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motive than the most generous philanthropy. We may bewail the eccentricity of mind which could conjure up suspicions like those entertained by Rousseau, and give consequence to empty trifles ; but justice and honour call on us to condemn the man who could convert these into premeditated crimes, and found on them injurious accusations against innocence—nay, more, against the very person who had loaded him with benefits. It must be owned, that symptoms of a crazy intellect were at times pereeptible in the conduct of Rousseau : his caprices, his brutal rudeness, his eternal wrangling with all who came in contact with him as friends and benefactors, were forcible indications of a species of mental derangement. We may, therefore, relax a little from the austere laws of criticism, and indulge in a harmless jocularity, now, perhaps, the best medium through which this singular dispute can be contemplated.

The humourous production alluded to is in the form of an indictment as follows:

Heads of an Indictment laid by j. j. Rousseau, philosopher, against D. Hume, Esq.

1. That the said David Hume, to the great scandal of philosophy, and not having the fitness of things before his eyes, did concert a plan with Messrs. Fronchin, Voltaire, and D'Alembert, to ruin the said J. J. Rousseau for ever, by bringing him over to England, and there settling him to his heart's content. 2. That the said David Hume did, with a malicious and traitorous intent, procure, or cause to be procured, by himself, or somebody else, one pension of the yearly value of 100l. or thereabouts, to be paid to the said J. J. Rousseau, on account of his being a philosopher, either privately or publicly, as to him the said J. J. Rousseau should seem meet. 3. That the said David Hume did, one night after he left Paris, put the said J. J. Rousseau in bodily fear, by talking in his sleep; although the said J. J. Rousseau doth not know, whether the said David Hume was really asleep, or whether he shammed Abraham, or what he meant. 4. That, at another time, as the said David Hume and the said J. J. Rousseau were sitting opposite each other by the fireside in London, he, the said David Hume, did look at him, the said J. J. Rousseau, in a manner of which it is difficult to give any idea: that he, the said J. J. Rousseau, to get rid of the embarrassment he was under, endeavoured to look full at him, the said David Hume, in return, to try if he could not stare him out of countenance; but in fixing his eyes against his, the said David Hume's, he felt the most inexpressible terror, and was obliged to turn them away, insomuch that the said J. J. Rousseau doth in his heart think and believe, as much as he believes any thing, that he the said David Hume is a certain composition of a whitewitch and a rattle-snake. 5. That the said David Hume on the same evening, after politely returning the embraces of him, the said J. J. Rousseau, and gently tapping him on the back, did repeat several times, in a good-natured easy tone, the words, Why, what, my dear sir! May, my dear sir! Oh my dear sir!—From whence the said J. J. Rousseau doth conclude, as he thinks upon solid and sufficient grounds, that he the said David Hume is a traitor; albeit he, the said J. J. Rousseau, doth acknowledge, that the physiognomy of the good David is that of an honest man, all but those terrible eyes of his, which he must have borrowed; but he the said J. J. Rousseau vows to God he cannot conceive from whom er what. 6. That the said David Hume hath more inquisitiveness about him than becometh a philosopher, and did never let slip an opportunity of being alone with the governante of him the said J. J. Rousseau. 7. That the said David Hume did most atrociously and flagitiously put him the said J. J. Rousseau, philosopher, into a passion; as knowing that then he would be guilty of a number of absurdities. 8. That the said David Hume must have published Mr. Walpole's letter in the newspapers, because, at that time, there was neither man, woman, nor child, in the island of Great Britain, but the said David Hume, the said J. J. Rousseau, and the printers of the several newspapers aforesaid. 9. That somebody in a certain magazine, and somebody else in a certain newspaper, said something against him the said John James Rousseau, which he, the said J. J. Rousseau, is persuaded, for the reason above-mentioned, could be nobody but the said David Hume. 10. That the said J. J. Rousseau knows, that he, the said Tavid Hume, did open and peruse the letters of him the said J. J. Rousseau, because he one day saw the said David Hume go out of the room, after his own servant, who had, at that time, a letter of the said J. J. Rousseau's in his hands; which must have been in order to take it from the servant, open it, and read the GontentS. 11. That the said David Hume did, at the instigation of the devil, in a most wicked and unnatural manner, send, or cause to be sent, to the lodgings of him, the said J. J. Rousseau, one dish of beef-steaks, thereby meaning to insinuate, that he, the said J. J. Rousseau, was a beggar, and came over to England to ask alms; whereas be it known to all men by these presents, that he,

the said John James Rousseau, brought with him the means of subsistence, and did not come with an empty purse; as he doubts not but he can live upon his labours, with the assistance of his friends; and in short can do better without the said David Hume than with him.

12. That beside all these facts put together, the said J. J. * did not like a certain appearance of things on the Winole.

