threw himself into my arms: and yet it would then have appeared cruel to refuse him. I am excusable for not expecting to meet with such a prodigy of pride and ferocity, because such a one never before existed. But after he had declared war against me in so violent a manner, it could not have been prudent in me to keep silence towards my friends, and to wait till he should find a proper time to stab my reputation. From my

friends, the affair passed to the public, who interested themselves more in a private story than it was possible to imagine, and rendered it quite necessary to lay the whole before them. Yet, after all, if any one be pleased to think, that by greater prudence I could have avoided this disagreeable extremity, I am very willing to submit it is not surely the first imprudence I have been guilty of.

I agree with you, that Rousseau will probably reply, and yet it is very difficult to imagine what he can possibly say, after having already entered into so long and minute and tedious a detail. It will be ridiculous in him to bring out any new facts of consequence, which he may pretend to have omitted; after he has already mentioned the looks of my landladies and my own, as grounds of complaint. But whatever he may say, I am resolute to keep an absolute silence for the rest of my life; and allow every one to entertain what opinion they please with regard to this story. I fancy the only dispute in the world will be whether Rousseau is more wicked or mad, or whether he be not both in nearly equal propor

tions. You say that he has enthusiasts, who still pretend to excuse him. Do they pretend then that D'Alembert, Horace Walpole, and I entered into a conspiracy against him to lead him into England, and ruin him by settling him in a most commodious and agreeable manner, and by doubling his income? For if this be not asserted, how can his outrageous behaviour towards me admit of any apology.

Could I look on Rousseau as one of the classics of your language, I should imagine that this story, silly as it is, might go to posterity, and interest them as much as it has done our contemporaries but really his writings are so full of extravagance, that I cannot believe that their eloquence alone will be able to support them. He has a suspicion himself that this is the case: I shall tell you the story, because I think it to his credit; for otherwise I would not repeat any thing that passed between us during the time of our familiarity. When we were on the road, he told me that he was resolved to improve himself in English; and as he heard that there were two English translations of his Emile, he would proeure them, he said, and read them and compare them his knowledge of the subject would facilitate his advances in the language. Immediately on my arrival I procured the books for him. He kept them two or three days and then returned them, by telling me they could be of no use to him. He had not patience, he said, to read them; he was in the same case with regard to the original, and all his other writings, which,

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after their publication, he could never take into his hand without disgust. It is strange, I replied, that pieces so much admired for their eloquence could give no satisfaction to their author. Why, said he, with regard to their style and eloquence I am not altogether dissatisfied with them; but I dread always qu'ils pèchent par le fond; and that their lustre is only the blaze of a day.

I am sensible of your great partiality and friendship, in offering to become my translator for any work, which I may hereafter give to the public: surely I could not desire to be introduced to foreign countries in a more advantageous manner than I should be by your elegant pen. But my écritoire is at present exhausted, and I have no prospect of filling it: I am even unsettled as to my views of establishing myself; and I indulge myself in the humour of living from day to day, partly in reading, partly in company, partly in indolence. I am afraid that you indulge yourself too much in this last enjoyment: otherwise, why do you, who have taste and knowledge in so eminent a degree, desire to translate the work of any other person, and not rather give some original performance to the public? You say, perhaps, that the constraint under which you labour in France discourages you: and you envy the liberty of England. But be assured, that the indifference, and I may say, barbarism of England, is more discouraging than all the persecutions of France, which sometimes tend only to give a lustre to an author, and to render him more interesting.

I beg my compliments to all my friends of your

society; they may be assured that I shall never give up the thoughts of revisiting them, but with my life.

I am with the greatest sincerity, my dear sir, your most obedient and most humble servant, DAVID HUME.

DAVID HUME TO THE COUNTESS DE
BOUFFLERS.

London, 23d December, 1768.

I AM Somewhat ashamed, dear madam, but still more sorry, to be obliged to address you by letter, instead of enjoying your conversation, as I flattered myself all last autumn. My intended journey was every day delayed, for different reasons, which appeared, each of them, at the time, solid and invincible; but it would be difficult for me to explain the amount of the whole. The truth

is, I have, and ever had a prodigious reluctance to change my place of abode; and though this disposition was more than counterbalanced by my strong desire of enjoying your society, it made me perhaps yield more easily to the obstacles which opposed my journey. For this reason I shall say nothing of my future intentions, lest I expose myself to the same reproach of irresolution, in case I do not fulfil them. But I own I have, during a long time, felt the strongest inclination of hearing from you; and knowing your situation with regard to health and domestic satisfaction. The count, I hear, was to be mar

ried some weeks ago: I am told, that all your friends are extremely pleased with the alliance; and that the young couple were to come home and live with you,- —a project likely to turn out much to their advantage, and your satisfaction. I flatter myself that this arrangement will tend very much to give you more liberty in the disposal of your time-the circumstance which seemed to me chiefly wanting to your enjoyment of life : some constraint must still remain; but I hope that, besides being alleviated by your friendship for the object, it will now also admit of intervals and relaxation. It will be difficult for you ever to be so happy as I wish you; and I am more difficult to please than you yourself would be with regard to every circumstance of your situation.

I think it my duty to inform you concerning all your friends in this country. The Bedford family seem to be comforted, entirely, from the shock they received on poor Lord Tavistock's death: some even reproached the duke with being too easily comforted; but it proceeded from the ardency of his temper, which always takes itself to the present object without reserve. He begins to apprehend that he is losing his eyes again, and that he has endured a very cruel operation to no purpose.

Lord and Lady Holdernesse live elegantly and sociably, as usual: my lord is only not quite contented in being left out of the present plan of administration, and not to have any occupation. Lady Emily is their great consolation, and is a fine girl, but will not prove so handsome as we expected.

I believe the Duchess of Grafton was your ac