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JOHN HAWKESWORTH.

faculties. He is always looking in my face, watching his effect, uncertain whether I think him an impostor or not; posture-making, coaxing, and imploring me. 'See what sensibility I have-own now that I am very clever-lo cry now; you can't resist this."-THACKERAY: English Humourists of the Eighteenth Cent., Lect. VI.; and see his Lect, on Charity and Humour, his Roundabout Papers, Dec. 1862, crown 8vo, and Lond. Athen., 1862, ii. 739.

ON NAMES.

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and candid disquisition in this matter.—You are a person free from as many narrow prejudices of education as most men; and -if I may presume to penetrate farther into you-of a liberality of genius above bearing down an opinion merely because it wants friends. Your son!-your dear son-from whose sweet and open temper you have so much to expect,-your BILLY, Sir,—would you for the world have called him JUDAS? I would sooner undertake to explain the ... Would you, my dear Sir, he would say, hardest problem in Geometry than pretend laying his hand upon your breast with the to account for it that a gentleman of my genteelest address,-and in that soft and irfather's great good sense-knowing as the resistible piano of voice, which the nature reader must have observed him, and curious of the argumentum ad hominem absolutely too in philosophy,-wise also in political rea- requires,-Would you, Sir, if a Jew of a soning, and in polemical (as he will find) godfather had proposed the name of your no way ignorant-could be capable of en-child, and offered you his purse along with tertaining a notion in his head, so out of the it, would you have consented to such a desecommon track,—that I fear the reader, when cration of him?—. I come to mention it to him, if he is of the least of a choleric temper, will immediately throw the book by; if mercurial, he will laugh most heartily at it-and if he is of a grave and saturnine cast, he will, at first sight, absolutely condemn it as fanciful and extravagant; and that was in respect to the choice and imposition of Christian names, on which he thought a great deal more depended than what superficial minds were capable of conceiving.

His opinion in this matter was, That there was a strange kind of magic basis, which good or bad names, as he called them, irresistibly impressed upon our characters and conduct.

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The hero of Cervantes argued not the point with more seriousness,- -nor had he more faith or more to say- -on the powers of Necromancy in dishonouring his deeds,— on DULCENIA's name in shedding lustre upon them, than my father had on those of TRISMAGISTUS OR ARCHIMEDES, on the one hand, or of NYKY and SIMKIN on the other. How many CESARS and POMPEYS, he would say, by mere inspiration of the names have been rendered worthy of them! And how many, he would add, are there who might have done exceedingly well in the world had not their characters and spirits been totally depressed and NICODEMUS'D into nothing!

Your greatness of mind in this action, which I admire, with that generous contempt of money which you show me in the whole transaction, is really noble;-and what renders it more so is the principle of it;

the workings of a parent's love upon the truth and conviction of this very hypothesis, namely, that was your son called JUDAS,— the sordid and treacherous idea so inseparable from the name would have accompanied him through life like his shadow, and, in the end, made a miser and a rascal of him, in spite, Sir, of your example.

Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy,
Ch. xix.

JOHN HAWKESWORTH,
LL.D.,

born about 1715 to 1719, died 1773, was the
editor of The Adventurer (1752-1754), and
author of 70 or 72 of its 140 numbers; pub-
lished some Tales.-Edgar and Emmeline,
and Almoran and Hamet,-1761; edited
Swift's Works and Letters, with his Life
(see Bohn's Lowndes, 2557); was author of
Zimri, and other plays, of a translation of
Telemachus, and of papers in The Gentle-
man's Magazine; and in 1773 (3 vols. 4to)
gave to the world an Account of the Voyages
of Byron, Wallis, Cartaret, and Cook, by
which he gained £6000.

I see plainly, Sir, by your looks (or as the case happened), my father would say, that you do not heartily subscribe to this opinion "His imagination was fertile and brilliant, his of mine,-which to those, he would add, diction, pure, elegant, and unaffected. His who have not carefully sifted it to the bot- manners were polished and affable, and his convertom, I own has an air more of fancy than sation has been described as uncommonly fascinatof solid reasoning in it;-and yet, my dearing."-DR. DRAKE: Literary Life of Dr. HawkesSir, if I may presume to know your char- worth: Dr. Drake's Essays, vol. v., q. v. acter, I am morally assured I should hazard little in stating a case to you-not as a party in the dispute, but as a judge, and trusting my appeal upon it to your own good sense

ON NARRATIVE.

