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mere forerunners of the celebrated work which he published in 1751, under the title of Hermes, or a Philosophical Inquiry concerning Universal Grammar. The author's definitions may be considered, in some instances, arbitrary, and his rules complicated; but his profound knowledge of Greek literature, and his general learning, supplying numerous illustrations, enabled him to produce so curious and valuable a work on this intricate subject, that every writer on the history and philosophy of grammar, must now consult Hermes.' Unfortunately the study of the ancient dialects of the northern nations of Europe was, at that time, little attended to; and to this cause must be attributed some of his errors, and the imperfections of his plan. To the same circumstance must be attributed many of the erroneous etymological distinctions in Johnson's Dictionary.

WILLIAM MELMOTH, whose refined classical taste and learning enriched this period of English literature with a translation of Pliny's Letters, was born in 1710. Under the assumed name of Fitzosborne, Melmoth published a volume of Letters on Literary and Moral Subjects, remarkable for the elegance of their style. His translations, however, are the literary performances upon which his reputation chiefly rests. That of Pliny's Letters, Warton, a highly competent judge, pronounced to be one of the few translations that are better than the original. He also translated Cicero's Letters to several of his friends, and the treatises De Amicitia and De Senectute, to which he appended large and valuable annotations. These translations are still the best we have; and the style in which they are written, though sometimes feeble, from excess of polish and ornament, is generally correct, perspicuous, and highly musical in construction.

Melmoth died in 1799, in the ninetieth year of his age. He was an amiable, accomplished, and pious man, and his character shines forth in all his writings. From his 'Letters' we select the following extract:

CONVERSATION.

It is with much pleasure I look back upon that philosophical week which I lately enjoyed at ; as there is no part, perhaps, of social life which affords more real satisfaction than those hours which one passes in rational and unreserved conversation. The free communication of sentiments amongst a set of ingenious and speculative friends, such as those you gave me the opportunity of meeting, throws the mind into the most advantageous exercise, and shows the strength or weakness of its opinions, with greater force of conviction than any other method we can employ. That it is not good for man to be alone,' is true in more views of our species than one; and society gives strength to our reason, as well as polish to our manners. The soul, when left entirely to her own solitary contemplations, is insensibly drawn by a sort of constitutional bias, which generally leads her opinions to the side of her inclinations. Hence it is that she contracts those peculiarities of reasoning, and little habits of thinking, which so often confirm her in the most fantastical errors; but nothing is more likely to recover the mind from this false bent than the counterwarmth of impartial debates. Conversation opens our views, and gives our faculties a more vigorous play; it puts us upon turning our notions on every side, and

holds them up to a light that discovers those latent flaws which would probably have lain concealed in the gloom of unagitated abstraction. Accordingly, one may remark that most of those wild doctrines which have been let loose upon the world, have generally owed their birth to persons whose circumstances of disposition have given them the fewest opportunities of canvassing their respective systems in the way of free and friendly debate. Had the authors of many an extravagant hypothesis discussed their principles in private circles, ere they had given vent to them in public, the observations of Verro had never perhaps been made (or never, at least, with so much justice), that 'there is no opinion so absurd, but has some philosopher or other to produce in its support.'

Upon this principle I imagine it is that some of the finest pieces of antiquity are written in the dialogue manner. Plato and Tully, it should seem, thought truth could never be examined with more advantage than amidst the amicable opposition of well-regulated converse. It is probable, indeed, that subjects of a serious and philosophical kind were more frequently the topics of Greek and Roman conversations than they are of ours; as the circumstances of the world had not yet given occasion to those prudential reasons which may now perhaps restrain a more free exchange of sentiments amongst us. There was something, likewise, in the very scenes themselves where they usually assembled, that almost unavoidably turned the stream of their conversations into this useful channel. Their rooms and gardens were generally adorned, you know, with the statues of the greatest masters of reason that had then appeared in the world; and while Socrates or Aristotle stood in their view, it is no wonder their discourse fell upon those subjects which such animating representations would naturally suggest. It is probable, therefore, that many of those ancient pieces which are drawn up in the dialogue manner were no imaginary conversations invented by their authors, but faithful transcripts from real life. And it is this circumstance, perhaps, as much as any other, which contributes to give them that remarkable advantage over the generality of modern compositions which have been formed upon the same plan. I am sure, at least, I could scarcely name more than three or four of this kind which have appeared in our language worthy of notice. My Lord Shaftesbury's dialogue, entitled The Moralists, Mr. Addison's upon Ancient Coins, Mr. Spence's upon the Odyssey, together with those of my very ingenious friend, Philemon to Hydaspes, are almost the only productions in this way which have hitherto come forth amongst us with advantage. These, indeed, are all masterpieces of the kind, and written in the true spirit of learning and politeness. The conversation in each of these most elegant performances is conducted, not in the usual absurd method of introducing one disputant to be tamely silenced by the other, but in the more lively dramatic manner, where a just contrast of characters is preserved throughout, and where the several speakers support their respective sentiments with all the strength and spirit of a well-bred opposition.

