till he insensibly produced that smal. volume which has been published.

After this volume was in everybody's hands, and universally admired, we heard every day new reasons, which put the authenticity, not the great antiquity which the translator ascribes to them, beyond all question, for their antiquity is a point, which must be ascertained by reasoning; though the arguments he employs seem very probable and convincing. But certain it is, that these poems are in everybody's mouth in the Highlands, have been handed down from father to son, and are of an age beyond all memory and tradition.

In the family of every Highland chieftain, there was anciently retained a bard, whose office was the same with that of the Greek rhapsodists; and the general subject of the poems which they recited was the wars of Fingal; an epoch no less remarkable among them, than the wars of Troy among the Greek poets. This custom is not even yet altogether abolished: the bard and piper are esteemed the most honourable offices in a chieftain's family, and these two characters are frequently united in the same person. Adam Smith, the celebrated Professor in Glasgow, told me that the piper of the Argyleshire Militia repeated to him all those poems which Mr. Macpherson has translated, and many more of equal beauty. Major Mackay, Lord Reay's brother, also told me that he remembers them perfectly; as likewise did the Laird of Macfarlane, the greatest antiquarian whom we have in this country, and who insists so strongly on the historical truth, as well as on the poetical beauty of these productions. I could add the Laird and Lady Macleod to these authorities, with many more, if these were not sufficient, as they live in different parts of the Highlands, very remote from each other, and they could only be acquainted with poems that had become in a manner national works, and had gradually spread themselves into every mouth, and imprinted themselves on every memory. Every body in Edinburgh is so convinced of this truth, that we have endeavoured to put Mr. Macpherson on a way of procuring us more of these wild flowers. He is a modest, sensible, young man, not settled in any living, but employed as a private tutor in Mr. Grahame of Belgowan's family, a way of life which he is not fond of. We have, therefore, set about a subscription of a guinea or two guineas a-piece, in order to enable him to quit that family,

and undertake a mission into the Highlands, where he hopes to recover more of these fragments.

There is, in particular, a country surgeon somewhere in Lochabar, who, he says, can recite a great number of them, but never committed them to writing; as indeed the orthography of the Highland language is not fixed, and the natives have always employed more the sword than the pen. This surgeon has by heart the Epic poem mentioned by Mr. Macpherson in his Preface; and as he is somewhat old, and is the only person living that has it entire, we are in the more haste to recover a monument, which will certainly be regarded as a curiosity in the republic of letters.

I own that my first and chief objection to the authenticity of these fragments was not on account of the noble and even tender strokes which they contain; for these are the offspring of genius and passion in all countries; I was only surprised at the regular plan which appears in some of these pieces, and which seems to be the work of a more cultivated age. None of the specimens of barbarous poetry known to us, the Hebrew, Arabian, or any other, contain this species of beauty; and if a regular epic poem, or even any thing of that kind, nearly regular, should also come from that rough climate or uncivilized people, it would appear to me a phenomenon altogether unaccountable.

I remember Mr. Macpherson told me, that the heroes of this Highland epic were not only, like Homer's heroes, their own butchers, bakers, and cooks, but also their own shoemakers, carpenters, and smiths. He mentioned an incident which put this matter in a remarkable light. A warrior had the head of his spear struck off in battle; upon which he immediately retires bohind the army, where a large forge was erected, makes a new one, hurries back to the action, pierces his enemy while the iron, which was yet red-hot, hisses in the wound. This imagery you will allow to be singular, and so well imagined that it would have been adopted by Homer, had the manners of the Greeks allowen him to have employed it.

I forgot to mention, as another proof of the authenticity of these poems, and even of the reality of the adventures contained in them, that the names of the heroes, Fingal, Oscar, Osur, Oscan, Dermid, are still given in the Highlands to large mastiffs, in the ɛame manner as we affix to them the names of Cæsar, Pompey,

Hector, or the French that of Marlborough. It gives me pleasure to find that a person of so fine a taste as Mr. Gray approves of these fragments; as it may convince us that our fondness of them is not altogether founded on national prepossessions, which, however, you know to be a little strong. The translation is elegant, but I made an objection to the author, which I wish you would communicate to Mr. Gray, that we may judge of the justness of it. There appeared to me many verses in his prose, and all of them in the same measure with Mr. Shenstone's famous ballad,

Ye shepherds, so cheerful and gay,

Whose flocks never carelessly roam, &c.

Pray, ask Mr. Gray whether he made the same remark, &c., and whether he thinks it a blemish.

Yours most sincerely, &c.

CLII.

The feud between Jean Jacques Rousseau and David Hume, the historian, is a curious passage of literary history.