No species of writing affords so general entertainment as the relation of events; but

all relations of events do not entertain in the same degree.

It is always necessary that facts should appear to be produced in a regular and connected series, that they should follow in a quick succession, and yet that they should be delivered with discriminating circumstances. If they have not a necessary and apparent connexion, the ideas which they excite obliterate each other, and the mind is tantalized with an imperfect glimpse of innumerable objects that just appear and vanish; if they are too minutely related they become tiresome; and if divested of all their circumstances, insipid: for who that reads in a table of chronology, or an index, that a city was swallowed up by an earthquake, or a kingdom depopulated by a pestilence, finds either his attention engaged or his curiosity gratified?

Those narratives are most pleasing which not only excite and gratify curiosity, but engage the passions.

History is a relation of the most natural and important events: history, therefore, gratifies curiosity, but it does not often excite either terror or pity; the mind feels not that tenderness for a falling state which it feels for an injured beauty; nor is it so much alarmed at the migration of barbarians who mark their way with desolation and fill the world with violence and rapine, as at the fury of a husband, who, deceived into jealousy by false appearances, stabs a faithful and affectionate wife, kneeling at his feet, and pleading to be heard.

Voyages and travels have nearly the same excellences, and the same defects: no passion is strongly excited except wonder; or if we feel any emotion at the danger of the traveller, it is transient and languid, because his character is not rendered sufficiently important; he is rarely discovered to have any excellencies but daring curiosity; he is never the object of admiration and seldom of esteem.

Biography would always engage the passions if it could sufficiently gratify curiosity: but there have been few among the whole human species whose lives would furnish a single adventure: I mean such a complication of circumstances as hold the mind in an anxious yet pleasing suspense, and gradually unfold in the production of some unforeseen and important event; much less such a series of facts as will perpetually vary the scene, and gratify the fancy, with new views of life. But nature is now exhausted: all her wonders have been accumulated, every recess has been explored, deserts have been traversed, Alps climbed, and the secrets of the deep disclosed; time has been compelled to restore the empires and the heroes of antiquity; all

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have passed in review; yet fancy requires new gratifications, and curiosity is still unsatisfied.

The resources of Art yet remain: the simple beauties of nature, if they cannot be multiplied, may be compounded, and an infinite variety produced, in which by the union of different graces both may be heightened, and the coalition of different powers may produce a proportionate effect.

The Epic Poem at once gratifies curiosity and moves the passions; the events are various and important; but it is not the fate of a nation, but of the hero, in which they terminate, and whatever concerns the hero engages the passions: the dignity of his character, his merit, and his importance, compel us to follow him with reverence and solicitude, to tremble when he is in danger, to weep when he suffers, and to burn when he is wronged: with the vicissitudes of passion every heart attends Ulysses in his wanderings and Achilles to the field.

Upon this occasion the Old Romance may be considered as a kind of Epic, since it was intended to produce the same effect upon the mind nearly by the same means.

In both these species of writing truth is apparently violated: but though the events are not always produced by probable means, yet the pleasure arising from the story is not much lessened; for fancy is still captivated with variety, and passion has scarce leisure to reflect that she is agitated with the fate of imaginary beings, and interested in events that never happened.

The Novel, though it bears a near resemblance to truth, has yet less power of entertainment; for it is confined within the narrower bounds of probability, the number of incidents is necessarily diminished, and if it deceives us more, it surprises us less. The distress is indeed frequently tender, but the narrative often stands still; the lovers compliment each other in tedious letters and set speeches; trivial circumstances are enumerated with a minute exactness, and the reader is wearied with languid descriptions and impertinent declamations.