JAMES BURNET, afterwards Lord Monboddo, a man of real learning and talent, but a humorist in character and opinions, was born at Monboddo, in Scotland, in 1714. He was educated at the university of Aberdeen, and in 1738, admitted an advocate at the bar. By very devoted attention to his professional duties he soon attained to eminence, and in 1767, was raised to the bench. After a life of study and eccentricity, discharging his duties as a lord of sessions with uprightness and integrity, and much respected in private life, for his amiable disposition, Lord Monboddo died, in Edinburgh, on the twenty-sixth of May, 1799, at the advanced age of eighty-five.

Lord Monboddo's Essay on the Origin and Progress of Language, published in 1771, is one of those singular works which at once provoke study

and ridicule. The author, besides being a man of learning and talents, was a humorist in character and opinions. He was an enthusiast in Greek literature and antiquities, and a worshipper of Homer. So far did he carry this peculiarity, that, finding carriages were not in use among the ancients, he never would enter one, but made all his distant journeys on horseback, even till he had passed his eightieth year. He was often heard to say that it was a degradation of the genuine dignity of human nature to be dragged at the tail of a horse, instead of mounting upon his back. But this eccentric philosopher was less careful of the dignity of human nature in some of his opinions. He gravely maintains in his Essay' that men were originally monkeys, in which condition they remained for ages, destitute of speech, reason, and social affections. They gradually improved, according to Monboddo's theory, as geologists say the earth was changed by successive revolutions; but he contends that the ourang-outangs are still of the human species, and that in the Bay of Bengal there exists a nation of human beings with tails like monkeys, which had been discovered a hundred and thirty years before, by a Swedish skipper. All the moral sentiments and domestic affections were, according to this whimsical philosopher, the result of art, contrivance, and experience, as much as ship-building, or any other mechanical invention; and hence he places man, in his natural state, below beavers and sea-cats, which he terms social and political animals. In 1779, Lord Monboddo published an elaborate work on ancient metaphysicians, in three volumes quarto, which, like his former publications, is equally learned and equally whimsical.

JOHN HAWKESWORTH, an eminent periodical writer, and conductor of The Adventurer, the paper that succeeded the 'Rambler.' was born at Bromley, in Kent, in 1715. Of poor parentage, he was early apprenticed to a watch-maker; but finally left that business for public life and literary pursuits. His wife kept a boarding-school at Bromley, and by the means of a lady of influence in Indian affairs, he became known to the commercial world, and was elected a director of the East India Company. He commenced the 'Adventurer' in 1752, and with the aid of Dr. Johnson, Warton, and others, he carried it on for two years with such success, that archbishop Herring conferred upon him, though a dissenter, the Lambeth degree of doctor of laws. 'The Adventurer' was more in the style of light reading than 'The Rambler,' and more various in its contents. Hawkesworth was, however, an imitator of Johnson, and the following conclusion of his periodical has much of the Johnsonian swell and cast of imagination.

The hour is hastening in which whatever praise or censure I have acquired by these compositions, if they are remembered at all, will be remembered with equal indifference, and the tenor of them only will afford me comfort. Time, who is impatient to date my last paper, will shortly moulder the hand that is now writing it in the dust, and still this breast that now throbs at the reflection: but let not this be read as something that relates only to another; for a few years only can divide

the eye that is now reading from the hand that has written. This awful truth, however obvious, and however reiterated, is yet frequently forgotten; for surely, if we did not lose our remembrance, or at least our sensibility, that view would always predominate in our lives which alone can afford us comfort when we die.

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Besides his Adventurer,' Dr. Hawkesworth engaged in various other literary enterprises, amongst which were a translation of Telemachus, and a Narrative of Captain Cook's Discoveries in the Pacific Ocean. The former is a very admirable performance, but to the latter task the author was not equal; and though he received for his labor the large sum of six thousand pounds, his failure was a source of so deep mortification as to hasten his death. He expired on the sixteenth of November, 1773, before he had reached his fifty-ninth year.

