No More Learning

The milder
degrees of poverty are, sometimes, supported by hope; but the more
severe often sink down in motionless despondence. Life must be seen,
before it can be known. This author and Pope, perhaps, never saw the
miseries which they imagine thus easy to be borne. The poor, indeed, are
insensible of many little vexations, which sometimes imbitter the
possessions, and pollute the enjoyments, of the rich. They are not
pained by casual incivility, or mortified by the mutilation of a
compliment; but this happiness is like that of a malefactor, who ceases
to feel the cords that bind him, when the pincers are tearing his flesh.

That want of taste for one enjoyment is supplied by the pleasures of
some other, may be fairly allowed; but the compensations of sickness I
have never found near to equivalence, and the transports of recovery
only prove the intenseness of the pain.

With folly, no man is willing to confess himself very intimately
acquainted, and, therefore, its pains and pleasures are kept secret. But
what the author says of its happiness, seems applicable only to fatuity,
or gross dulness; for that inferiority of understanding, which makes one
man, without any other reason, the slave, or tool, or property of
another, which makes him sometimes useless, and sometimes ridiculous, is
often felt with very quick sensibility. On the happiness of madmen, as
the case is not very frequent, it is not necessary to raise a
disquisition, but I cannot forbear to observe, that I never yet knew
disorders of mind increase felicity: every madman is either arrogant and
irascible, or gloomy and suspicious, or possessed by some passion, or
notion, destructive to his quiet. He has always discontent in his look,
and malignity in his bosom. And, if he had the power of choice, he would
soon repent who should resign his reason to secure his peace.

Concerning the portion of ignorance necessary to make the condition of
the lower classes of mankind safe to the publick, and tolerable to
themselves, both morals and policy exact a nicer inquiry than will be
very soon or very easily made. There is, undoubtedly, a degree of
knowledge which will direct a man to refer all to providence, and to
acquiesce in the condition with which omniscient goodness has determined
to allot him; to consider this world as a phantom, that must soon glide
from before his eyes, and the distresses and vexations that encompass
him, as dust scattered in his path, as a blast that chills him for a
moment, and passes off for ever.

Such wisdom, arising from the comparison of a part with the whole of our
existence, those that want it most cannot possibly obtain from
philosophy; nor, unless the method of education, and the general tenour
of life are changed, will very easily receive it from religion. The bulk
of mankind is not likely to be very wise or very good; and I know not,
whether there are not many states of life, in which all knowledge, less
than the highest wisdom, will produce discontent and danger. I believe
it may be sometimes found, that a _little learning_ is, to a poor man, a
_dangerous thing_. But such is the condition of humanity, that we easily
see, or quickly feel the wrong, but cannot always distinguish the right.
Whatever knowledge is superfluous, in irremediable poverty, is hurtful,
but the difficulty is to determine when poverty is irremediable, and at
what point superfluity begins. Gross ignorance every man has found
equally dangerous with perverted knowledge. Men, left wholly to their
appetites and their instincts, with little sense of moral or religious
obligation, and with very faint distinctions of right and wrong, can
never be safely employed, or confidently trusted; they can be honest
only by obstinacy, and diligent only by compulsion or caprice. Some
instruction, therefore, is necessary, and much, perhaps, may be
dangerous.

Though it should be granted, that those who are _born to poverty and
drudgery_, should not be _deprived_, by an _improper education_, of the
_opiate of ignorance_; even this concession will not be of much use to
direct our practice, unless it be determined, who are those that are
_born to poverty_. To entail irreversible poverty upon generation after
generation, only because the ancestor happened to be poor, is, in
itself, cruel, if not unjust, and is wholly contrary to the maxims of a
commercial nation, which always suppose and promote a rotation of
property, and offer every individual a chance of mending his condition
by his diligence. Those, who communicate literature to the son of a poor
man consider him, as one not born to poverty, but to the necessity of
deriving a better fortune from himself. In this attempt, as in others,
many fail and many succeed. Those that fail, will feel their misery more
acutely; but since poverty is now confessed to be such a calamity, as
cannot be borne without the opiate of insensibility, I hope the
happiness of those whom education enables to escape from it, may turn
the balance against that exacerbation which the others suffer.

I am always afraid of determining on the side of envy or cruelty. The
privileges of education may, sometimes, be improperly bestowed, but I
shall always fear to withhold them, lest I should be yielding to the
suggestions of pride, while I persuade myself that I am following the
maxims of policy; and, under the appearance of salutary restraints,
should be indulging the lust of dominion, and that malevolence which
delights in seeing others depressed.

Pope's doctrine is, at last, exhibited in a comparison, which, like
other proofs of the same kind, is better adapted to delight the fancy
than convince the reason.

"Thus the universe resembles a large and well-regulated family, in which
all the officers and servants, and even the domestic animals, are
subservient to each other, in a proper subordination: each enjoys the
privileges and perquisites peculiar to his place, and, at the same time,
contributes, by that just subordination, to the magnificence and
happiness of the whole. "

The magnificence of a house is of use or pleasure always to the master,
and sometimes to the domesticks. But the magnificence of the universe
adds nothing to the supreme being; for any part of its inhabitants, with
which human knowledge is acquainted, an universe much less spacious or
splendid would have been sufficient; and of happiness it does not
appear, that any is communicated from the beings of a lower world to
those of a higher.

The inquiry after the cause of natural evil is continued in the third
letter, in which, as in the former, there is mixture of borrowed truth,
and native folly, of some notions, just and trite, with others uncommon
and ridiculous.

His opinion of the value and importance of happiness is certainly just,
and I shall insert it; not that it will give any information to any
reader, but it may serve to show, how the most common notion may be
swelled in sound, and diffused in bulk, till it shall, perhaps, astonish
the author himself.

"Happiness is the only thing of real value in existence, neither riches,
nor power, nor wisdom, nor learning, nor strength, nor beauty, nor
virtue, nor religion, nor even life itself, being of any importance, but
as they contribute to its production. All these are, in themselves,
neither good nor evil: happiness alone is their great end, and they are
desirable only as they tend to promote it. "

Success produces confidence. After this discovery of the value of
happiness, he proceeds, without any distrust of himself, to tell us what
has been hid from all former inquirers.

"The true solution of this important question, so long and so vainly
searched for by the philosophers of all ages and all countries, I take
to be, at last, no more than this, that these real evils proceed from
the same source as those imaginary ones of imperfection, before treated
of, namely, from that subordination, without which no created system can
subsist; all subordination implying imperfection, all imperfection evil,
and all evil some kind of inconveniency or suffering: so that there
must, be particular inconvenieucies and sufferings annexed to every
particular rank of created beings by the circumstances of things, and
their modes of existence.

"God, indeed, might have made us quite other creatures, and placed us in
a world quite differently constituted; but then we had been no longer
men, and whatever beings had occupied our stations in the universal
system, they must have been liable to the same inconveniencies. "

In all this, there is nothing that can silence the inquiries of
curiosity, or culm the perturbations of doubt. Whether subordination
implies imperfection may be disputed. The means respecting themselves
may be as perfect as the end. The weed, as a weed, is no less perfect
than the oak, as an oak. That _imperfection implies evil, and evil
suffering_, is by no means evident. Imperfection may imply privative
evil, or the absence of some good, but this privation produces no
suffering, but by the help of knowledge. An infant at the breast is yet
an imperfect man, but there is no reason for belief, that he is unhappy
by his immaturity, unless some positive pain be superadded. When this
author presumes to speak of the universe, I would advise him a little to
distrust his own faculties, however large and comprehensive. Many words,
easily understood on common occasions, become uncertain and figurative,
when applied to the works of omnipotence. Subordination, in human
affairs, is well understood; but, when it is attributed to the universal
system, its meaning grows less certain, like the petty distinctions of
locality, which are of good use upon our own globe, but have no meaning
with regard to infinite space, in which nothing is _high_ or _low_.
That, if man, by exaltation to a higher nature, were exempted from the
evils which he now suffers, some other being must suffer them; that, if
man were not man, some other being must be man, is a position arising
from his established notion of the scale of being. A notion to which
Pope has given some importance, by adopting it, and of which I have,
therefore, endeavoured to show the uncertainty and inconsistency. This
scale of being I have demonstrated to be raised by presumptuous
imagination, to rest on nothing at the bottom, to lean on nothing at the
top, and to have vacuities, from step to step, through which any order
of being may sink into nihility without any inconvenience, so far as we
can judge, to the next rank above or below it. We are, therefore, little
enlightened by a writer who tells us, that any being in the state of man
must suffer what man suffers, when the only question that requires to be
resolved is: Why any being is in this state. Of poverty and labour he
gives just and elegant representations, which yet do not remove the
difficulty of the first and fundamental question, though supposing the
present state of man necessary, they may supply some motives to content.