But the most extravagant, and yet perhaps the most generally pleasing, of all literary performances are those in which supernatural events are every moment produced by Genii and Fairies: such are the Arabian Nights' Entertainment, the Tales of the Countess d'Anois, and many others of the same class. It may be thought strange that the mind should with pleasure acquiesce in the open violation of the most known and obvious truths; and that relations which contradict all experience, and exhibit a series of events that are not only impossible but ridiculous, should be read by

JOHN HAWKESWORTH.

almost every taste and capacity with equal eagerness and delight.

Dramatic Poetry, especially tragedy, seems to unite all that pleases in each of these species of writing, with a stronger resemblance of truth, and a closer imitation of nature: the characters are such as excite attention and solicitude; the action is important, its progress is intricate yet natural, and the catastrophe is sudden and striking; and as we are present to every transaction, the images are more strongly impressed, and the passions more forcibly moved.

The Adventurer, No. 4, Saturday, November 18, 1752.

HAPPINESS AND MISERY, VIRTUE AND VICE.

Among other favourite and unsuspected topics is the excellency of virtue. Virtue is said necessarily to produce its own happiness, and to be constantly and adequately its own reward; as vice, on the contrary, never fails to produce misery, and inflict upon itself the punishment it deserves: propositions of which every one is ready to affirm that they may be admitted without scruple and believed without danger. But from hence it is inferred that future rewards and punishments are not necessary either to furnish adequate motives to the practice of virtue, or to justify the ways of God. In consequence of their being not necessary, they become doubtful; the Deity is less and less the object of fear and hope; and as vir tue is said to be that which produces ultimate good below, whatever is supposed to produce ultimate good below is said to be virtue: right and wrong are confounded, because remote consequences cannot perfectly be known; the principal barrier by which appetite and passion is restrained is broken down; the remonstrances of conscience are overborne by sophistry; and the acquired and habitual shame of vice is subdued by the perpetual efforts of vigorous resistance.

But the inference from which these dreadful consequences proceed, however plausible, is not just; nor does it appear from experience that the premises are true. That virtue alone is happiness below," is indeed a maxim in speculative morality, which all the treasures of learning have been lavished to support, and all the flowers of wit collected to recommend; it has been the favourite of some among the wisest and best of mankind in every generation; and is at once venerable for its age and lovely in the bloom of a new youth. And yet if it be allowed that they who languish in disease and indigence, who suffer pain, hunger, and nakedness, in obscurity and solitude, are less

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happy than those who, with the same degree of virtue, enjoy health, and ease, and plenty, who are distinguished by fame, and courted by society; it follows that virtue alone is not efficient of happiness, because virtue cannot always bestow those things upon which happiness is confessed to depend.

It is indeed true that virtue in prosperity enjoys more than vice, and that in adversity she suffers less: if prosperity and adversity, therefore, were merely accidental to virtue and vice, it might be granted that setting aside those things upon which moral conduct has no influence, as foreign to the question, every man is happy, either negatively or positively, in proportion as he is virtuous: though it were denied that virtue alone could put into his possession all that is essential to human felicity.

But prosperity and adversity, affluence and want, are not independent upon moral conduct: external advantages are frequently obtained by vice, and forfeited by virtue; for as an estate may be gained by secreting a will, or loading a die, an estate may also be lost by withholding a vote, or rejecting a job.

If it be possible by a single act of vice to increase happiness upon the whole of life, from what rational motives can the temptation to that act be resisted? From none, surely, but such as arise from the belief of a future state in which virtue will be rewarded and vice punished: for to what can happiness be wisely sacrificed but to greater happiness? and how can the ways of God be justified, if a man by the irreparable injury of his neighbour becomes happier upon the whole, than he would have been if he had observed the eternal rule, and done to another as he would that another should do to him? Perhaps I may be told that to talk of sacrificing happiness to greater happiness, as virtue, is absurd; and that he who is restrained from fraud or violence merely by the fear of hell, is no more virtuous than he who is restrained merely by the fear of the gibbet.

But supposing this to be true, yet with respect to society mere external rectitude answers all the purposes of virtue; and if I travel without being robbed, it is of little consequence to me whether the persons whom I meet on the road were restrained from attempting to invade my property by the fear of punishment or the abhorrence of vice: so that the gibbet, if it does not produce virtue, is yet of such incontestable utility, that I believe those gentlemen would be very unwilling that it should be removed, who are, notwithstanding, so zealous to steel every breast against the fear of damnation: nor would they be content, however

negligent of their souls, that their property should be no otherwise secured than by the power of Moral Beauty, and the prevalence of ideal enjoyments.

