 
 
 - ■ • Extraits de .lournal, 132 
 
 Essai sur r Etude de la Litterature, 13a 
 
 Gibraltar, l6'9 
 
 Gildon's Essay on Shakespear's Poems, 219 
 
 Gilpin's Residence, 87, 
 
 — ^-^— Original Sketches, 161 
 
 . General Prsface and Prophetic Life of 
 
 Chr.st, 16'3 
 — ^— Exposition of the Four Gospels, 166 
 I Exposition ol the Epistles, 170 
 
 Two Essays on the Picturesque. 192 
 
 Godwin's Memoirs of Mrs. VVoolstonecraft, SI 
 
 St. Leon, 209 
 
 Grammont, Memoirs of 6'9 
 Grandison, Sir Charles, 76 
 Gray's Poems, 60 
 Gregory's Essays, 32, 210 
 Grotius de Jure Belli el Pacis, 124 
 Gulliver's Travels, 2, 6'3, 6"8 
 
 H 
 Hafod, 152 
 
 Hall's Sermon on Infidelity, 208 
 Haidy's Trial for High Treason, 121 
 Harmony, Principles of ^3 
 Haslam on Insanity, 81 
 Hawkesworth's Lite of Swift, 12 
 Herder's Oullmes, 232 
 
 Hey's Lectures on Divinity, 199, 200, 201, 202, 
 203, 204, 205 
 
 Hindhead Hill, 82, 89 
 
 Holywell, 159 
 
 Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity. 137 
 
 Honice's Odes 25, 97, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34. 
 
 ■ Epodes, 34, 35 
 
 Satires, 37, 38, 39 
 
 Epistles, 40 
 
 de Arte Puclica, 41 
 
 Home Tooke's Trial for High Treason, 122 
 Hurd's Life of AV<irburton, 17 
 Dissertation on the Idea of Universal Poe- 
 try, 38, 215 
 
 -On the Provinces of the Drama, 38, 2l6 
 
 Discourse on Political Imitation, 38, 217 
 
 ■ Epistle to .'\ugusius, 40, 220 
 
 ■ Commentary on Horace's Art of Poetrj', 
 
 41, 218. 
 
 ■ Dialogues, 6'9, 70 
 
 Lectures on the Prophecies, l63 
 
 ' --Sermons at Lincoln's Inn, 16'5, 16'6" 
 I 
 Jackson's (of Exeter)- Four Ages,' 182 
 Jacobins, Papers of 129 
 Japan, state of civilizatiim in 3 
 Jenyn's, Soame Origin of Evil, 131 
 
 ' Essays, 225 
 
 Metaphysical Disquisitions, 226 
 
 Evidences of Christianity, 22S 
 
 Imitation, 6"9, 224 
 
 ■ Principles of in Painting, 94, 95 
 
 Insanity, 81, I96 
 
 Intoxication, 193 
 
 Joliiies' Col. Plantations, 153 
 
 Johnson (Dr.) on motives to literary labour, 2- 
 
 Roswell's Life of, 8 
 
 ■ ■ — style and manner compared witii 
 
 liurke's, 9 
 — London and V^anity of Human Wishes 
 
 60 
 
 Defence of Shakespear, 97 
 
 Principles of Criticism in Lives of Piv. 
 3 
 
 Death, l65 
 Jortin's Life of Erasmus, 13 
 
 K 
 Kenyon Lord, anecdote of 91 
 King's Origin of Evil, /l 
 King's College Cliapel, Cambridge, 161 
 Kirkmaii's LifeofMacklin, 222 
 
 L 
 Lavater, 136 
 Laws of Motion, 189 
 Leibnitz, 235 
 
 Lettres Provniciales de Pascal, 36 
 — Cboisies de INIesdames Sevigno et Maintc- 
 
 non, 12? 
 Lite »jf the Empress of Russia, 1 10 
 Lindsay's Sermon on the death of Dr. Towers, 19s 
 
 ets, 103
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Linwood's Needlework, 90 
 
 Litchfield, 16"0 
 
 I.ivv's History, 14, 21, 23, 23, 24, 
 
 LlandiH; 145 
 
 Lluiiidliies, 149 
 
 Locke on the Human Understanding, 78 
 
 Longinus on the Sublime, 47, I76, 218 
 
 M 
 Macchiavel's Historic Florentine, 6, 7, S, 10, 
 11, 12, 13, 
 
 Discorsi Sopra Livio, IQ, 20 
 
 Macf.ti lane's History of Geo. HI, 6.5 
 Mackintosh's Preliminary Discourse, 127 
 
 — — Vindicis Gailicias, 130 
 
 Walone's Enqniiy, 27 
 
 - Lite of Dryden, 221 
 Mandeville's Fable of the liees, &c. 96, 97 
 Margam, 146 
 