"Poverty is what all could not possibly have been exempted from, not
only by reason of the fluctuating nature of human possessions, but
because the world could not subsist without it; for, had all been rich,
none could have submitted to the commands of another, or the necessary
drudgeries of life; thence all governments must have been dissolved,
arts neglected, and lands uncultivated, and so an universal penury have
overwhelmed all, instead of now and then pinching a few. Hence, by the
by, appears the great excellence of charity, by which men are enabled,
by a particular distribution of the blessings and enjoyments of life, on
proper occasions, to prevent that poverty, which, by a general one,
omnipotence itself could never have prevented; so that, by enforcing
this duty, God, as it were, demands our assistance to promote universal
happiness, and to shut out misery at every door, where it strives to
intrude itself.

"Labour, indeed, God might easily have excused us from, since, at his
command, the earth would readily have poured forth all her treasures,
without our inconsiderable assistance; but, if the severest labour
cannot sufficiently subdue the malignity of human nature, what plots and
machinations, what wars, rapine, and devastation, what profligacy and
licentiousness, must have been the consequences of universal idleness!
So that labour ought only to be looked upon, as a task kindly imposed
upon us by our indulgent creator, necessary to preserve our health, our
safety, and our innocence. "

I am afraid, that "the latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
beginning. " If God _could easily have excused us from labour_, I do not
comprehend why _he could not possibly have exempted all from poverty_.
For poverty, in its easier and more tolerable degree, is little more
than necessity of labour; and, in its more severe and deplorable state,
little more than inability for labour. To be poor is to work for others,
or to want the succour of others, without work. And the same exuberant
fertility, which would make work unnecessary, might make poverty
impossible.

Surely, a man who seems not completely master of his own opinion, should
have spoken more cautiously of omnipotence, nor have presumed to say
what it could perform, or what it could prevent. I am in doubt, whether
those, who stand highest in the _scale of being_, speak thus confidently
of the dispensations of their maker:

"For fools rush in, where angels fear to tread. "

Of our inquietudes of mind, his account is still less reasonable:
"Whilst men are injured, they must be inflamed with anger; and, whilst
they see cruelties, they must be melted with pity; whilst they perceive
danger, they must be sensible of fear. " This is to give a reason for all
evil, by showing, that one evil produces another. If there is danger,
there ought to be fear; but, if fear is an evil, why should there be
danger? His vindication of pain is of the same kind: pain is useful to
alarm us, that we may shun greater evils, but those greater evils must
be pre-supposed, that the fitness of pain may appear.

Treating on death, he has expressed the known and true doctrine with
sprightliness of fancy, and neatness of diction. I shall, therefore,
insert it. There are truths which, as they are always necessary, do not
grow stale by repetition

"Death, the last and most dreadful of all evils,
is so far from being one, that it is the infallible
cure for all others.

To die, is landing on some silent shore,
Where billows never beat, nor tempests roar.
Ere well we feel the friendly stroke, 'tis o'er.

GARTH.

For, abstracted from the sickness and sufferings usually attending it,
it is no more than the expiration of that term of life God was pleased
to bestow on us, without any claim or merit on our part. But was it an
evil ever so great, it could not be remedied, but by one much greater,
which is, by living for ever; by which means, our wickedness,
unrestrained by the prospect of a future state, would grow so
insupportable, our sufferings so intolerable by perseverance, and our
pleasures so tiresome by repetition, that no being in the universe could
be so completely miserable, as a species of immortal men. We have no
reason, therefore, to look upon death as an evil, or to fear it as a
punishment, even without any supposition of a future life: but, if we
consider it, as a passage to a more perfect state, or a remove only in
an eternal succession of still-improving states, (for which we have the
strongest reasons,) it will then appear a new favour from the divine
munificence; and a man must be as absurd to repine at dying, as a
traveller would be, who proposed to himself a delightful tour through
various unknown countries, to lament, that he cannot take up his
residence at the first dirty inn, which he baits at on the road.

"The instability of human life, or of the changes of its successive
periods, of which we so frequently complain, are no more than the
necessary progress of it to this necessary conclusion; and are so far
from being evils, deserving these complaints, that they are the source
of our greatest pleasures, as they are the source of all novelty, from
which our greatest pleasures are ever derived. The continual succession
of seasons in the human life, by daily presenting to us new scenes,
render it agreeable, and, like those of the year, afford us delights by
their change, which the choicest of them could not give us by their
continuance. In the spring of life, the gilding of the sunshine, the
verdure of the fields, and the variegated paintings of the sky, are so
exquisite in the eyes of infants, at their first looking abroad into a
new world, as nothing, perhaps, afterwards can equal: the heat and
vigour of the succeeding summer of youth, ripens for us new pleasures,
the blooming maid, the nightly revel, and the jovial chase: the serene
autumn of complete manhood feasts us with the golden harvests of our
worldly pursuits: nor is the hoary winter of old age destitute of its
peculiar comforts and enjoyments, of which the recollection and relation
of those past, are, perhaps, none of the least: and, at last, death
opens to us a new prospect, from whence we shall, probably, look back
upon the diversions and occupations of this world, with the same
contempt we do now on our tops and hobby horses, and with the same
surprise, that they could ever so much entertain or engage us. "

I would not willingly detract from the beauty of this paragraph; and, in
gratitude to him who has so well inculcated such important truths, I
will venture to admonish him, since the chief comfort of the old is the
recollection of the past, so to employ his time and his thoughts, that,
when the imbecility of age shall come upon him, he may be able to
recreate its languors, by the remembrance of hours spent, not in
presumptuous decisions, but modest inquiries; not in dogmatical
limitations of omnipotence, but in humble acquiescence, and fervent
adoration. Old age will show him, that much of the book, now before us,
has no other use than to perplex the scrupulous, and to shake the weak,
to encourage impious presumption, or stimulate idle curiosity.

Having thus despatched the consideration of particular evils, he comes,
at last, to a general reason, for which _evil_ may be said to be _our
good_. He is of opinion, that there is some inconceivable benefit in
pain, abstractedly considered; that pain, however inflicted, or wherever
felt, communicates some good to the general system of being, and, that
every animal is, some way or other, the better for the pain of every
other animal. This opinion he carries so far, as to suppose, that there
passes some principle of union through all animal life, as attraction is
communicated to all corporeal nature; and, that the evils suffered on
this globe, may, by some inconceivable means, contribute to the felicity
of the inhabitants of the remotest planet.

How the origin of evil is brought nearer to human conception, by any
_inconceivable_ means, I am not able to discover. We believed, that the
present system of creation was right, though we could not explain the
adaptation of one part to the other, or for the whole succession of
causes and consequences. Where has this inquirer added to the little
knowledge that we had before? He has told us of the benefits of evil,
which no man feels, and relations between distant parts of the universe,
which he cannot himself conceive. There was enough in this question
inconceivable before, and we have little advantage from a new
inconceivable solution.

I do not mean to reproach this author for not knowing what is equally
hidden from learning and from ignorance. The shame is, to impose words,
for ideas, upon ourselves or others. To imagine, that we are going
forward, when we are only turning round. To think, that there is any
difference between him that gives no reason, and him that gives a
reason, which, by his own confession, cannot be conceived.

