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unintelligible. He came into the world when the school of Dryden and Pope gave the law to English poetry. In thai school he had himself learned to be a lofty and vigorous declaimer in harmonious verse; beyond that school his unforced admiration perhaps scarcely soared; and his highest effort of criticism was accordingly the noble panegyric on Dryden. His criticism owed its popularily as much 10 its defects as to its excellences. It was on a level with the majority of readers—persons ol good sense and inl'ormaiiun, but of no exquisite sensibility; and to their minds it derived a lalse appearance ol solidity, fr<>m thai very narrowness, which excluded those grander étions of imagination to which Aristotle and Bacon have confined the name of poetry."

The admirable and original delineation, of which this is but a small part, appears to have been the task of one disturbed and sickly day. We have in these volumes characters of Hume. Swift, Lord Mansfield, Wilkes, Goldsmith, Gray. Franklin. Sheridan, Fletcher of Saltoun, Louis XIV.. and some others, all finished with the same exquisite taste, and conceived in the same vigorous and candid spirit; besides which, it appears from the Journal, that in the same incredibly short period of fourteen or fifteen days, he had made similar delineations of Lord North, Paley. Geurge Grenville, C. Townshend, Turgot, Malesherbes. Young, Thomson, Aikenside. Lord Bolmgbroke, and Lord Oxford; though (\ve know not from what cause) none of these last mentioned appear in the present publication.

During the same voyage, the perusal of Madame de Sevigné's Letters engages him (at intervals) for about a fortnight; in the course of which he has noted down in his Journal more just and delicate remarks on her character, and that of her age, than we think are any where else to be met with. But we cannot now venture on any extract ; and must confine ourselves to the following admirable remarks on the true tone of polite conversation and familiar letters,—suggested by the same fascinating collection:—

"When я woman of fueling, fancy, and accomplishment has learned to converse wilh ease and grace, from long intercourse wilh the most polished society, and when she writes as she speaks, she must write letters as they ought to be written; if she has acquired just as much habitual correctness as is reconcilable with the air of negligence. A moment of enthusiasm, a burst of feeling, a flash of eloquence may be allowed; but the intercourse of society, either in conversation or in letters, allows no more. Though interdicted from the long-continued use of elevated language, they are not without a resource. There is a part of language which is disdained by the pedant or the declaimer, and which both, if they knew its difficulty, would approach wilh dread; it is formed of the most familiar phrases and turns in daily use by the generality of men, and is full of energy and vivacity, bearing upon ii the mark oí those keen feelings and strong passions from which it springs. It is the employment of such phrases which produces what may be called colloquial eloquence. Conversation and letters may be thus raised to any degree of animation, without departing from their character. Any thing may be said, if it be spoken in the tone of society. The highest guests are welcome if they come in the easy undress of the club; the strongest metaphor appears without violence, if it is familiarly expressed ; and we the more easily catch the warmest feeling, if we perceive that it is intentionally

lowered in expression, out of condescension to dot calmer temper. It is thus that harangues and dec tarnations, ihe last proof of bad taste and bad шьп ners in conversation, are avoided, while the fai:cj and the heart find the means of pouring iunh ali their stores. To meet this despised pan oí language in a polished dress, and producing all the L-tfects ut wit and eloquence, is a constant source of agreeable surprise. This is increased, when a few bolder and higher words are happily wrought into the texture of this familiar eloquence. To rind what set ins so unlike author-craft in a book, raises the pleasing astonishment to its highest degree. 1 once thought of illustrating my notions by numerous, cxamp.es from ' La Sevigné.' And I must, some day or other, do so; though I think it the resource ul я bungler, who is not enough master ol language ;u convey his conceptions into the minds ot others. The style of Madame de Sevignc is evidently copied, not only by her worshipper, Walpole, but even ;.y Gray; who, notwiihstanding the extra' irdinary merits ol his matter, has the double stiffness ut an imitator, and of a college recluse."

How many debatable points are fairly settled by the following short and vigorous remarks, in the Journal for 1811:—

"Finished George Rose's 'Observai ions on Fox's Jlis'ory,' which are tedious and inefficient. That James was more influenced by a passion iof arbitrary power than by Popish bigotry, is an icle refinement in Fox: lie liked both Popery aid tyranny; and I am persuaded he did not himwlf know which he liked best. But I take it to be certain that the English people, at the Revolution, dreaded his love ol Popery more than his luvt- v\ tyranny. This was in them Protestant bigotry. not reason: But the instinct of their bigotry pointed right. Popery was then the name for the faction which supported civil and religious tyranny in Europe: To be a Papist was to be a partisan of the ambition of Louis XIV."