The Adventurer, No. 10, Saturday, December 9, 1752.

THE POSITIVE DUTIES OF RELIGION AND MORAL CONDUCT.

Of the duties and the privileges of religion, prayer is generally acknowledged to be the chief: and yet I am afraid that there are few who will not be able to recollect some seasons in which their unwillingness to pray has been more than in proportion to the labour and the time that it required; seasons in which they would have been less willing to repeat a prayer than any other composition; and rather than have spent five minutes in an address to God, would have devoted an equal space of time wholly to the convenience of another, without any enjoyment or advantage to themselves...

A man who lives apparently without religion declares to the world that he is without virtue, however he may otherwise conceal his vices: for when the obstacles to virtue are surmounted, the obstacles to religion are few. What should restrain him who has broken the bonds of appetite from rising at the call to devotion? Will not he who has accomplished a work of difficulty secure his reward at all events, when to secure it is easy? Will not he that has panted in the race stretch forth his hand to receive the prize?

It may, perhaps, be expected that from this general censure I should except those who believe that all religion is the contrivance of tyranny and cunning; and that every human action which has Deity for its object is enthusiastic and absurd. But of these there are few who do not give other evidence of their want of virtue than their neglect of religion; and even of this few it must be acknowledged that they have not equal motives to virtue, and therefore to say that they have not equal virtue, is only to affirm that effects are proportionate to their causes: a proposition which, I am confident, no philosopher will deny.

By these motives I do not mean merely the hope and fear of future reward and punishment; but such as arise from the exercise of religious duties, both in public and private, and especially of prayer.

I know that concerning the operation and effects of prayer there has been much doubtful disputation, in which innumerable metaphysical subtilties have been introduced, and the understanding has been bewildered in sophistry, and affronted with jargon.

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Those who have no other proof of the fitness and advantage of a prayer than are to be found among these speculations are but little acquainted with the practice.

He who has acquired an experimental knowledge of this duty knows that nothing so forcibly restrains from ill as the remembrance of a recent address to Heaven for protection and assistance. After having petitioned for power to resist temptation, there is so great an incongruity in not continuing the struggle, that we blush at the thought, and persevere, lest we lose all reverence for ourselves. After fervently devoting our souls to God, we start with horror at immediate apostacy. Every act of deliberate wickedness is then complicated with hypocrisy and ingratitude: it is a mockery of the Father of Mercy; the forfeiture of that peace in which we closed our address, and a renunciation of the hope which it inspired.

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For a proof of this, let every man ask himself, as in the presence of "Him who searches the heart," whether he has never been deterred from prayer by his fondness for some criminal gratification which he could not with sincerity profess to give up, and which he knew he could not afterward repeat without greater compunction. prayer and immorality appear to be thus incompatible, prayer should not surely be lightly rejected by those who contend that moral virtue is the summit of human perfection: nor should it be encumbered with such circumstances as must inevitably render it less easy and less frequent. It should be considered as the wings of the soul, and should be always ready when a sudden impulse prompts her to spring up to God. We should not think it always necessary to be either in a church, or in our closet, to express joy, love, desire, trust, reverence, or complacency, in the fervour of a silent ejacu lation. Adoration, hope, and even a petition, may be conceived in a moment; and the desire of the heart may ascend, without words, to "Him to whom our thoughts are known afar off." He who considers himself as perpetually in the presence of the Almighty need not fear that gratitude or homage can ever be ill-timed, or that it is profane thus to worship in any circumstances that are not criminal.

There is no preservative from vice equal to this habitual and constant intercourse with God: neither does anything equally alleviate distress or heighten prosperity: in distress, it sustains us with hope; and in prosperity, it adds to every other enjoyment the delight of gratitude.

The Adventurer, Saturday, February 10, 1753.

ELIZABETH CARTER.

