[5] Much light has been thrown on the Greek drama since the labours of

Dr. Johnson, and the père Brumoy. The papers on the subject, in

Cumberland's Observer, Schlegel's Lectures on Dramatic Literature,

Mr. Mitchell's Dissertations, in his translation of Aristophanes,

and the essays on the Greek Orators and Dramatists, in the Quarterly

Review, may be mentioned as among the most popular attempts to

illustrate this pleasing department of the Belles-Lettres.--Ed.

DEDICATIONS.

Dr. James's Medicinal Dictionary, 3 vols. folio. 1743.

To Dr. Mead.

SIR,

That the Medicinal Dictionary is dedicated to you, is to be imputed only

to your reputation for superiour skill in those sciences, which I have

endeavoured to explain and facilitate; and you are, therefore, to

consider this address, if it be agreeable to you, as one of the rewards

of merit; and, if otherwise, as one of the inconveniencies of eminence.

However you shall receive it, my design cannot be disappointed; because

this publick appeal to your judgment will show, that I do not found my

hopes of approbation upon the ignorance of my readers, and that I fear

his censure least, whose knowledge is most extensive.

I am, Sir,

Your most obedient, humble servant,

R. JAMES.

The Female Quixote. By Mrs. Lennox. 1752.

To the right hon. the earl of Middlesex.

MY LORD,

Such is the power of interest over almost every mind, that no one is

long without arguments to prove any position which is ardently wished to

be true, or to justify any measures which are dictated by inclination.

By this subtile sophistry of desire, I have been persuaded to hope that

this book may, without impropriety, be inscribed to your lordship; but

am not certain, that my reasons will have the same force upon other

understandings.

The dread which a writer feels of the publick censure; the still greater

dread of neglect; and the eager wish for support and protection, which

is impressed by the consciousness of imbecility, are unknown to those

who have never adventured into the world; and, I am afraid, my lord,

equally unknown to those who have always found the world ready to

applaud them.

It is, therefore, not unlikely that the design of this address may be

mistaken, and the effects of my fear imputed to my vanity. They, who see

your lordship's name prefixed to my performance, will rather condemn my

presumption than compassionate my anxiety.

But, whatever be supposed my motive, the praise of judgment cannot be

denied me; for, to whom can timidity so properly fly for shelter, as to

him who has been so long distinguished for candour and humanity? How can

vanity be so completely gratified, as by the allowed patronage of him,

whose judgment has so long given a standard to the national taste! Or by

what other means could I so powerfully suppress all opposition, but that

of envy, as by declaring myself,

My lord,

Your lordship's obliged and

most obedient servant,

THE AUTHOR.

Shakespeare Illustrated; or, the Novels and Histories on which the plays

of Shakespeare are founded; collected and translated from the original

authors. With Critical Remarks. By the author of the Female Quixote.

1753.

To the right hon. John, earl of Orrery.

MY LORD,

I have no other pretence to the honour of a patronage so illustrious as

that of your lordship, than the merit of attempting what has, by some

unaccountable neglect, been hitherto omitted, though absolutely

necessary to a perfect knowledge of the abilities of Shakespeare.

Among the powers that most conduce to constitute a poet, the first and

most valuable is invention; the highest seems to be that which is able

to produce a series of events. It is easy, when the thread of a story is

once drawn, to diversify it with variety of colours; and when a train of

action is presented to the mind, a little acquaintance with life will

supply circumstances and reflections, and a little knowledge of books

furnish parallels and illustrations. To tell over again a story that has

been told already, and to tell it better than the first author, is no

rare qualification: but to strike out the first hints of a new fable;

hence, to introduce a set of characters so diversified in their several

passions and interests, that from the clashing of this variety may

result many necessary incidents; to make these incidents surprising, and

yet natural, so as to delight the imagination, without shocking the

judgment of a reader; and, finally, to wind up the whole in a pleasing

catastrophe, produced by those very means which seem most likely to

oppose and prevent it, is the utmost effort of the human mind.