There is in the Bombay Journal of the same year, a beautiful essay on Novels, and the moral effect of fiction in general, the whole of which we should like to extract; but it и far too long. It proceeds on the assumptiun. that as all fiction must seek to interest I'V representing admired qualities in an exaggerated form, and in striking aspects, it most tend to raise the standard, and increase the admiration of excellence. In answer to an obvious objection, he proceeds—

"A man who should feel all the various sentiments of morality, in the proportions in which they are inspired by the Iliad, would certainly bt lar from a perfectly good man. But it does not follow that the Iliad did not produce great mural bent-til. To determine that point, we must ascertain whf thrr a man, formed by the Iliad, would be belter tna.i the ordinary man of the country, at tie time m which it appeared. It is true that it too inuch шspires an admiration for ferocious courage. Thai admiration was then prevalent, and every circum stance served to strengthen it. But the Iliad breathes many other sentiments, less prevalent less favoured by the state of society, and calculai gradually to mitigate the predominant passion. 1 he friendship and sorrow of Achilles for Patr.x-iua. ib« patriotic valour of Hector, the paternal slrlifion oí Priam, would slowly introduce more humane afiiclions. Il they had not been combined with ihr sd miration of barbarous courage, they would not hare been popular; and consequently they would han found no entry into those savage hearts which they were destined (I do not say intended] to «olten. It is therefore clear, from the very nature of poetry, that the poet must inspire somewhat better morale than those around him; though, to be efff ¿toal ltd useful, his morals must not be totally unlike those of his contemporaries. Ifihe Hind should, in a long course of ages, have inflamed the ambition and ierocity of a lew individuals, even that evil, great as it is, will be far from balancing all (he generous sentiments, which, for three thousand years, it has been pour'ng into the hearts of youth; and which it now continues to infuse, aided by the dignity of antiquity, and by all the fire and splendour of poetry. Every succeeding generation, as it refines, requires the Btnndard to be proportionally raised.

"Apply these remarks, with the necessary modifications, to those fictions copied from common life called Novels, which are not above a century old, und of which the multiplication and the importance, as well literary as moral, are characteristic features nf England. There may be persons now alive who recollect the publication of' Гот Jones,' at least, if not of ' Clarissa.' Since that lime, probably twelve novels have appeared of the first rank—a prodigious number, of sm-h a kind, in any department of literature (by the help of Sir Walter Scott and Miss Edgeworth we may now at least double the number)—and the whole Ha-? of novels must have had more influence on the puMic, than all other snrts of books combined. No'hniii popular can be frivolnus. Whatever influences imiliitudes. must lie of proportionable importance. Bacon nnd Turaot would have contemplated with inquisitive ndntiratioii this literary revolution."

And soon after, while admitting that Tom Jones (for example) is so far from being a moral book as to be deserving of the severest reprobation, he aclils—

"Yet even in this extreme case. I must observe trnt the same honk inspires the greatest abhorrence of the diipücity of Blifil. nf the hypocrisy of Thwackum and Square; that Jones himself is interesting by hie frankness, spirit, kindness, and fidelity—all virtues of the first clnss. The objection is the same in it« principle with that to the Iliad. The ancient epic exclusively presents war—the modern novel love; the one what was most interesting in public life, and the other what is most brilliant in private —and both with an unfortunate disregard of moral restraint."

The entry under 6th March, 1817. has to the writer of this article, a melancholy interest, even at this distance of time. U refers

to the motion recently made in the House of Commons for a new writ, on the death of Mr. Horner. The reflections with which it closes must, we think, be interesting always.

"March fith.—The only event which now appears interesting to me, is the scene in the House of Commons on Monday. Lord Morpeth opened ii in asp* crh so perfect, that it rnighi have been well placed as a passage in the most elegant English writer; it wns full of feeling; every topic was skilfully presented, and contained, by a sort of prudence which is a part of taste, within safe limits; he slid over the thinnest ice without cracking it.— Canning filled well what would have been the vacant plnre of a calm observer of Homer's public life and talents. Manners Simon's most affecting speech was a tribute of affection from a private friend become a political enemy; Lord Lascelles, at the head of the country gentleman of England, closing this afToc'ing, improving, and most memorable scene by declaring, 'that if the sense nf the House rould have been token on this occasion, it would liave been unanimous.' I may say without exaggeration, that never were so many words uttered without the least suspicion of exaggeration; and that never was so much honour paid in nny age or nation to intrinsic claims alone. A Howard introduced, ind an English House of Commons adopted, the propontio!), of thus honouring the memory of a

man of thirty-eight, the son of a shopkeeper, who never filled an office, or had the power ol obliging a living creature, and whose grand title lo this distinction was the belief of his virtue. Huw honourable to the age and lo the House! A country where such sentiments prevail is not ripe for destruction."