But, that he may not be thought to conceive nothing but things
inconceivable, he has, at last, thought on a way, by which human
sufferings may produce good effects. He imagines, that as we have not
only animals for food, but choose some for our diversion, the same
privilege may be allowed to some beings above us, _who may deceive,
torment, or destroy us, for the ends, only, of their own pleasure or
utility_. This he again finds impossible to be conceived, _but that
impossibility lessens not the probability of the conjecture, which, by
analogy, is so strongly confirmed_. I cannot resist the temptation of
contemplating this analogy, which, I think, he might have carried
further, very much to the advantage of his argument. He might have
shown, that these "hunters, whose game is man," have many sports
analogous to our own. As we drown whelps and kittens, they amuse
themselves, now and then, with sinking a ship, and stand round the
fields of Blenheim, or the walls of Prague, as we encircle a cockpit. As
we shoot a bird flying, they take a man in the midst of his business or
pleasure, and knock him down with an apoplexy. Some of them, perhaps,
are virtuosi, and delight in the operations of an asthma, as a human
philosopher in the effects of the air-pump. To swell a man with a
tympany is as good sport as to blow a frog. Many a merry bout have these
frolick beings at the vicissitudes of an ague, and good sport it is to
see a man tumble with an epilepsy, and revive and tumble again, and all
this he knows not why. As they are wiser and more powerful than we, they
have more exquisite diversions; for we have no way of procuring any
sport so brisk and so lasting, as the paroxysms of the gout and stone,
which, undoubtedly, must make high mirth, especially if the play be a
little diversified with the blunders and puzzles of the blind and deaf.
We know not how far their sphere of observation may extend. Perhaps, now
and then, a merry being may place himself in such a situation, as to
enjoy, at once, all the varieties of an epidemical disease, or amuse his
leisure with the tossings and contortions of every possible pain,
exhibited together.

One sport the merry malice of these beings has found means of enjoying,
to which we have nothing equal or similar. They now and then catch a
mortal, proud of his parts, and flattered either by the submission of
those who court his kindness, or the notice of those who suffer him to
court theirs. A head, thus prepared for the reception of false opinions,
and the projection of vain designs, they easily fill with idle notions,
till, in time, they make their plaything an author; their first
diversion commonly begins with an ode or an epistle, then rises,
perhaps, to a political irony, and is, at last, brought to its height,
by a treatise of philosophy. Then begins the poor animal to entangle
himself in sophisms, and flounder in absurdity, to talk confidently of
the scale of being, and to give solutions which himself confesses
impossible to be understood. Sometimes, however, it happens, that their
pleasure is without much mischief. The author feels no pain, but while
they are wondering at the extravagance of his opinion, and pointing him
out to one another, as a new example of human folly, he is enjoying his
own applause and that of his companions, and, perhaps, is elevated with
the hope of standing at the head of a new sect.

Many of the books which now crowd the world, may be justly suspected to
be written for the sake of some invisible order of beings, for surely
they are of no use to any of the corporeal inhabitants of the world. Of
the productions of the last bounteous year, how many can be said to
serve any purpose of use or pleasure! The only end of writing is to
enable the readers better to enjoy life, or better to endure it; and how
will either of those be put more in our power, by him who tells us, that
we are puppets, of which some creature, not much wiser than ourselves,
manages the wires! That a set of beings, unseen and unheard, are
hovering about us, trying experiments upon our sensibility, putting us
in agonies, to see our limbs quiver; torturing us to madness, that they
may laugh at our vagaries; sometimes obstructing the bile, that they may
see how a man looks, when he is yellow; sometimes breaking a traveller's
bones, to try how he will get home; sometimes wasting a man to a
skeleton, and sometimes killing him fat, for the greater elegance of his
hide.

This is an account of natural evil, which though, like the rest, not
quite new, is very entertaining, though I know not how much it may
contribute to patience. The only reason why we should contemplate evil
is, that we may bear it better; and I am afraid nothing is much more
placidly endured, for the sake of making others sport.

The first pages of the fourth letter are such, as incline me both to
hope and wish that I shall find nothing to blame in the succeeding part.
He offers a criterion of action, on account of virtue and vice, for
which I have often contended, and which must be embraced by all who are
willing to know, why they act, or why they forbear to give any reason of
their conduct to themselves or others.

"In order to find out the true origin of moral evil, it will be
necessary, in the first place, to enquire into its nature and essence;
or, what it is that constitutes one action evil, and another good.
Various have been the opinions of various authors on this criterion of
virtue; and this variety has rendered that doubtful, which must,
otherwise, have been clear and manifest to the meanest capacity. Some,
indeed, have denied, that there is any such thing, because different
ages and nations have entertained different sentiments concerning it;
but this is just as reasonable, as to assert, that there are neither
sun, moon, nor stars, because astronomers have supported different
systems of the motions and magnitudes of these celestial bodies. Some
have placed it in conformity to truth, some to the fitness of things,
and others to the will of God: but all this is merely superficial: they
resolve us not, why truth, or the fitness of things, are either eligible
or obligatory, or why God should require us to act in one manner rather
than another. The true reason of which can possibly be no other than
this, because some actions produce happiness, and others misery; so that
all moral good and evil are nothing more than the production of natural.
This alone it is that makes truth preferable to falsehood, this, that
determines the fitness of things, and this that induces God to command
some actions, and forbid others. They who extol the truth, beauty, and
harmony of virtue, exclusive of its consequences, deal but in pompous
nonsense; and they, who would persuade us, that good and evil are things
indifferent, depending wholly on the will of God, do but confound the
nature of things, as well as all our notions of God himself, by
representing him capable of willing contradictions; that is, that we
should be, and be happy, and, at the same time, that we should torment
and destroy each other; for injuries cannot be made benefits, pain
cannot be made pleasure, and, consequently, vice cannot be made virtue,
by any power whatever. It is the consequences, therefore, of all human
actions that must stamp their value. So far as the general practice of
any action tends to produce good, and introduce happiness into the
world, so far we may pronounce it virtuous; so much evil as it
occasions, such is the degree of vice it contains. I say the general
practice, because we must always remember, in judging by this rule, to
apply it only to the general species of actions, and not to particular
actions; for the infinite wisdom of God, desirous to set bounds to the
destructive consequences, which must, otherwise, have followed from the
universal depravity of mankind, has so wonderfully contrived the nature
of things, that our most vitious actions may, sometimes, accidentally
and collaterally, produce good. Thus, for instance, robbery may disperse
useless hoards to the benefit of the public; adultery may bring heirs,
and good humour too, into many families, where they would otherwise have
been wanting; and murder, free the world from tyrants and oppressors.
Luxury maintains its thousands, and vanity its ten thousands.
Superstition and arbitrary power contribute to the grandeur of many
nations, and the liberties of others are preserved by the perpetual
contentions of avarice, knavery, selfishness, and ambition; and thus the
worst of vices, and the worst of men, are often compelled, by
providence, to serve the most beneficial purposes, contrary to their own
malevolent tendencies and inclinations; and thus private vices become
public benefits, by the force only of accidental circumstances. But this
impeaches not the truth of the criterion of virtue, before mentioned,
the only solid foundation on which any true system of ethics can be
built, the only plain, simple, and uniform rule, by which we can pass
any judgment on our actions; but by this we may be enabled, not only to
determine which are good, and which are evil, but, almost
mathematically, to demonstrate the proportion of virtue or vice which
belongs to each, by comparing them with the degrees of happiness or
misery which they occasion. But, though the production of happiness is
the essence of virtue, it is by no means the end; the great end is the
probation of mankind, or the giving them an opportunity of exalting or
degrading themselves, in another state, by their behaviour in the
present. And thus, indeed, it answers two most important purposes: those
are, the conservation of our happiness, and the test of our obedience;
or, had not such a test seemed necessary to God's infinite wisdom, and
productive of universal good, he would never have permitted the
happiness of men, even in this life, to have depended on so precarious a
tenure, as their mutual good behaviour to each other. For it is
observable, that he, who best knows our formation, has trusted no one
thing of importance to our reason or virtue: he trusts only to our
appetites for the support of the individual, and the continuance of our
species; to our vanity, or compassion, for our bounty to others; and to
our fears, for the preservation of ourselves; often to our vices, for
the support of government, and, sometimes, to our follies, for the
preservation of our religion. But, since some test of our obedience was
necessary, nothing, sure, could have been commanded for that end, so
fit, and proper, and, at the same time, so useful, as the practice of
virtue; nothing could have been so justly rewarded with happiness, as
the production of happiness, in conformity to the will of God. It is
this conformity, alone, which adds merit to virtue, and constitutes the
essential difference between morality and religion. Morality obliges men
to live honestly and soberly, because such behaviour is most conducive
to public happiness, and, consequently, to their own; religion, to
pursue the same course, because conformable to the will of their
creator. Morality induces them to embrace virtue, from prudential
considerations; religion, from those of gratitude and obedience.
Morality, therefore, entirely abstracted from religion, can have nothing
meritorious in it; it being but wisdom, prudence, or good economy,
which, like health, beauty, or riches, are rather obligations conferred
upon us by God, than merits in us towards him; for, though we may be
justly punished for injuring ourselves, we can claim no reward for
self-preservation; as suicide deserves punishment and infamy, but a man
deserves no reward or honours for not being guilty of it. This I take to
be the meaning of all those passages in our scriptures, in which works
are represented to have no merit without faith; that is, not without
believing in historical facts, in creeds, and articles, but, without
being done in pursuance of our belief in God, and in obedience to his
commands. And now, having mentioned scripture, I cannot omit observing,
that the christian is the only religious or moral institution in the
world, that ever set, in a right light, these two material points, the
essence and the end of virtue, that ever founded the one in the
production of happiness, that is, in universal benevolence, or, in their
language, charity to all men; the other, in the probation of man, and
his obedience to his creator. Sublime and magnificent as was the
philosophy of the ancients, all their moral systems were deficient in
these two important articles. They were all built on the sandy
foundations of the innate beauty of virtue, or enthusiastic patriotism;
and their great point in view was the contemptible reward of human
glory; foundations, which were, by no means, able to support the
magnificent structures which they erected upon them; for the beauty of
virtue, independent of its effects, is unmeaning nonsense; patriotism,
which injures mankind in general, for the sake of a particular country,
is but a more extended selfishness, and really criminal; and all human
glory, but a mean and ridiculous delusion.