 Marsh's Michaelis, 212 
 
 on tha Politics of Great Britain ani 
 
 France, 2l6 
 .Matty's Review, 162, 169, 173 
 - — Speculations on a Revolution in France, 
 
 169 
 Maundrell's Journey from Aleppo to Jerusalem, 17 
 Mav's History of the Long Parliament, 169, 170, 
 
 J71 
 Memoirs of Scriblerus, 64 
 
 Grammont, 69 
 
 Milton's Paradise Regained, 126 
 
 Samson Agonistes, 126 
 
 Lycidas, 126 
 
 Paradise Lost, 192, 198 
 
 Allegro, 235 
 
 Miltonic Gallery^ 138 
 
 Mitford's History of Greece, 113 
 
 Moel Vamma, 15S 
 
 Monach, 151 
 
 Montesquieu's Esprit des Loix, 111, 112, 114 
 
 Portrait of himself, 127 
 
 jSIontLly Magazine, 7 
 
 Monuchdenny iMountain, 148 
 
 INIoor Park, 89 
 
 Moore's History of the French Revolution, 23 
 
 Zeluco, 188 
 
 Edward, 188 
 
 Mordaunt, 211 
 
 Morals, Principles of, 107 
 
 , Systems of the Antienls respecting, 133 
 
 Morelli, 81 
 
 Murder, horror at &c, 4 
 
 Musical composition, 3 
 
 Mutiny, Naval, 78 
 
 Mysterious Mother, SirH. \VidpoIe's, 43 
 
 N 
 Neath, 147 
 
 Necessity, doctrine of 17, 32, 210 
 Needles, Isle of Wight, 86 
 
 New Annual Register, 2, 3, 47 
 Newton's Puncipia and Optice, 190 
 
 . • Three fundamental Principles, l&% 
 
 Nouijahud, 7S, 209 
 
 O 
 Old Newspapers, 2 
 Oper.i, 81 
 
 Oiliiido Furioso, 129 
 O.le.ns (iallery, 138 
 Ovid's Metamorphoses, 201 
 
 P 
 Paley's Horae Paulinx, 114 
 Paradise Lost, 192, I98 
 — — — ^ Regained, 126 
 Park's Tiavels in Africa, I69 
 Parr, 71, 1 64 
 Parr's Sequel, 130 
 
 Remarks on Combe's Statement, 1 72 
 
 Strictures on Dr. Combes' Horace, 199 
 
 Pascal's Lettres Provinciales, 36 
 
 Pearson's Remarks on the Theory of Morals, 207 
 Pemberton's View of Newton's Philosophy, 187, 
 
 189, 190 
 Picturesque, Principles of, 19O 
 Plato's Erastai and Eutbyphron, 45 
 Pl.nlimmon, 150 
 Pont y Pridd, 146 
 Pope, on Governimnt, 1 
 •— — Projected Poem of Brutus, 63 
 . Letters, 65 
 
 — — Ethic Epistles, 1 88 
 
 Preface to the Iliad, 215 
 
 Poison's Letters to Travis, 213 
 Praise, effect of l62 
 
 Preface to liellendenus, 52, 56, 57, i>9, 219 
 
 Prettyman's Theology, 220 
 
 Price on the Picturesque, 19O, 191 
 
 Three Essays on the Picturesque, 215 
 
 Prophecy, 2, 34 
 
 Prosody, 209, 211,212 
 Pursuits of Literature, 43, 58 
 Pye's Aristotle, 234 
 
 Q 
 
 Quakei-'s Meeting, 39 
 
 Quinctilian's Institutes, 50, 51, 53, 54, 56, 57 
 
 (Quixote, Don 63 
 
 R 
 Radclifle, Mrs. 23 
 
 Italian, 28 
 
 Tour to the Lakes, 225 
 
 Ratfael's Pictures, 90^ 138 
 
 Reid's Inquiry, ll6j 117 
 
 IleiiiieU's Memoirs of his Map of Hindoostan, II6 
 
 Representation in the House of Commons, 140 
 
 Reynolds' Sir Joshua, Idler, 93 
 
 ■ Discourses, 94, 95 
 
 Richardson's Sir Charles Grandison, 7f» 
 
 — — .^— ^— Clarissa, "77 
 
 *\
 
 INDEX, 
 
 • . 
 