Sir James could not but feel, in the narrow circles of Bombay, the great superiority of London society; and he has thus recorded his sense of it :—

"In great capitals, men of different provinces, professions, and pursuits are brought togeth» r in society, and are obliged to acquire a habit, a matter, and manner mutually perspicuous nnd agreeable. Hence they are raised above frivolity, and are divested of pedantry. In small societies this bnbit is not imposed by necessity; they have lower, but more urgent subjects, which are interesting to all, level to all capacities, and require no eftort or preparation of mina."

He might have added, that in a great capital the best of all sorts is to be met wilh; and that the adherents even of the most extreme or fantastic opinions are there so numerous, and generally so respectably hcatlcd, as to command a deference and regard that would scarcely be shown to them when appearing as insulated individuals; and ihus il happens [hat real toleration, and true modesty, as well as their polite simulars, are rarely to be met with out of great cities. This, however, is true only of those who mix largely in the general society of such places. For bigots and exclusives of all sorts, they are hot-beds and seats of corruption; since, however absurd or revolting their tenets may be¡ such persons are sure to meet enough of their follows to encourage each other. In the prrfvinces, a believer in animal magnetism or German metaphysics has few listeners, and no encouragement; but in a place like London they make a little coterie; who herd together, exchange flatteries, and take themselves foi the apostles of a new gospel.

The editor has incorporated with his work some letters addressed to him by friends of his father, containing either anecdotes of his earlier life, or observations on his character and merils. It was natural for a person whose age precluded him from speaking on his own authority of any but recent transactions, lo seek for"this assistance; and the information contributed by Lord Abinger and Mr. Basil Montagu (the former especially) is very interesting. The other letters present us with little more than the opinion of the writers as to hia' character. If these should be thought too laudatory, there is another character which has lately fallen under our eye, which certainly is not liable to that objection. In the "Table-Talk" of the late Mr. Coleridge, \ve find these words:—'•'• I doubt if Mackintosh ever heartily appreciated an eminently original man. After all his fluency and brilliant erudition, you can rarely carry off any thing worth preserving. You might not improperly write upon his forehead, 'Warehouse to let !'''

We wish to speak tenderly of a man of genius, and we believe of amiable dispositions, who has been so recently removed from his friends and admirers. But so portentous a misjiulgment as this, and coming from such a quarter, cannot be passed without notice. If Sir James Mackintosh had any talent more conspicuous and indisputable than another, it vas that of appreciating the merits of eminent and original men. His great learning and singular soundness of judgment enabled him to do this truly; while his kindness of nature, his zeal for human happiness, and his perfect freedom from prejudice or vanitv, prompted him. above most other men, to do it heartily. And then, as to hie being a person from whose conversation little could be carried away, why the most characteristic and remarkable thing about it, was that the whole of it might be carried away—it was so lucid, precise, and brilliantly perspicuous! The joke of the '•'• warehouse to let " is not, we confess, quite level to our capacities. It can scarcely mean (though that is the most obvious sense) that the head was empty—as that is inconsistent with the rest even of this splenetic delineation. If it was intended to insinuate that it was ready for the indiscriminate reception of any thing which any one might choose to put into it, there could not be a more cross misconception; as we have no doubt Mr. Coleridge must often have sufficiently experienced. And by whom is this discovery, that Mackintosh's conversation presented nothing that could be carried away, thus confidently announced 1 Why, by the very individual against whose own oracular and interminable talk the same complaint has been made, by friends and by foes, and with an unanimity unprecedented, for the last forty years. The admiring, or rather idolizing nephew, who has lately put forth this hopeful specimen of his relics, has recorded in the preface, that "his conversation at all urnes Required attention: and that the demand on the intellect of the hearer was often very great; anil that, when he got into his 'huge circuit' and large illustrations, most people had lost him, a:id naturally enough supposed that Ik- had lost himself.?' Nay. speaking to this very point, of the ease or difficulty of "carrying away" any definite notions from •what he said, the partial kinsman is pleased to inform us. that, with all his familiarity wilh the inspired style of his relative, he himself has often ¡rone away, after listening to him for several delightful hours, with divers masses of reasoning in his head, but without being able to perceive what connection they had with each other. "In such cases." he adds, "I have mused,sometimes ei-en fnr days aftcrvards, upon the words, till at ienetn. spontaneously as it were, the fire would kindle,'' &c. &c. And this is the person who is pleased to denounce Sir James Mackintosh as an ordiraryman; and especially to object to his conversation, that, though brilliant and fluent, there was rarely any thing in it which could be carried away!