WILLIAM PITT, Earl of Chatham, and one of the most illustrious statesmen of any age or country, was born at Boconnock, in Cornwall, on the fifteenth of November, 1708. He was educated at Eton, and at Trinity College, Oxford; but left the latter before he had taken his degree, in order to accept the appointment of cornet in the Blues. His military career, however, was of short duration; for before he was quite twenty-one, he had a seat in Parliament. His talents for debate soon became conspicuous; and on the occasion of the bill of registering seamen, in 1740, he made his memorable reply to Walpole, who had taunted him with his youth. This burst of youthful ardor has been immortalized by Dr. Johnson, who then reported the parliamentary debates for the Gentleman's Magazine. The reply, as we now possess it, is, therefore, rather the production of Johnson than of Pitt, and is not entitled to a place here.

To follow Pitt from this period throughout his brilliant career, would be to recapitulate the history of England during those exciting days. His style of oratory was of the highest class-rapid, vehement, and overpowering, and it was adorned by all the graces of action and delivery. His public character was singularly pure and disinterested, considering the sensuality of the times in which he lived; but as a statesman, he was often inconsistent, haughty, and impracticable. His acceptance of a peerage, in 1766, injured his popularity with the nation, who loved and even reverenced him as the great commoner,' but he still 'shook the senate' with the resistless appeals of his eloquence. His speech against the employment of Indians in the war with America, delivered when he was more than sixty years old, and enfeebled by disease, is too characteristic and noble to be here omitted:

AGAINST THE EMPLOYMENT OF INDIANS IN THE AMERICAN WAR. I can not, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation on misfortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment; it is not a time for adulation; the smoothness of flattery can not save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delusion and darkness which envelope it, and display, in its full danger and

genuine colours, the ruin which is brought to our doors. Can ministers still presume to expect support in their infatuation? Can parliament be so dead to their dignity and duty, as to give their support to measures thus obtruded and forced upon them; measures, my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and contempt? But yesterday, and England might have stood against the world; now, none so poor to do her reverence! The people whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against you, supplied with every military store, have their interests consulted, and their ambassadors entertained, by your inveterate enemy; and ministers do not, and dare not, interpose with dignity or effect. The desperate state of our army abroad is in part known. No man more highly esteems and honours the English troops than I do; I know their virtues and their valour; I know they can achieve any thing but impossibilities; and I know that the conquest of English America is an impossibility. You can not, my lords, you can not conquer America. What is your present situation there? We do not know the worst; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing and suffered much. You may swell every expense, accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every German despot; your attempts will be forever vain and impotent-doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms: Never, never, never! But, my lords, who is the man, that, in addition to the disgraces and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize and associate to our arms the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the savage; to call into civilized alliance the wild and inhuman inhabitant of the woods; to delegate to the merciless Indian the defence of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren? My lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punishment. But, my lords, this barbarous measure has been defended, not only on the principles of policy and necessity, but also on those of morality; for it is perfectly allowable,' says Lord Suffolk, 'to use all means which God and nature have put into our hands.' I am astonished, I am shocked, to hear such principles confessed; to hear them avowed in this house or in this country. My lords, I did not intend to encroach so much on your attention; but I can not repress my indignation -I feel myself impelled to speak. My lords, we are called upon as members of this house, as men, as Christians, to protest against such horrible barbarity! That God and nature hath put into our hands! What ideas of God and nature that noble lord may entertain I know not; but I know that such detestable principles are equally abhorrent to religion and humanity. What! to attribute the sacred sanction of God and nature to the massacres of the Indian scalping-knife! to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, devouring, drinking the blood of his mangled victims! Such notions shock every precept of morality, every feeling of humanity, every sentiment of honour. These abominable principles, and this more abominable avowal of them, demand the most decisive indignation. I call upon that right reverend, and this most learned bench, to vindicate the religion of their God, to support the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their lawn; upon the judges to interpose the purity of their ermine, to save us from this pollution. I call upon the honour of your lordships to reverence the dignity of your ancestors, and to maintain your own. I call upon the spirit and humanity of my country to vindicate the national character. I invoke the Genius of the Constitution. From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the immortal ancestor of this noble lord frowns with indignation at the disgrace of his country. In vain did he defend the liberty and establish the religion of Britain against the tyranny of Rome, if these worse than Popish cruelties and inquisitorial practices are endured

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