"The whole affair, then, of religion and morality, the subject of so
many thousand volumes, is, in short, no more than this: the supreme
being, infinitely good, as well as powerful, desirous to diffuse
happiness by all possible means, has created innumerable ranks and
orders of beings, all subservient to each other by proper subordination.
One of these is occupied by man, a creature endued with such a certain
degree of knowledge, reason, and freewill, as is suitable to his
situation, and placed, for a time, on this globe, as in a school of
probation and education. Here he has an opportunity given him of
improving or debasing his nature, in such a manner, as to render himself
fit for a rank of higher perfection and happiness, or to degrade himself
to a state of greater imperfection and misery; necessary, indeed,
towards carrying on the business of the universe, but very grievous and
burdensome to those individuals who, by their own misconduct, are
obliged to submit to it. The test of this his behaviour is doing good,
that is, cooperating with his creator, as far as his narrow sphere of
action will permit, in the production of happiness. And thus the
happiness and misery of a future state will be the just reward or
punishment of promoting or preventing happiness in this. So
artificially, by this means, is the nature of all human virtue and vice
contrived, that their rewards and punishments are woven, as it were, in
their very essence; their immediate effects give us a foretaste of their
future, and their fruits, in the present life, are the proper samples of
what they must unavoidably produce in another. We have reason given us
to distinguish these consequences, and regulate our conduct; and, lest
that should neglect its post, conscience also is appointed, as an
instinctive kind of monitor, perpetually to remind us both of our
interest and our duty. "

"Si sic omnia dixisset! " To this account of the essence of vice and
virtue, it is only necessary to add, that the consequences of human
actions being sometimes uncertain, and sometimes remote, it is not
possible, in many cases, for most men, nor in all cases, for any man, to
determine what actions will ultimately produce happiness, and,
therefore, it was proper that revelation should lay down a rule to be
followed, invariably, in opposition to appearances, and, in every change
of circumstances, by which we may be certain to promote the general
felicity, and be set free from the dangerous temptation of _doing evil
that good may come_. Because it may easily happen, and, in effect, will
happen, very frequently, that our own private happiness may be promoted
by an act injurious to others, when yet no man can be obliged, by
nature, to prefer, ultimately, the happiness of others to his own;
therefore, to the instructions of infinite wisdom, it was necessary that
infinite power should add penal sanctions. That every man, to whom those
instructions shall be imparted, may know, that he can never, ultimately,
injure himself by benefiting others, or, ultimately, by injuring others
benefit himself; but that, however the lot of the good and bad may be
huddled together in the seeming confusion of our present state, the time
shall undoubtedly come, when the most virtuous will be most happy.

I am sorry, that the remaining part of this letter is not equal to the
first. The author has, indeed, engaged in a disquisition, in which we
need not wonder if he fails, in the solution of questions on which
philosophers have employed their abilities from the earliest times,

"And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost. "

He denies, that man was created _perfect_, because the system requires
subordination, and because the power of losing his perfection, of
"rendering himself wicked and miserable, is the highest imperfection
imaginable. " Besides, the regular gradations of the scale of being
required, somewhere, "such a creature as man, with all his infirmities
about him; and the total removal of those would be altering his nature,
and, when he became perfect, he must cease to be man. "

I have already spent some considerations on the _scale of being_, of
which, yet, I am obliged to renew the mention, whenever a new argument
is made to rest upon it; and I must, therefore, again remark, that
consequences cannot have greater certainty than the postulate from which
they are drawn, and that no system can be more hypothetical than this,
and, perhaps, no hypothesis more absurd.

He again deceives himself with respect to the perfection with which
_man_ is held to be originally vested. "That man came perfect, that is,
endued with all possible perfection, out of the hands of his creator, is
a false notion derived from the philosophers. --The universal system
required subordination, and, consequently, comparative imperfection. "
That _man was ever endued with all possible perfection_, that is, with
all perfection, of which the idea is not contradictory, or destructive
of itself, is, undoubtedly, _false_. But it can hardly be called _a
false notion_, because no man ever thought it, nor can it be derived
from the _philosophers_; for, without pretending to guess what
philosophers he may mean, it is very safe to affirm, that no philosopher
ever said it. Of those who now maintain that _man_ was once perfect, who
may very easily be found, let the author inquire, whether _man_ was ever
omniscient, whether he was ever omnipotent; whether he ever had even the
lower power of archangels or angels. Their answers will soon inform him,
that the supposed perfection of _man_ was not absolute, but respective;
that he was perfect, in a sense consistent enough with subordination,
perfect, not as compared with different beings, but with himself in his
present degeneracy; not perfect, as an angel, but perfect, as man.

From this perfection, whatever it was, he thinks it necessary that man
should be debarred, because pain is necessary to the good of the
universe; and the pain of one order of beings extending its salutary
influence to innumerable orders above and below, it was necessary that
man should suffer; but, because it is not suitable to justice, that pain
should be inflicted on innocence, it was necessary that man should be
criminal.

This is given as a satisfactory account of the original of moral evil,
which amounts only to this, that God created beings, whose guilt he
foreknew, in order that he might have proper objects of pain, because
the pain of part is, no man knows how or why, necessary to the felicity
of the whole.

The perfection which man once had, may be so easily conceived, that,
without any unusual strain of imagination, we can figure its revival.
All the duties to God or man, that are neglected, we may fancy
performed; all the crimes, that are committed, we may conceive forborne.
Man will then be restored to his moral perfections; and into what head
can it enter, that, by this change, the universal system would be
shaken, or the condition of any order of beings altered for the worse?