An attack so unjust and so arrogant leads naturally to comparisons, which it could be easy to follow out to the signal discomfiture of the party attacking. But without going beyond what is thus forced upon our notice,

we slurfl only say, that nothing could possibly set the work before us in so favourable a point of view, as a comparison between it and the volumes of -Table Talk," to which we have already made reference — unless. perhaps.it were the contrast of the two mind« which are respectively portrayed in these publications.

In these memorials of Sir James Mackintosh, we trace throughout the workings of a powerful and unclouded intellect, nourished by wholesome learning, raised and instructed by fearless though reverent questioning* u' the sages of other times (which is the permitted Necromancy of the wise), esercisei! by free discussion with the most distinguished among the living, and made acquainted wilt it? own strength and weakness, not only by a constant intercourse with other ро\тнт:1:: minds, but by mixing, with energy and deliberation, in practical business and affair?, and here pouring itself out in a delightful miscellany of elegant criticism, original speculation, and profound practical snggestJOi» on politics, religion, history, and all the greater and the lesser duties, the arts and the elegances of life—all expressed with a beautiful clearness and tempered dignity—breathu^ the purest spirit of good-will to mankind— and brightened not merely by an ardent hopr. bulan assured faith in their constant advancement in freedom, intelligence, and virtue.

On all these points, the "Table Talk " of his poetical contemporary appear« to n* to present a most mortifying contrast; and to render back merely the image of a moody mind, incapable of mastering its own imaginings, and constantly seduced by them, or tr a misdirected ambition, to attempt impracticable things: — naturally attracted by dim paradoxes rather than lucid truths, arid preferring, for the most paît, the obscure and neglected parts of learning to those that an? useful and clear—marching, in short, at a" times, under the exclusive guidance of the Pillar of Smoke—and, like the body of it« original followers, wandering all his days in the desert, without ever coming in sight of the promised land.

Consulting little at any time with any Airs but his ou n prejudices and fancies, Ьегеегс«. in his latter days, to have withdrawn altogether from the correction of equal mi::df. and to have nourished the assurance of h* own infallibility, by delivering mystical oracles from his cloudy shrine, all dav ¡ом'. !" • small set of disciples, to whom neither Motion nor intei niption was allowed. The resu't of this necessarily was, an excaerbation of all the morbid tendencies of the mind; a daih increasing ignorance of the course of opm;«1 • and affairs in the world, and a proportion confidence in his own dogmas and drearr.« which might have been shaken, at leas', л not entirely subverted, by a closer contact wilh the general mass of intelli^i'tice. I : fortunately this unhealthful training (per» liarly unhealthful for such a constitution) produced not merely a great eruption of ridiculous blunders and pitiable prejudices, bu' ecems at last to have brought on a confirmed and thoroughly diseased habit of uncharitableness, and misanthropie anticipations of corruption and misery throughout th« civilised world. The indiscreet revelations of the work to which we have alluded have now brought to light instances, not only of intemperate abuse of men of the highest intellect and most unquestioned purity, but such predictions of evil from what the rest of the world has been contented to receive as improvements, and such suggestions of intolerant and Tyrannical Remedies, as no man would believe could proceed from a cultivated intellect of the present age—if the early history of this particular intellect had not indicated an inherent aptitude for all extreme opinions, —and prepared us for the usual conversion of one extreme into another.