To discover how few of those writers, who profess to recount imaginary

adventures, have been able to produce any thing by their own

imagination, would require too much of that time which your lordship

employs in nobler studies. Of all the novels and romances that wit or

idleness, vanity or indigence, have pushed into the world, there are

very few of which the end cannot be conjectured from the beginning; or

where the authors have done more than to transpose the incidents of

other tales, or strip the circumstances from one event for the

decoration of another.

In the examination of a poet's character, it is, therefore, first to be

inquired, what degree of invention has been exerted by him. With this

view, I have very diligently read the works of Shakespeare, and now

presume to lay the result of my researches before your lordship, before

that judge whom Pliny himself would have wished for his assessor to hear

a literary cause.

How much the translation of the following novels will add to the

reputation of Shakespeare, or take away from it, you my lord, and men

learned and candid like you, if any such can be found, must now

determine. Some danger, I am informed, there is, lest his admirers

should think him injured by this attempt, and clamour, as at the

diminution of the honour of that nation, which boasts itself the parent

of so great a poet.

That no such enemies may arise against me, though I am unwilling to

believe it, I am far from being too confident, for who can fix bounds to

bigotry and folly? My sex, my age, have not given me many opportunities

of mingling in the world. There may be in it many a species of absurdity

which I have never seen, and, among them, such vanity as pleases itself

with false praise bestowed on another, and such superstition as worships

idols, without supposing them to be gods.

But the truth is, that a very small part of the reputation of this

mighty genius depends upon the naked plot or story of his plays. He

lived in an age, when the books of chivalry were yet popular, and when,

therefore, the minds of his auditors were not accustomed to balance

probabilities, or to examine nicely the proportion between causes and

effects. It was sufficient to recommend a story, that it was far removed

from common life, that its changes were frequent, and its close

pathetick.

This disposition of the age concurred so happily with the imagination of

Shakespeare, that he had no desire to reform it; and, indeed, to this he

was indebted for the licentious variety, by which he made his plays more

entertaining than those of any other author.

He had looked, with great attention, on the scenes of nature; but his

chief skill was in human actions, passions, and habits; he was,

therefore, delighted with such tales as afforded numerous incidents, and

exhibited many characters in many changes of situation. These characters

are so copiously diversified, and some of them so justly pursued, that

his works may be considered, as a map of life, a faithful miniature of

human transactions; and he that has read Shakespeare, with attention,

will, perhaps, find little new in the crowded world.

Among his other excellencies, it ought to be remarked, because it has

hitherto been unnoticed, that his heroes are men; that the love and

hatred, the hopes and fears of his chief personages, are such as are

common to other human beings, and not, like those which later times have

exhibited, peculiar to phantoms that strut upon the stage[1].

It is not, perhaps, very necessary to inquire whether the vehicle of so

much delight and instruction, be a story probable or unlikely, native or

foreign. Shakespeare's excellence is not the fiction of a tale, but the

representation of life; and his reputation is, therefore, safe, till

human nature shall be changed. Nor can he, who has so many just claims

to praise, suffer by losing that which ignorant admiration has

unreasonably given him. To calumniate the dead is baseness, and to

flatter them is surely folly.

From flattery, my lord, either of the dead or the living, I wish to be

clear, and have, therefore, solicited the countenance of a patron, whom,

if I knew how to praise him, I could praise with truth, and have the

world on my side; whose candour and humanity are universally

acknowledged, and whose judgment, perhaps, was then first to be doubted,

when he condescended to admit this address from,

My lord,

Your lordship's most obliged,

and most obedient, humble servant,

THE AUTHOR.

[1] See preface to Shakespeare.

Payne's Introduction to the Game of Draughts. 1756.

To the right hon. William Henry, earl of Rochford, &c.

MY LORD,

WHEN I take the liberty of addressing to your lordship a treatise on the

game of draughts, I easily foresee, that I shall be in danger of

suffering ridicule on one part, while I am gaining honour on the other;

and that many, who may envy me the distinction of approaching you, will

deride the present I presume to offer.