He comes, in the fifth letter, to political, and, in the sixth, to
religious evils. Of political evil, if we suppose the origin of moral
evil discovered, the account is by no means difficult; polity being only
the conduct of immoral men in publick affairs. The evils of each
particular kind of government are very clearly and elegantly displayed,
and, from their secondary causes, very rationally deduced; but the first
cause lies still in its ancient obscurity. There is, in this letter,
nothing new, nor any thing eminently instructive; one of his practical
deductions, that "from government, evils cannot be eradicated, and their
excess only can be prevented," has been always allowed; the question,
upon which all dissension arises, is, when that excess begins, at what
point men shall cease to bear, and attempt to remedy.

Another of his precepts, though not new, well deserves to be
transcribed, because it cannot be too frequently impressed.

"What has here been said of their imperfections and abuses, is, by no
means, intended as a defence of them: every wise man ought to redress
them to the utmost of his power; which can be effected by one method
only, that is, by a reformation of manners; for, as all political evils
derive their original from moral, these can never be removed, until
those are first amended. He, therefore, who strictly adheres to virtue
and sobriety in his conduct, and enforces them by his example, does more
real service to a state, than he who displaces a minister, or dethrones
a tyrant: this gives but a temporary relief, but that exterminates the
cause of the disease. No immoral man, then, can possibly be a true
patriot; and all those who profess outrageous zeal for the liberty and
prosperity of their country, and, at the same time, infringe her laws,
affront her religion, and debauch her people, are but despicable quacks,
by fraud or ignorance increasing the disorders they pretend to remedy. "

Of religion he has said nothing but what he has learned, or might have
learned, from the divines; that it is not universal, because it must be
received upon conviction, and successively received by those whom
conviction reached; that its evidences and sanctions are not
irresistible, because it was intended to induce, not to compel; and that
it is obscure, because we want faculties to comprehend it. What he means
by his assertion, that it wants policy, I do not well understand; he
does not mean to deny, that a good christian will be a good governour,
or a good subject; and he has before justly observed, that the good man
only is a patriot.

Religion has been, he says, corrupted by the wickedness of those to whom
it was communicated, and has lost part of its efficacy, by its connexion
with temporal interest and human passion.

He justly observes, that from all this no conclusion can be drawn
against the divine original of christianity, since the objections arise
not from the nature of the revelation, but of him to whom it is
communicated.

All this is known, and all this is true; but why, we have not yet
discovered. Our author, if I understand him right, pursues the argument
thus: the religion of man produces evils, because the morality of man is
imperfect; his morality is imperfect, that he may be justly a subject of
punishment; he is made subject to punishment, because the pain of part
is necessary to the happiness of the whole; pain is necessary to
happiness, no mortal can tell why, or how.

Thus, after having clambered, with great labour, from one step of
argumentation to another, instead of rising into the light of knowledge,
we are devolved back into dark ignorance; and all our effort ends in
belief, that for the evils of life there is some good reason, and in
confession, that the reason cannot be found. This is all that has been
produced by the revival of Chrysippus's untractableness of matter, and
the Arabian scale of existence. A system has been raised, which is so
ready to fall to pieces of itself, that no great praise can be derived
from its destruction. To object, is always easy, and, it has been well
observed by a late writer, that "the hand which cannot build a hovel,
may demolish a temple [11]. "




REVIEW OF THE HISTORY OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF LONDON, FOR IMPROVING OF
NATURAL KNOWLEDGE, FROM ITS FIRST RISE;

In which the most considerable papers communicated to the society, which
have, hitherto, not been published, are inserted, in their proper order,
as a supplement to the Philosophical Transactions. By Thomas Birch, D.
D. secretary to the Royal society, 2 vols. 4to.
This book might, more properly, have been entitled by the author, a
diary than a history, as it proceeds regularly from day to day, so
minutely, as to number over the members present at each committee, and
so slowly, that two large volumes contain only the transactions of the
eleven first years from the institution of the society.

I am, yet, far from intending to represent this work as useless. Many
particularities are of importance to one man, though they appear
trifling to another; and it is always more safe to admit copiousness,
than to affect brevity. Many informations will be afforded by this book
to the biographer. I know not where else it can be found, but here, and
in Ward, that Cowley was doctor in physick. And, whenever any other
institution, of the same kind, shall be attempted, the exact relation of
the progress of the Royal society may furnish precedents.

These volumes consist of an exact journal of the society; of some papers
delivered to them, which, though registered and preserved, had been
never printed; and of short memoirs of the more eminent members,
inserted at the end of the year in which each died.

The original of the society is placed earlier in this history than in
that of Dr. Sprat. Theodore Haak, a German of the Palatinate, in 1645,
proposed, to some inquisitive and learned men, a weekly meeting, for the
cultivation of natural knowledge. The first associates, whose names
ought, surely, to be preserved, were Dr. Wilkins, Dr. Wallis, Dr.
Goddard, Dr. Ent, Dr. Glisson, Dr. Merret, Mr. Foster of Gresham, and
Mr. Haak. Sometime afterwards, Wilkins, Wallis, and Goddard, being
removed to Oxford, carried on the same design there by stated meetings,
and adopted into their society Dr. Ward, Dr. Bathurst, Dr. Petty, and
Dr. Willis.

The Oxford society coming to London, in 1659, joined their friends, and
augmented their number, and, for some time, met in Gresham college.
After the restoration, their number was again increased, and on the 28th
of November, 1660, a select party happening to retire for conversation,
to Mr. Rooke's apartment in Gresham college, formed the first plan of a
regular society. Here Dr. Sprat's history begins, and, therefore, from
this period, the proceedings are well known [12].




REVIEW OF THE GENERAL HISTORY OP POLYBIUS,

IN FIVE BOOKS, TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK, BY MR. HAMPTON.


This appears to be one of the books, which will long do honour to the
present age. It has been, by some remarker, observed, that no man ever
grew immortal by a translation; and, undoubtedly, translations into the
prose of a living language must be laid aside, whenever the language
changes, because the matter being always to be found in the original,
contributes nothing to the preservation of the form superinduced by the
translator. But such versions may last long, though they can scarcely
last always; and there is reason to believe that this will grow in
reputation, while the English tongue continues in its present state.

The great difficulty of a translator is to preserve the native form of
his language, and the unconstrained manner of an original writer. This
Mr. Hampton seems to have attained, in a degree of which there are few
examples. His book has the dignity of antiquity, and the easy flow of a
modern composition.

It were, perhaps, to be desired, that he had illustrated, with notes, an
author which must have many difficulties to an English reader, and,
particularly, that he had explained the ancient art of war; but these
omissions may be easily supplied, by an inferiour hand, from the
antiquaries and commentators.

To note omissions, where there is so much performed, would be invidious,
and to commend is unnecessary, where the excellence of the work may be
more easily and effectually shown, by exhibiting a specimen [13].




REVIEW OF MISCELLANIES ON MORAL AND RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS,

IN PROSE AND VERSE; BY ELIZABETH HARRISON.


This volume, though only one name appears upon the first page, has been
produced by the contribution of many hands, and printed by the
encouragement of a numerous subscription, both which favours seem to be
deserved by the modesty and piety of her on whom they were bestowed.

The authors of the esssays in prose seem, generally, to have imitated,
or tried to imitate, the copiousness and luxunance of Mrs. Rowe; this,
however, is not all their praise, they have laboured to add to her
brightness of imagery, her purity of sentiments. The poets have had Dr.
Watts before their eyes, a writer who, if he stood not in the first
class of genius, compensated that defect, by a ready application of his
powers to the promotion of piety. The attempt to employ the ornaments of
romance in the decoration of religion was, I think, first made by Mr.
Boyle's Martyrdom of Theodora; but Boyle's philosophical studies did not
allow him time for the cultivation of style, and the completion of the
great design was reserved for Mrs. Rowe. Dr. Watts was one of the first
who taught the dissenters to write and speak like other men, by showing
them, that elegance might consist with piety. They would have both clone
honour to a better society, for they had that charity which might well
make their failings forgotten, and with which the whole Christian world
might wish for communion. They were pure from all the heresies of an
age, to which every opinion is become a favourite, that the universal
church has, hitherto, detested.