And it is worth while to mark here also, and in respect merely of consistency and ultimate authority with mankind, the advantage which a sober and well-regulated understanding will always have over one which claims to be above ordinances; and trusting either to an erroneous opinion of its own strength, or even to a true sense of it, gives itself up to its first strong impression, and sets at defiance all other reason and authority. Sir James Mackintosh had, in his youth, as much ambition and as much consciousness of power as Mr. Colt-ridge could have: But the utmost extent of his early aberrations (in his Vindicia: Galliccc) was an over estimate of the probabilities of good from a revolution of violence; and a much greater under-estimate of the mischiefs with which such experiments are sure to be attended, and the value of settled institutions and long familiar forms. Yet, though in his philanthropic enthusiasm he did miscalculate the relative value of these opposite forces (and speedily admitted and rectified the error), he never for an instant disputed the existence of both elements in the equation, or affected to throw a doubt upon any of the great principles on which civil society reposes. On the contrary, in his earliest as well as his latest writings, he pointed steadily to the great institutions of Property and Marriage, and to the necessary authority of Law and Religion, as essential to the being of a state, and the well-being of any human society. It followed, therefore, that when disappointed in his too sanguine expectations from the French Revolution, he had nothing to retract in the substance and scope of his opinions; and merely tempering their announcement, with the gravity and caution of maturer years, he gave them out again in his later days to the world, with the accumulated authority of a whole life of consistency and study. At no period of that life, did he fail to assert the right of the people to political and religious freedom; and to the protection of just and equal laws, enacted by representatives truly chosen by themselves: And he never uttered a syllable that could be construed into an approval, or even an acquiescence in persecution and intolerance; or in toe maintenance of authority for any other

purpose than to give effect to the enlightened and deliberate will of the community. To enforce these doctrines his whole life was devoted; arid though not permitted to complete either of the great works he had projected, he was enabled to finish detached portions of each, sufficient not orily fully to develope his principles, but to give a clear view of the whole design, and to put it in the рои er of any succeeding artist to proceed with the execution. Look now upon the other side of the parallel.

Mr. Coleridge, too, was an early and most ardent admirer of the French Revolution ; but the fruits of that admiration in him were, not a reasoned and statesmanlike apology for some of its faults and excesses, but a resolution to advance the regeneration of mankind at a still quicker rate, by setting beton; thei.eyes the pattern of a yet more exquisite form of society! And accordingly, when a fullgrown man. he actually gave into, if he did not originate, the scheme of what he and his friends called a Pantisocracy—a form of society in which there was to be neither law nor government, neither priest, judge, nor magistrate—in which all property was to be in common, and evary man left to act upon his own sense of duty and affection!

This fact is enough:—And whether he afterwards passed through the stages of a Jacobin, which he seems to deny—or a hotheaded Moravian, which he seems to admit,—is really of no consequence. The character of his understanding is settled with all reasonable men: As well as the authority that is due to the anli-refoim and anti-toleration maxims which he seems to have spent his latter years in venting. Till we saw this posthumous publication, we had, to be sure, no conception of the extent to which these compensating m¡ixims were carried ; and we now think that few of the Conservatives (who were not originally Pantisocratists) will venture to adopt them. Not only is the Reform Bill denounced as the spawn of mere wickedness, i ¡justice, and ignorance; and the reformed Hhum; of Commons as '•' low, vulgar, meddling, and sneering at every thing noble and refined," but the wise and the good, we are assured, will, in every country, "speedily become disgusted with the Representative form of government, brutalized as it is by the predominance of democracy, in England, France, and Belgium!'; And then the remedy is, that they «ill recur to a new, though, we confess, not very comprehensible form, of "Pure Monarchy, in which the reason of the people shall become efficient in the apparent Will of the King!'-' Moreover, he is for a total dissolution of the union with Ireland, and itserection into a separate and independent kingdom. He is against Negro emancipation—sees no use in reducing taxation—-ana designates Malthus' demontration of a mere matter of fact by a redundant accumulation of evidence, by the polite and appropriate appellation of "alie;" and represents it as more disgraceful and abominable than any thing that the \\rakness and wickedness of man have ever before given birth to