Had I considered this little volume, as having no purpose beyond that of

teaching a game, I should, indeed, have left it to take its fate without

a patron. Triflers may find or make any thing a trifle; but, since it is

the great characteristick of a wise man to see events in their causes,

to obviate consequences, and ascertain contingencies, your lordship will

think nothing a trifle, by which the mind is inured to caution,

foresight, and circumspection. The same skill, and often the same degree

of skill, is exerted in great and little things; and your lordship may,

sometimes, exercise, on a harmless game[1], those abilities which have

been so happily employed in the service of your country.

I am, my lord,

Your lordship's most obliged, most obedient,

and most humble servant,

WILLIAM PAYNE.

[1] The game of draughts, we know, is peculiarly calculated to fix the

attention, without straining it. There is a composure and gravity in

draughts, which insensibly tranquillises the mind; and, accordingly,

the Dutch are fond of it, as they are of smoking, of the sedative

influence of which, though he himself (Dr. Johnson) never smoked, he

had a high opinion.--Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides. 3rd edit. p.

48.

The Evangelical History of Jesus Christ harmonized, explained and

illustrated[1]. 2 vols. 8vo. 1758.

To the lords spiritual and temporal, and commons in parliament

assembled.

That we are fallen upon an age in which corruption is barely not

universal, is universally confessed. Venality sculks no longer in the

dark, but snatches the bribe in publick; and prostitution issues forth

without shame, glittering with the ornaments of successful wickedness.

Rapine preys on the publick without opposition, and perjury betrays it

without inquiry. Irreligion is not only avowed, but boasted; and the

pestilence that used to walk in darkness, is now destroying at noonday.

Shall this be the state of the English nation; and shall her lawgivers

behold it without regard? Must the torrent continue to roll on, till it

shall sweep us into the gulf of perdition? Surely there will come a

time, when the careless shall be frighted, and the sluggish shall be

roused; when every passion shall be put upon the guard by the dread of

general depravity; when he who laughs at wickedness in his companion,

shall start from it in his child; when the man who fears not for his

soul, shall tremble for his possessions; when it shall be discovered

that religion only can secure the rich from robbery, and the poor from

oppression; can defend the state from treachery, and the throne from

assassination.

If this time be ever to come, let it come quickly: a few years longer,

and, perhaps, all endeavours will be vain: we may be swallowed by an

earthquake; we may be delivered to our enemies, or abandoned to that

discord, which must inevitably prevail among men that have lost all

sense of divine superintendence, and have no higher motive of action or

forbearance, than present opinion of present interest.

It is the duty of private men to supplicate and propose; it is yours to

hear and to do right. Let religion be once more restored, and the nation

shall once more be great and happy. This consequence is not far distant:

that nation must always be powerful, where every man performs his duty;

and every man will perform his duty, that considers himself, as a being

whose condition is to be settled to all eternity by the laws of Christ.

The only doctrine by which man can be made "wise unto salvation," is the

will of God, revealed in the books of the Old and the New Testament.

To study the scriptures, therefore, according to his abilities and

attainments, is every man's duty; and to facilitate that study, to those

whom nature hath made weak, or education has left ignorant, or

indispensable cares detain from regular processes of inquiry, is the

business of those who have been blessed with abilities and learning, and

are appointed the instructers of the lower classes of men, by that

common Father, who distributes to all created beings their

qualifications and employments; who has allotted some to the labour of

the hand, and some to the exercise of the mind; has commanded some to

teach, and others to learn; has prescribed to some the patience of

instruction, and to others the meekness of obedience.

By what methods the unenlightened and ignorant may be made proper

readers of the word of God, has been long and diligently considered.

Commentaries of all kinds have, indeed, been copiously produced; but

there still remain multitudes to whom the labours of the learned are of

little use, for whom expositions require an expositor. To those, indeed,

who read the divine books, without vain curiosity, or a desire to be

wise beyond their powers, it will always be easy to discern the straight

path, to find the words of everlasting life. But such is the condition

of our nature, that we are always attempting what is difficult to

perform: he who reads the scripture to gain goodness, is desirous,

likewise, to gain knowledge, and by his impatience of ignorance, falls

into errour.