This praise the general interest of mankind requires to be given to
writers who please, and do not corrupt, who instruct, and do not weary.
But to them all human eulogies are vain, whom, I believe applauded by
angels and numbered with the just [14].




ACCOUNT OF A BOOK ENTITLED AN HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL ENQUIRY

Into the evidence produced by the earls of MORAY and MORTON against

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS [15].

With an examination of the reverend Dr. Robertson's Dissertation, and
Mr. Hume's History, with respect to that evidence [16].


We live in an age, in which there is much talk of independence, of
private judgment, of liberty of thought, and liberty of press. Our
clamorous praises of liberty sufficiently prove that we enjoy it; and
if, by liberty, nothing else be meant, than security from the
persecutions of power, it is so fully possessed by us, that little more
is to be desired, except that one should talk of it less, and use it
better.

But a social being can scarcely rise to complete independence; he that
has any wants, which others can supply, must study the gratification of
them, whose assistance he expects; this is equally true, whether his
wants be wants of nature, or of vanity. The writers of the present time
are not always candidates for preferment, nor often the hirelings of a
patron. They profess to serve no interest, and speak with loud contempt
of sycophants and slaves.

There is, however, a power, from whose influence neither they, nor their
predecessors, have ever been free. Those, who have set greatness at
defiance, have yet been the slaves of fashion. When an opinion has once
become popular, very few are willing to oppose it. Idleness is more
willing to credit than inquire; cowardice is afraid of controversy, and
vanity of answer; and he that writes merely for sale, is tempted to
court purchasers by flattering the prejudices of the publick.

It has now been fashionable, for near half a century, to defame and
vilify the house of Stuart, and to exalt and magnify the reign of
Elizabeth. The Stuarts have found few apologists, for the dead cannot
pay for praise; and who will, without reward, oppose the tide of
popularity? yet there remains, still, among us, not wholly
extinguished, a zeal for truth, a desire of establishing right, in
opposition to fashion. The author, whose work is now before as, has
attempted a vindication of Mary of Scotland, whose name has, for some
years, been generally resigned to infamy, and who has been considered,
as the murderer of her husband, and condemned by her own letters.

Of these letters, the author of this vindication confesses the
importance to be such, that, "if they be genuine, the queen was guilty;
and, if they be spurious, she was innocent. " He has, therefore,
undertaken to prove them spurious, and divided his treatise into six
parts.

In the first is contained the history of the letters from their
discovery by the earl of Morton, their being produced against queen
Mary, and their several appearances in England, before queen Elizabeth
and her commissioners, until they were finally delivered back again to
the earl of Morton.

The second contains a short abstract of Mr. Goodall's arguments for
proving the letters to be spurious and forged; and of Dr. Robertson and
Mr. Hume's objections, by way of answer to Mr. Goodall, with critical
observations on these authors.

The third contains an examination of the arguments of Dr. Robertson and
Mr. Hume, in support of the authenticity of the letters.

The fourth contains an examination of the confession of Nicholas Hubert,
commonly called _French Paris_, with observations, showing the same to
be a forgery.

The fifth contains a short recapitulation, or summary, of the arguments
on both sides of the question.

The last is an historical collection of the direct or positive evidence
still on record, tending to show what part the earls of Murray and
Morton, and secretary Lethington, had in the murder of the lord Darnley.

The author apologizes for the length of this book, by observing, that it
necessarily comprises a great number of particulars, which could not
easily be contracted: the same plea may be made for the imperfection of
our extract, which will naturally fall below the force of the book,
because we can only select parts of that evidence, which owes its
strength to its concatenation, and which will be weakened, whenever it
is disjoined.

The account of the seizure of these controverted letters is thus given
by the queen's enemies.

"That in the castell of Edinburgh, thair was left be the erle of
Bothwell, before his fleeing away, and was send for be ane George
Dalgleish, his servand, who was taken be the erle of Mortoun, ane small
gylt coffer, not fully ane fute lang, garnisht in sindrie places with
the roman letter F. under ane king's crowne; wharin were certane
letteris and writings weel knawin, and be aithis to be affirmit to have
been written with the quene of Scottis awn hand to the erle. "

The papers in the box were said to be eight letters, in French, some
love-sonnets in French also, and a promise of marriage by the queen to
Bothwell.

To the reality of these letters our author makes some considerable
objections, from the nature of things; but, as such arguments do not
always convince, we will pass to the evidence of facts.

On June 15, 1567, the queen delivered herself to Morton, and his party,
who imprisoned her.

June 20, 1567, Dalgleish was seized, and, six days after, was examined
by Morton; his examination is still extant, and there is no mention of
this fatal box.

Dec. 4, 1567, Murray's secret council published an act, in which is the
first mention of these letters, and in which they are said to be
_written and subscrivit with her awin hand_. Ten days after, Murray's
first parliament met, and passed an act, in which they mention _previe
letters written halelie_ [wholly] _with her awin hand_. The difference
between _written and subscribed_, and _wholly written_, gives the author
just reason to suspect, first, a forgery, and then a variation of the
forgery. It is, indeed, very remarkable, that the first account asserts
more than the second, though the second contains all the truth; for the
letters, whether _written_ by the queen or not, were not _subscribed_.
Had the second account differed from the first only by something added,
the first might have contained truth, though not all the truth; but as
the second corrects the first by diminution, the first cannot be cleared
from falsehood.

In October, 1568, these letters were shown at York to Elisabeth's
commissioners, by the agents of Murray, but not in their publick
character, as commissioners, but by way of private information, and were
not, therefore, exposed to Mary's commissioners. Mary, however, hearing
that some letters were intended to be produced against her, directed her
commissioners to require them for her inspection, and, in the mean time,
to declare them _false and feigned, forged and invented_, observing,
that there were many that could counterfeit her hand.

To counterfeit a name is easy, to counterfeit a hand, through eight
letters very difficult. But it does not appear that the letters were
ever shown to those who would desire to detect them; and, to the English
commissioners, a rude and remote imitation might be sufficient, since
they were not shown as judicial proofs; and why they were not shown as
proofs, no other reason can be given, than they must have then been
examined, and that examination would have detected the forgery.

These letters, thus timorously and suspiciously communicated, were all
the evidence against Mary; for the servants of Bothwell, executed for
the murder of the king, acquitted the queen, at the hour of death. These
letters were so necessary to Murray, that he alleges them, as the reason
of the queen's imprisonment, though he imprisoned her on the 16th, and
pretended not to have intercepted the letters before the 20th of June.

Of these letters, on which the fate of princes and kingdoms was
suspended, the authority should have been put out of doubt; yet that
such letters were ever found, there is no witness but Morton who accused
the queen, and Crawfurd, a dependent on Lennox, another of her accusers.
Dalgleish, the bearer, was hanged without any interrogatories concerning
them; and Hulet, mentioned in them, though then in prison, was never
called to authenticate them, nor was his confession produced against
Mary, till death had left him no power to disown it.

Elizabeth, indeed, was easily satisfied; she declared herself ready to
receive the proofs against Mary, and absolutely refused Mary the liberty
of confronting her accusers, and making her defence. Before such a
judge, a very little proof would be sufficient. She gave the accusers of
Mary leave to go to Scotland, and the box and letters were seen no more.
They have been since lost, and the discovery, which comparison of
writing might have made, is now no longer possible. Hume has, however,
endeavoured to palliate the conduct of Elizabeth, but "his account,"
says our author, "is contradicted, almost in every sentence, by the
records, which, it appears, he has himself perused. "

In the next part, the authenticity of the letters is examined; and it
seems to be proved, beyond contradiction, that the French letters,
supposed to have been written by Mary, are translated from the Scotch
copy, and, if originals, which it was so much the interest of such
numbers to preserve, are wanting, it is much more likely that they never
existed, than that they have been lost.

The arguments used by Dr. Robertson, to prove the genuineness of the
letters, are next examined. Robertson makes use, principally, of what he
calls the _internal evidence_, which, amounting, at most, to conjecture,
is opposed by conjecture equally probable.