Such as his temperance anil candour are in politics, they are also in religion ; and recommended and excused by the same flagrant contradiction to his early tenets. Whether he ever was a proper Moravian or not we care not to inquire. It is admitted, and even stated somewhat boastingly in this book, that he was a bold Dissenter from the church. He thanks heaven, indeed, that he <:haj gone much farther than the Unitarians!" And to make hi? boldness still more engaging, he had cone these lengths, not only against the authority of our Doctors, but against the clear and admitted doctrine and teaching of the Apostles themselves' "' What care l.! I said, ' for the Platonisme of John, ortheKabbinismsof Paull. My cons ieiicc revolts?'That was the ground of my Unitarianism." And by and by, this infallible and oracular person does not hesitate lo declare, that others, inijeed, may do as they choose, but he, for his part, can never allow that Unitarians are Christians! and. giving no credit for "revolting conscierices:: to any one but himself, charges all Dissenters in the lump with hilling the Church much more than thev love religion—is furious airainst the repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts, and Catholic Emancipation,—and at last actually, and in good set term«, denies that any Dissenter has a right to toleration! and. in perfect consistency, maintains that it is the duty of the magistrate to stop heresy and schism by persecution—if he only has reason to think that in this way the evil may be arrested: adding, by way of example, that he would be ready "to ship off—any where," any missionaries who might attempt to disturb the undnubting Lutheran ism of certain exemplary Norwegians, whom he takes under his special protection.

We are tempted to say more. But we desist : and shall pursue this parallel no farther. Perhaps we have already been betrayed into feelinirs and expressions that may be objected to. We should be sorry if this could be done justly. But we do not question Mr. Coleridge's sincerity. We admit, too. that he was a man of much poetical sensibility, and had visions of intellectual sublimity, and trlimpses of comprehensive truths, which he could neither reduce into order nor combine into system. But out of poetry and metaphysics, we think he was nothing: and eminently disqualified, nob only by the defects, but by the best parts of his genius, as well as by his temper and habits, for forming any sound judgment on the business and affairs of our actual world. And yet it is for his preposterous judgments on stich subjects that his memory is now held in affected reverence bv those who laughed at him, all through his life, for what gave him his only true claim to admiration ! and who now magnify his genius, for no other purpose but to give them an opportunity to quote, as of grave authority, his mere delirations, on reform, dissent, and toleration—his cheering predictions of the approaching millennium of pure monarchy—or his demonstrations of the absolute harmlessness of taxation, nnd the sacred duty of all sorts of ejficicnt per

secution. We are sure \ve treat Mr. Coleridz» with all possible respect when we say, that his name can lend no more plausibility to absurdities like these, than the far greater name* of Bacon or Hobbes could do to the belief in sympathetic medicines, or in churchyard apparitions.

We fear we have already tranegrened опт just limits. But before concluding, we wii-b to say a word on a notion which we tii:d preuv generally entertained, that Sir James Mackintosh did not sufficiently turn to profit t ho talent which was committed to him; and •iic much less than, with his gifts and opporlu:..ties, he ought to have done. He hims*'u seems, no doubt, to have been occasional;) of that opinion; and yet we cannot but liui-i it in a great degree erroneous. If he had ii'-t. in early life, conceived the ambitious d«-?.cr. of executing two great works,—-one on inprinciples of Morals and Legislation, and or. e on English History : or had not let it be understood, for many years before his death, thai he was actually employed on th»« latter, we do not imagine that, with all the knowledge his friends had (and all the world now has) of his qualifications, any one would have thought of visiting his memory with suca f. reproach.

We know of no code of morality which makes it imperative on every man of extraordinary talent or learning to write a large book :—and could readily point to instances where such persons have gone with unquestioned honour to their graves, without leaving any such memorial—and been judged to have acted up to the last article of their duty. merely by enlightening society by their lire« and conversation, and discharging \vith abi.ily and integrity the offices of magistracy or \es¡lation, to which they may have bt-t-n caiW But looking even to the sort of debt wb.c:, may be thought to have been contracted iv the announcement of these work», we cannot but think that the public has received а тегу respectable dividend—and, being at the be¿ but a gratuitous creditor—ought not now to withhold a thankful discharge and ao(juitla:¡ef. The discourse on Ethical Philosophy is lui. payment, we conceive, of one moiety of ¡Le I first engagement,—and we are persuaded wiu i be so received by all who can judge of its lvalue; and though the other moiety, wtuch ! relates to Legislation, has not yet been teti! dered in form, there is reason to believe that there are assets in the hands of the executors, from which this also may soon be liquidated That great subject was certainly fully treated of in the Lectures of 1799—and as it appear« from some citations in these Memoirs, that, though for the most part delivered extern pon. various notes and manuscripts relating to th--re have been preserved, we think it not onliktiy that, with due diligence, the outline at lea?J and main features of that inteiesting dii^uivtion may still be recovered. On the bill ¡or History, too, it cannot be denied that a large payment has been made to account—and as it was only due for the period of the Revolution, any shortcoming that may appear upon

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