ELIZABETH CARTER, born 1717, died 1806, published in 1738 Poems upon Several Occasions, Lond., 4to, some of which were republished, 1762, new editions, 1776, 1789, 8vo; and subsequently gave to the world translations from Anacreon, Cronsaz, and Algorotti; but her great work was All the Works of Epictetus which are now Extant, with an Introduction and Notes by the Translator, Lond., 1758, 4to, 4th edit., Lond., 1807, 2 vols. 8vo. This is an excellent translation. Miss Carter was acquainted with Hebrew, Greek, Latin, ItalSee ian, Spanish, French, and German. Memoirs of her Life, by the Rev. M. Pennington, Lond., 1807, 4to, etc.; her Letters to Miss Talbot and Mrs. Vesey, 1808, 2 vols. 4to, and to Mrs. Montagu. 1817, 3 vols. 8vo. Dr. Johnson (see Boswell's Johnson) was a great admirer of this learned and excellent

woman.

STOICISM AND CHRISTIANITY.

Stoicism is indeed in many points inferior to the doctrine of Socrates, which did not teach that all externals were indifferent; which did teach a future state of recompense; and agreeably to that, forbade suicide. It doth not belong to the present subject to show how much even this best system is excelled by Christianity. It is sufficient just to observe, that the author of it died in a profession which he had always made of his belief in the popular deities, whose superstitious and impure worship were the great source of corruption in the heathen world; and the last words he uttered were a direction to a friend for the performance of an idolatrous ceremony. This melancholy instance of ignorance and error in the most illustrious character for wisdom and virtue in all heathen antiquity is not mentioned as a reflection on his memory, but as a proof of human weakness in general. Whether reason could have discovered the great truths which in these days are ascribed to it, because now seen so clearly by the light of the Gospel, may be a question; but that it never did, is an undeniable fact; and that is enough to teach us thankfulness for the blessing of a better information. Socrates, who had, of all mankind, the fairest pretensions to set up for an instructor and reformer of the world, confessed that he knew nothing, referred to tradition, and acknowledged the want of a superior guide: and there is a remarkable passage in Epictetus in which he represents it as the office of his supreme God, or of one deputed by him, to appear among mankind as a teacher and example.

Upon the whole, the several sects of

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heathen philosophy serve as 80 many striking instances of the imperfection of human wisdom; and of the extreme need of depraved reason, and to replace natural of a divine assistance, to rectify the mistakes religion on its true foundation. The Stoics every where testify the noblest zeal for virtue and the honour of God; but they attempted to establish them on principles inconsistent with the nature of man, and contradictory to truth and experience. By a direct consequence of these principles they were liable to be seduced, and in fact they were seduced, into pride, hard-heartedness, and the last dreadful extremity of human guilt, self-murder.

But however indefensible the philosophy of the Stoics in several instances may be, it appears to have been of very important use in the Heathen world; and they are, on many accounts, to be considered in a very respectable light.

Their doctrine of evidence and fixed principles was an excellent preservative from the mischiefs that might have arisen from the scepticism of the Academics and Pyr rhonists, if unopposed; and their zealous defence of a particular providence, a valu. able antidote to the atheistical scheme of Epicurus. To this may be added, that their strict notions of virtue in most points (for they sadly failed in some), and the lives of several among them, must contribute a great deal to preserve luxurious states from an absolutely universal dissoluteness, and the subjects of arbitrary government from a wretched and contemptible pusillanimity.

Even now, their compositions may be read with great advantage, as containing excellent rules of self-government and of social behaviour; of a noble reliance on the aid and protection of heaven, and of a perfect resignation and submission to the divine will: points which are treated with great clearness, and with admirable spirit, in the lessons of the Stoics: and though their directions are seldom practicable, their principles, in trying cases, may be rendered highly useful in subordination to Christian reflections.

If among those who are so unhappy as to remain unconvinced of the truth of Christianity, any are prejudiced against it by the influence of unwarrantable inclinations, such persons will find very little advantage in rejecting the doctrines of the New Testament for those of the Portico; unless they think it an advantage to be laid under moral restraints almost equal to those of the Gospel, while they are deprived of its encouragements and supports. Deviations from the rules of sobriety, justice, and piety meet with small indulgence in the stoic writings;

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