In examining the confession of Nicholas Hubert, or French Paris, this
new apologist of Mary seems to gain ground upon her accuser. Paris is
mentioned, in the letters, as the bearer of them to Bothwell; when the
rest of Bothwell's servants were executed, clearing the queen in the
last moment, Paris, instead of suffering his trial, with the rest, at
Edinburgh, was conveyed to St. Andrew's, where Murray was absolute; put
into a dungeon of Murray's citadel; and, two years after, condemned by
Murray himself, nobody knew how. Several months after his death, a
confession in his name, without the regular testifications, was sent to
Cecil, at what exact time, nobody can tell.

Of this confession, Leslie, bishop of Ross, openly denied the
genuineness, in a book printed at London, and suppressed by Elizabeth;
and another historian of that time declares, that Paris died without any
confession; and the confession itself was never shown to Mary, or to
Mary's commissioners. The author makes this reflection:

"From the violent presumptions that arise from their carrying this poor
ignorant stranger from Edinburgh, the ordinary seat of justice; their
keeping him hid from all the world, in a remote dungeon, and not
producing him, with their other evidences, so as he might have been
publickly questioned; the positive and direct testimony of the author of
Crawfurd's manuscript, then living, and on the spot at the time; with
the publick affirmation of the bishop of Ross, at the time of Paris's
death, that he had vindicated the queen with his dying breath; the
behaviour of Murray, Morton, Buchanan, and even of Hay, the attester of
this pretended confession, on that occasion; their close and reserved
silence, at the time when they must have had this confession of Paris in
their pocket; and their publishing every other circumstance that could
tend to blacken the queen, and yet omitting this confession, the only
direct evidence of her supposed guilt; all this duly and dispassionately
considered, I think, one may safely conclude, that it was judged not fit
to expose, so soon, to light this piece of evidence against the queen;
which a cloud of witnesses, living, and present at Paris's execution,
would, surely, have given clear testimony against, as a notorious
imposture. "

Mr. Hume, indeed, observes: "It is in vain, at present, to seek for
improbabilities in Nicholas Hubert's dying confession, and to magnify
the smallest difficulties into a contradiction. It was certainly a
regular judicial paper, given in regularly and judicially, and ought to
have been canvassed at the time, if the persons, whom it concerned, had
been assured of their innocence. " To which our author makes a reply,
which cannot be shortened without weakening it:

"Upon what does this author ground his sentence? Upon two very plain
reasons, first, that the confession was a judicial one, that is, taken
in presence, or by authority of a judge. And secondly, that it was
regularly and judicially given in; that must be understood during the
time of the conferences before queen Elizabeth and her council, in
presence of Mary's commissioners; at which time she ought to have
canvassed it," says our author, "if she knew her innocence.

"That it was not a judicial confession, is evident: the paper itself
does not bear any such mark; nor does it mention, that it was taken in
presence of any person, or by any authority whatsoever; and, by
comparing it with the judicial examinations of Dalgleish, Hay, and
Hepburn, it is apparent, that it is destitute of every formality,
requisite in a judicial evidence. In what dark corner, then, this
strange production was generated, our author may endeavour to find out,
if he can.

"As to his second assertion, that it was regularly and judicially given
in, and, therefore, ought to have been canvassed, by Mary during the
conferences; we have already seen, that this, likewise, is not fact: the
conferences broke up in February, 1569: Nicholas Hubert was not hanged
till August thereafter, and his dying confession, as Mr. Hume calls it,
is only dated the 10th of that month. How, then, can this gentleman
gravely tell us, that this confession was judicially given in, and ought
to have been, at that very time, canvassed by queen Mary and her
commissioners? Such positive assertions, apparently contrary to fact,
are unworthy the character of an historian, and may, very justly, render
his decision, with respect to evidences of a higher nature, very
dubious. In answer, then, to Mr. Hume: As the queen's accusers did not
choose to produce this material witness, Paris, whom they had alive and
in their hands, nor any declaration or confession, from him, at the
critical and proper time for having it canvassed by the queen, I
apprehend our author's conclusion may fairly be used against himself;
that it is in vain, at present, to support the improbabilities and
absurdities in a confession, taken in a clandestine way, nobody knows
how, and produced, after Paris's death, by nobody knows whom, and, from
every appearance, destitute of every formality, requisite and common to
such sort of evidence: for these reasons, I am under no sort of
hesitation to give sentence against Nicholas Hubert's confession, as a
gross imposture and forgery. "

The state of the evidence relating to the letters is this:

Morton affirms, that they were taken in the hands of Dalgleish. Hie
examination of Dalgleish is still extant, and he appears never to have
been once interrogated concerning the letters.

Morton and Murray affirm, that they were written by the queen's hand;
they were carefully concealed from Mary and her commissioners, and were
never collated by one man, who could desire to disprove them.

Several of the incidents mentioned in the letters are confirmed by the
oath of Crawfurd, one of Lennox's defendants, and some of the incidents
are so minute, as that they could scarcely be thought on by a forger.
Crawfurd's testimony is not without suspicion. Whoever practises
forgery, endeavours to make truth the vehicle of falsehood.

Of a prince's life very minute incidents are known; and if any are too
slight to be remarked, they may be safely feigned, for they are,
likewise, too slight to be contradicted. But there are still more
reasons for doubting the genuineness of these letters. They had no date
of time or place, no seal, no direction, no superscription.

The only evidences that could prove their authenticity were Dalgleish
and Paris; of which Dalgleish, at his trial, was never questioned about
them; Paris was never publickly tried, though he was kept alive through
the time of the conference.

The servants of Bothwell, who were put to death for the king's murder,
cleared Mary with their last words.

The letters were first declared to be subscribed, and were then produced
without subscription.

They were shown, during the conferences at York, privately, to the
English commissioners, but were concealed from the commissioners of
Mary.

Mary always solicited the perusal of these letters, and was always
denied it.

She demanded to be heard, in person, by Elizabeth, before the nobles of
England and the ambassadours of other princes, and was refused.

When Mary persisted in demanding copies of the letters, her
commissioners were dismissed with their box to Scotland, and the letters
were seen no more.

The French letters, which, for almost two centuries, have been
considered as originals, by the enemies of Mary's memory, are now
discovered to be forgeries, and acknowledged to be translations, and,
perhaps, French translations of a Latin translation. And the modern
accusers of Mary are forced to infer, from these letters, which now
exist, that other letters existed formerly, which have been lost, in
spite of curiosity, malice, and interest.

The rest of this treatise is employed in an endeavour to prove, that
Mary's accusers were the murderers of Darnly: through this inquiry it is
hot necessary to follow him; only let it be observed, that, if these
letters were forged by them, they may easily be thought capable of other
crimes. That the letters were forged, is now made so probable, that,
perhaps, they will never more be cited as testimonies.




MARMOR NORFOLCIENSE:

Or, an essay on an ancient prophetical inscription, in monkish rhyme,
lately discovered near Lynn, in Norfolk. By Probus Britannicus [17].


In Norfolk, near the town of Lynn, in a field, which an ancient
tradition of the country affirms to have been once a deep lake, or meer,
and which appears, from authentick records, to have been called, about
two hundred years ago, _Palus_, or the marsh, was discovered, not long
since, a large square stone, which is found, upon an exact inspection,
to be a kind of coarse marble of a substance not firm enough to admit of
being polished, yet harder than our common quarries afford, and not
easily susceptible of injuries from weather or outward accidents.

It was brought to light by a farmer, who, observing his plough
obstructed by something, through which the share could not make its way,
ordered his servants to remove it. This was not effected without some
difficulty, the stone being three feet four inches deep, and four feet
square in the superficies; and, consequently, of a weight not easily
manageable. However, by the application of levers, it was, at length,
raised, and conveyed to a corner of the field, where it lay, for some
months, entirely unregarded; nor, perhaps, had we ever been made
acquainted with this venerable relick of antiquity, had not our good
fortune been greater than our curiosity.