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THE death of this remarkable character is not an occurrence of every day, it is the death of a man, who in the period in which he has lived, and the sphere which he has filled, has been more active and more conspicuous, than any other person now living. From the commencement of the reign of his present majesty, to the day of Horne Tooke's death, scarcely has any public occurrence passed in which he has not had a greater share than belonged to his mere private station. He has accordingly been the most active individual in a period of general activity. He has lived in more revolutions of politics and parties than any other man of the day, and in all of them have his talents or his intrigue, his good or bad intentions, and indefatigable spirit and exertions rendered him an actor. Mr. Tooke was born in a humble station of life; his father is said to have been a poulterer. But as this father, who lived in some of the small streets about Westminster, had the spirit to send his son to a public school, and afterwards to a college, it is a reasonable conclusion either that he was richer than ordinary, or that he possessed a very superior mind to what usually belongs to his condition. His father at any rate was sufficiently respectable to be the treasurer of a public charity. This was the Middlesex Hospital, of which Horne Tooke himself afterwards became one of the governors. Mr. Tooke was sent to Westminster School at a very early age, and is said to have passed through all the forms of that distinguished seminary. This course of itself, in such a mind as that of Horne Tooke, was sufficient to render him the emiment scholar which he afterwards exhibited himself. It is the character of Westminster School, that it puts its pupils in the right way, and imbibes them with a right mind, and therefore VOL. VIII. L

they have only to follow in future life the plan which is there
traced for them.—This is all that any school can do, and it is
more we believe than is done by the greater part of them. To
begin well is to ensure a good conclusion. It is related in a
memoir of Horne Tooke, inserted in a work published some
time since, that he was removed from Westminster to Eton at
the usual age. This, however, must be a mistake, as West-
minster and Eton are not in the relation of school and college
to each other. It is possible that Horne Tooke might have had
the advantage of both these eminent schools, but is more pro-
bable that this is an error.
In the year 1754, he was sent to Cambridge, and entered him-
self of St. John's college. We do not know what was the repu-
tation of this college at the time, but it is certainly a high honour
to its name in literature that it has sent forth such a profound
scholar as Horne Tooke.
He studied at college with the most exemplary industry, and
he acquired the necessary fruit of such assiduity, an early pro-
ficiency in learning and philology.
Mr. H. Tooke was educated for the church, and his first pros-
pects are said to have been very promising. He entered into
holy orders at the usual age, and immediately obtained the liv-
ing of Brentford. He had connections whose favour did not
stop at this point. The duke of Newcastle, we believe, from
some kind of interest, took him into his patronage, and Horne
Tooke obtained a promise, that he should be appointed one of
the royal chaplains. Fortunately, however, (for such we must
consider it) for the interests of religion, Mr. Horne's star here
The nation very shortly became convulsed by party dissen-
tions. The English were too easily persuaded that lord Bute
possessed a dangerous and unconstitutional influence. The op-
position, in parliament, as anxious at that time as at the present,
to adopt any watch-word that might rally the popular affections
around them, filled the kingdom with exclamations against the
Double Cabinet, and the “influence behind the throne which
controlled the throne itself.”—This was the clamour of the day.
And the incidental affair of the expulsion of Wilkes, which in
ordinary times would have been considered only as an irregu-
larity, and rectified as such, added fuel to the flames, and ren-
dered the country and metropolis one scene of mob, sedition,
and clamour.
Mr. Horne immediately embraced the popular cause, and
united himself with Wilkes. He visited him at Paris during
his exile, and when he failed in his attempt to obtain his return
in parliament in 1768, Mr. Horne warmly adopted his interests,

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canvassed the town and country for him, opened houses, solicited votes and subscriptions, and ultimately procured him to be returned as the member ior Middlesex. Shortly afterwards a rupture ensued between these friends. Mr. Tooke did not find Wilkes that violent patriot which he had anticipated. When Wilkes had obtained what he wanted, and was provided for by the liberality of the city who made him their chamberlain, Wilkes was satisfied and therefore quiet. Horne Tooke lost his firebrand, and he resented it by a public attack and abuse of him. Junius, the writer of the letters under that name, imputed this dispute to its just origin: Horne Tooke wrote a letter in reply to him, which appears in the collection of that work. It is certainly an admirable specimen of his talents, and only excites a regret, that such wit, satire, and eloquence, should be accompanied by so little goodness. Junius replied in an angry declamation, and Horne Tooke rejoined in another, as singular for its boldness, as for its splendour and real eloquence. In this answer, Mr. Tooke first announced himself the champion of those principles, which afterwards set Europe in a flame. He employed, amongst others, the following pointed sentence, which, however true in the abstract, no honest man should openly produce as a maxim of action:—“The king, whose actions justify rebellion to his government, deserves death from the hand of every subject, and should such a time arrive, I should be as free to act as any.”— Now, though there is nothing erroneous in the bare abstract assertion of this principle, yet it is one of those, which tend to weaken the necessary respect and attachment of sovereigns and subjects. Guestions of this nature must never be argued. The matter must speak for itself. Mr. Horne again came forward as the popular advocate in the American war. When the war was commenced by the skirmish at Lexington, Mr. Horne opened a subscription, and advertised in the public papers “for the relief of our unfortunate brethren in America basely murdered by the British troops.”— The attorney-general very properly prosecuted him for this insult on the government, and the jury very justly found him guilty.—He was in consequence imprisoned in the king's bench. Mr. Horne Tooke had now nothing to hope from ecclesiastical preferment. He now, therefore, with the most shameless indecency, if not direct impiety, threw off his clerical gown, and produced himself as a layman. He resigned the living of Brentford, and entered himself of the Society of the Inner Temple. He kept his commons regularly, and studied the law as a profession. The period at length arrived, in which, having kept the ne

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