6

During his stay in this country Rousseau found a delightful home at Wotton, the residence of a Mr. Davenport. David Hume had procured this home for the apostle of affliction,' and was acknowledged to be his 'cher patron;' more than this, he had been instrumental in obtaining from George III. a pension for his friend. Out of some correspondence connected with this grant of money, but chiefly owing to a letter reflecting on Rousseau's moral ailments, written by Horace Walpole under the signature of the King of Prussia, arose a dispute which severed this fretful foreigner's connection with Hume and with England. Without a shadow of evidence Rousseau charged his benefactor with enticing him to England for the sole purpose of reducing him to derision and captivity, and insisted that the most considerable personages in the realm were privy to the plot. Mr. Hume, it will be seen, did not choose to treat his ungrateful assailant as an unfortunate monomaniac, but as an intensely vain and quarrelsome person.

David Hume to Jean Jacques Rousseau.

June 26, 1766.

As I am conscious of having ever acted towards you the most friendly part, of having always given you the most tender and the most active proofs of sincere affection, you may judge of my extreme

surprise on perusing your epistle. Such violent accusations, confined altogether to generalities, it is as impossible to answer as it is impossible to comprehend them. But affairs cannot, must not, remain on that footing. I shall charitably suppose that some infamous calumniator has belied me to you. But, in that case, it is your duty, and, I am persuaded, it will be your inclination, to give me an opportunity of detecting him, and of justifying myself, which can only be done by your mentioning the particulars of which I am accused. You say that I myself know that I have been false to you; but I say it loudly, and will say it to the whole world, that I know the contrary; that I know my friendship towards you has been unbounded and uninterrupted; and that though I have given you instances of it, which have been universally remarked both in France and England, the public as yet are acquainted only with the smallest part of it. I demand that you name to me the man who dares assert the contrary; and, above all, I demand that he shall mention any one particular in which I have been wanting to you. You owe this to me, you owe it to yourself, you owe it to truth, and honour, and justice, and to every thing deemed sacred among men. As an innocent manfor I will not say as your friend, I will not say as your benefactor— but I repeat it, as an innocent man I claim the privilege of prov ing my innocence and of refuting any scandalous falsehood which may have been invented against me. Mr. Davenport, to whom I have sent a copy of your letter, and who will read this before he delivers it, will, I am confident, second my demand and tell you that nothing can be more equitable. Happily I have preserved the letter you wrote me after your arrival at Wotton; and you there express, in the strongest terms, in terms indeed too strong, your satisfaction in my poor endeavours to serve you. The little epistolary intercourse which afterwards passed between us has been all employed on my side to the most friendly purposes. Tell me, then, what has since given you offence? Tell me of what am accused. Tell me the man who accuses me. Even after you have fulfilled all these conditions to my satisfaction, and to that of Mr. Davenport, you will still have great difficulty to justify your employing such outrageous terms towards a man with whom you have been so intimately connected, and who was entitled, on many accounts, to have been treated by you with more regard and

decency. Mr. Davenport knows the whole transaction about your pension, because I thought it necessary that the person who had undertaken your settlement should be fully acquainted with your circumstances, lest he should be tempted to perform towards you concealed acts of generosity, which, if they accidentally came to your knowledge, might give you some grounds of offence.

I am, Sir, &c.

CLIII.

David Hume to Dr. Blair.

July 15, 1766.

Dear Doctor,-I go in a few hours to Woburn; so can only give you the outline of my history. Through many difficulties I obtained a pension for Rousseau. The application was made with his own consent and knowledge. I write him that all is happily completed, and he need only draw for the money. He answers me that I am a rogue and a rascal; and have brought him into England merely to dishonour him. I demand the reason of this strange language, and Mr. Davenport, the gentleman with whom he lives, tells him that he must necessarily satisfy me. To-day I received a letter from him, which is perfect frenzy. It would make a good eighteen-penny pamphlet; and I fancy he intends to publish it. He there tells me, that D'Alembert, Horace Walpole, and I, had from the first entered into a combination to ruin him, and had ruined him. That the first suspicion of my treachery arose in him while we lay together in the same room of an inn in France. I there spoke in my sleep, and betrayed my intention of ruining him. That young Tronchin lodged in the same house with me at London; and Annie Elliot looked very coldly at him as he went by her in the passage. That I am also in a close confederacy with Lord Lyttelton, who, he hears, is his mortal enemy. That the English nation were very fond of him on his first arrival; but that Horace Walpole and I had totally alienated them from him. He owns, however, that his belief of my treachery went no higher than suspicion while he was in London; but it rose to certainty after he arrived in the country; for that there were several publications in the papers against him, which could have proceeded from nobody but me or my confederate, Horace Walpole. The