A gentleman, well known to the learned world, and distinguished by the
patronage of the Maecenas of Norfolk, whose name, was I permitted to
mention it, would excite the attention of my reader, and add no small
authority to my conjectures, observing, as he was walking that way, that
the clouds began to gather, and threaten him with a shower, had
recourse, for shelter, to the trees under which this stone happened to
lie, and sat down upon it, in expectation of fair weather. At length he
began to amuse himself, in his confinement, by clearing the earth from
his seat with the point of his cane; and had continued this employment
some time, when he observed several traces of letters, antique and
irregular, which, by being very deeply engraven, were still easily
distinguishable.

This discovery so far raised his curiosity, that, going home
immediately, he procured an instrument proper for cutting out the clay,
that filled up the spaces of the letters; and, with very little labour,
made the inscription legible, which is here exhibited to the publick:

POST-GENITIS.

Cum lapidem hunc, magni
Qui nunc jacet incola stagni,
Vel pede equus tanget,
Vel arator vomere franget,
Sentiet aegra metus,
Effundet patria fletus,
Littoraque ut fluctu,
Resonabunt oppida luctu:
Nam foecunda rubri
Serpent per prata colubri,
Gramina vastantes,
Flores fructusque vorantes.
Omnia foedantes,
Vitiantes, et spoliantes;
Quanquam haud pugnaces,
Ibunt per cuncta minaces,
Fures absque timore,
Et pingues absque labore.
Horrida dementes
Rapiet discordia gentes;
Plurima tunc leges
Mutabit, plurima reges
Natio; conversa
In rabiem tunc contremet ursa

MARMOR NORFOLCIENSE

Cynthia, tunc latis
Florebunt lilia pratis;
Nec fremere audebit
Leo, sed violare timebit,
Omnia consuetus
Populari pascua lætus.
Ante oculos natos
Calceatos et cruciatos
Jam feret ignavus,
Vetitaque libidine pravus.
En quoque quod mirum,
Quod dicas denique dirum,
Sanguinem equus sugit,
Neque bellua victa remugit!

These lines he carefully copied, accompanied, in his letter of July 19,
with the following translation.

TO POSTERITY.

Whene'er this stone, now hid beneath the lake,
The horse shall trample, or the plough shall break,
Then, O my country! shalt thou groan distrest,
Grief swell thine eyes, and terrour chill thy breast.
Thy streets with violence of woe shall sound,
Loud as the billows bursting on the ground.
Then through thy fields shall scarlet reptiles stray,
And rapine and pollution mark their way.
Their hungry swarms the peaceful vale shall fright,
Still fierce to threaten, still afraid to fight;
The teeming year's whole product shall devour,
Insatiate pluck the fruit, and crop the flow'r;
Shall glutton on the industrious peasants' spoil,
Rob without fear, and fatten without toil;
Then o'er the world shall discord stretch her wings;
Kings change their laws, and kingdoms change their kings.
The bear, enrag'd, th' affrighted moon shall dread;
The lilies o'er the vales triumphant spread;
Nor shall the lion, wont of old to reign
Despotick o'er the desolated plain,
Henceforth th' inviolable bloom invade,
Or dare to murmur in the flow'ry glade;
His tortur'd sons shall die before his face,
While he lies melting in a lewd embrace;
And, yet more strange! his veins a horse shall drain,
Nor shall the passive coward once complain.

I make not the least doubt, but that this learned person has given us,
as an antiquary, a true and uncontrovertible representation of the
writer's meaning; and, am sure, he can confirm it by innumerable
quotations from the authors of the middle age, should he be publickly
called upon by any man of eminent rank in the republick of letters; nor
will he deny the world that satisfaction, provided the animadverter
proceeds with that sobriety and modesty, with which it becomes every
learned man to treat a subject of such importance.

Yet, with all proper deference to a name so justly celebrated, I will
take the freedom of observing, that he has succeeded better as a scholar
than a poet; having fallen below the strength, the conciseness, and, at
the same time, below the perspicuity of his author. I shall not point
out the particular passages in which this disparity is remarkable, but
content myself with saying, in general, that the criticisms, which there
is room for on this translation, may be almost an incitement to some
lawyer, studious of antiquity, to learn Latin.

The inscription, which I now proceed to consider, wants no arguments to
prove its antiquity to those among the learned, who are versed in the
writers of the darker ages, and know that the Latin poetry of those
times was of a peculiar cast and air, not easy to be understood, and
very difficult to be imitated; nor can it be conceived, that any man
would lay out his abilities on a way of writing, which, though attained
with much study, could gain him no reputation; and engrave his chimeras
on a stone, to astonish posterity.

Its antiquity, therefore, is out of dispute; but how high a degree of
antiquity is to be assigned it, there is more ground for inquiry than
determination. How early Latin rhymes made their appearance in the
world, is yet undecided by the criticks. Verses of this kind were called
leonine; but whence they derived that appellation, the learned Camden
[18] confesses himself ignorant; so that the style carries no certain
marks of its age. I shall only observe farther, on this head, that the
characters are nearly of the same form with those on king Arthur's
coffin; but whether, from their similitude, we may venture to pronounce
them of the same date, I must refer to the decision of better judges.

Our inability to fix the age of this inscription, necessarily infers our
ignorance of its author, with relation to whom, many controversies may
be started, worthy of the most profound learning, and most indefatigable
diligence.

The first question that naturally arises is: Whether he was a Briton or
a Saxon? I had, at first, conceived some hope that, in this question, in
which not only the idle curiosity of virtuosos, but the honour of two
mighty nations, is concerned, some information might be drawn from the
word _patria_, my country, in the third line; England being not, in
propriety of speech, the country of the Saxons; at least, not at their
first arrival. But, upon farther reflection, this argument appeared not
conclusive, since we find that, in all ages, foreigners have affected to
call England their country, even when, like the Saxons of old, they came
only to plunder it.

An argument in favour of the Britons may, indeed, be drawn from the
tenderness, with which the author seems to lament his country, and the
compassion he shows for its approaching calamities. I, who am a
descendant from the Saxons, and, therefore, unwilling to say any thing
derogatory from the reputation of my forefathers, must yet allow this
argument its full force; for it has been rarely, very rarely, known,
that foreigners, however well treated, caressed, enriched, flattered, or
exalted, have regarded this country with the least gratitude or
affection, till the race has, by long continuance, after many
generations, been naturalized and assimilated.

They have been ready, upon all occasions, to prefer the petty interests
of their own country, though, perhaps, only some desolate and worthless
corner of the world. They have employed the wealth of England, in paying
troops to defend mud-wall towns, and uninhabitable rocks, and in
purchasing barriers for territories, of which the natural sterility
secured them from invasion.

This argument, which wants no particular instances to confirm it, is, I
confess, of the greatest weight in this question, and inclines me
strongly to believe, that the benevolent author of this prediction must
have been born a Briton.

The learned discoverer of the inscription was pleased to insist, with
great warmth, upon the etymology of the word _patria_, which signifying,
says he, _the land of my father_, could be made use of by none, but such
whose ancestors had resided here; but, in answer to this demonstration,
as he called it, I only desired him to take notice, how common it is for
intruders of yesterday to pretend the same title with the ancient
proprietors, and, having just received an estate, by voluntary grant, to
erect a claim of _hereditary right_.

Nor is it less difficult to form any satisfactory conjecture, concerning
the rank or condition of the writer, who, contented with a consciousness
of having done his duty, in leaving this solemn warning to his country,
seems studiously to have avoided that veneration, to which his knowledge
of futurity, undoubtedly, entitled him, and those honours, which his
memory might justly claim from the gratitude of posterity; and has,
therefore, left no trace, by which the most sagacious and diligent
inquirer can hope to discover him.

This conduct, alone, ought to convince us, that the prediction is of no
small importance to mankind, since the author of it appears not to have
been influenced by any other motive, than that noble and exalted
philanthropy, which is above the narrow views of recompense or applause.

That interest had no share in this inscription, is evident beyond
dispute, since the age in which he lived received neither pleasure nor
instruction from it.