 Richardson, \Vm., on Shakespea»-*s Characters, 
 
 173 ^ 
 
 Robertson, Dr. 4 
 
 Charles the .5th, IS, 19 
 
 — — — History of Scotland, 18 
 
 ■ America and Burke's Euro- 
 
 pean Settlements compared, 20 
 
 Roscoe's Life of Lorenzo de Medici, 4, 5, 11, 
 13, 65 
 
 Rousseau, Character of, 71 
 
 ' Nouvelle Heloise, 73 
 
 ■ Emilius, 75 
 
 Letters, 179, 181 
 
 Royal Exhibition, 35, 137, 
 Ruins of Rome, 26 
 
 Rule of Proportion, 49 
 
 Russell's Modern Europe, 77, 99 
 
 Ruthin, 1.5S *■ 
 
 S 
 Sabbath and Sunday confounded, 22 
 Salisbury Cathedral, 87 
 Saunderson's Algebra, 49 
 
 Serious Reflections, &c. by the Duke of G-^, 99 
 Shaftesbury's Enquiry concerning Virtue, 93 
 Shanklin Chine, 84 
 Sheridan's Life of Swift, 12 
 Shipley (Bp.) Works, Ui4 
 Smith's (Adam) History of Astronomy, 32 
 
 ■ Disquisition on the Imitative Arts, G^ 
 • Account of the External Senses, 70 
 Sotheby's Oberon, 172 
 
 Soup, Distribution of to the Pour, 188 
 
 Speculative Opinions, influence of 17'! 
 
 Staunton's Macartney's Embassy, 49, 50, 51 
 
 St. John's Gospel, 167 
 
 St. Luke's Gospel. 120, 166 
 
 St. Mark's Gospel, 114, 16'7 
 
 St. Matthew's Gospel, 102, 166 
 
 St. Peter's at Rome, and St. Paul's compared, 27 
 
 St. Paul, 170 
 
 St. Stephen's Church, VValbrook, 140 
 
 Stone's Trial for High Treason, 123 
 
 Sully's Memoirs, 183, 184, 1S6 
 
 Supplement to, 187 
 Sunday confounded with the Jewish Sabbath, 22 
 Swift's Gulliver's Travels, 2, 12, 6'3 
 ' Last Years, 12 ' 
 
 ■■ Four last Years of Q. Anne, 29 
 
 — — - Burlesque of Collins, 30 
 — — — Journal to Stella, 31 
 — — Introduction to the Hist, of England, 31 
 
 Apophthegm on self-love, ISO 
 T 
 Taran y Cesail, 154 
 Tasso's Jerusalem, 127 
 
 Taste, principles of, lOf, 185 
 
 Taller, 33, 34 
 
 Temple, Sir William, 1, 31 
 
 Terence, 42, 43, 45 
 
 Theory of Morals, 101, 107,207 
 
 Tintern, 143 
 
 Tooke, John Home, Principles of, 18, l2-i 
 
 ■ Diversions of Purley, 06 
 Tryal of, 122 
 
 Tour to the Isle of Wight, 82, <S:c. 
 
 through Wales, 142, &c. 
 
 Travels of Anacharsis, 123 
 Treason, High, Law of, 121, 122 
 Turner's Landscapes, 35, 137 
 
 y 
 
 Vattel's Droit des Gens, 3y 
 
 Ventriloquism, 35 
 
 Virgil's .Eneid, 203, 204, 205, 208 
 
 Virtue, 207 
 
 Undercliffe, Isle of Wight, 84 
 
 Unities, Dramatic, 97 
 
 Voltaire, IS, 234 
 
 ■ Siecle de Louis le 14me, 118 
 L'sher's Theory of the Human Mind, 128 
 
 W 
 Wakefield, 63, 6S 
 
 's Pope, 59, to 6i 
 
 Walbrook Church, 140 
 Walpole, Sir R. 9S 
 
 ■ SirH. 43, 124, 125 
 
 Warburton, Hurd's Life of, 17 
 
 Divine Legation, 31, 182 
 
 Warner's Metron Ariston, 209 
 
 Walton's Pope, 59, 60, 61, 6'2, 63, 64, 65, 68 
 
 ■ Edition of .Miltons Minor Poems, 1S2, 
 
 235 
 
 ■ on the Genius and Writings of Pope, 213 
 
 Watson's Apology for the Bible, 14 
 
 ■ Address, 6S 
 
 Watts' Logick, 184 
 
 Whitehurst's Theory of the Earth, 189 
 
 Wight, Isle, S3, &c. 
 
 William's, Miss, Tour through Switzerland, 9^ 
 
 ^Vilson's, Jasper, Letter, 59 
 
 Wilton House, 88 
 
 Winchester Cathedral, 88 
 
 ■ Town, 89 
 
 Wolfe, General, 83 
 
 Wollaston's Religion of Nature, 56, 57, 58 
 Woolstonecraft, Memoirs of, 81 
 
 Y 
 Y'armouth, Isle of Wight, 85 
 Y'orke's Athenian Letters, 19 
 Y'oung's Night Thoughts, 67 
 
 "FINIS. 
 
 J. Raw, Printer, Ipswich.
 
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