This danger has appeared to the doctors of the Romish church, so much to

be feared, and so difficult to be escaped, that they have snatched the

bible out of the hands of the people, and confined the liberty of

perusing it to those whom literature has previously qualified. By this

expedient they have formed a kind of uniformity, I am afraid, too much

like that of colours in the dark; but they have, certainly, usurped a

power which God has never given them, and precluded great numbers from

the highest spiritual consolation.

I know not whether this prohibition has not brought upon them an evil

which they themselves have not discovered. It is granted, I believe, by

the Romanists themselves, that the best commentaries on the bible have

been the works of protestants. I know not, indeed, whether, since the

celebrated paraphrase of Erasmus, any scholar has appeared amongst them,

whose works are much valued, even in his own communion. Why have those

who excel in every other kind of knowledge, to whom the world owes much

of the increase of light, which has shone upon these latter ages,

failed, and failed only, when they have attempted to explain the

scriptures of God? Why, but, because they are in the church less read,

and less examined; because they have another rule of deciding

controversies and instituting laws.

Of the bible, some of the books are prophetical; some doctrinal and

historical, as the gospels, of which we have, in the subsequent pages,

attempted an illustration. The books of the evangelists contain an

account of the life of our blessed Saviour, more particularly of the

years of his ministry, interspersed with his precepts, doctrines, and

predictions. Each of these histories contains facts, and dictates

related, likewise, in the rest, that the truth might be established by

concurrence of testimony; and each has, likewise, facts and dictates

which the rest omit, to prove that they were wrote without

communication.

These writers, not affecting the exactness of chronologers, and,

relating various events of the same life, or the same events with

various circumstances, have some difficulties to him, who, without the

help of many books, desires to collect a series of the acts and precepts

of Jesus Christ; fully to know his life, whose example was given for our

imitation; fully to understand his precepts, which it is sure

destruction to disobey.

In this work, therefore, an attempt has been made, by the help of

harmonists and expositors, to reduce the four gospels into one series of

narration; to form a complete history out of the different narratives of

the evangelists, by inserting every event in the order of time, and

connecting every precept of life and doctrine, with the occasion on

which it was delivered; showing, as far as history or the knowledge of

ancient customs can inform us, the reason and propriety of every action;

and explaining, or endeavouring to explain, every precept and

declaration in its true meaning.

Let it not be hastily concluded, that we intend to substitute this book

for the gospels, or to obtrude our own expositions as the oracles of

God. We recommend to the unlearned reader to consult us, when he finds

any difficulty, as men who have laboured not to deceive ourselves, and

who are without any temptation to deceive him; but as men, however,

that, while they mean best, may be mistaken. Let him be careful,

therefore, to distinguish what we cite from the gospels, from what we

offer as our own: he will find many difficulties removed; and, if some

yet remain, let him remember that, "God is in heaven and we upon earth,"

that, "our thoughts are not God's thoughts," and that the great cure of

doubt is an humble mind[2].

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The dedication to this work has been so confidently attributed to

Dr. Johnson, and so constantly inserted among his productions, that

it is given in the present edition. But Mr. Boswell was of opinion,

that it was not Johnson's composition. "He was no _croaker_,"

observes his friendly biographer, "no declaimer against the _times_.

He would not have written, 'That we are fallen upon an age, in which

corruption is not barely universal, is universally confessed.' Nor,

'rapine preys on the publick without opposition, and perjury betrays

it without injury.' Nor would he, to excite a speedy reformation,

have conjured up such phantoms as these: 'A few years longer, and,

perhaps, all endeavours will be in vain. We may be swallowed by an

earthquake, we may be delivered to our enemies.'" "This is not

Johnsonian," is Mr. Boswell's inference, iv. p. 423. note.--Ed.

[2] "My doctrine is not mine," said the Divine Founder of our religion,

"but his that sent me. If any man will _do_ his will, he shall

_know_ of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of

myself." St. John, vii. 16, 17. --Ed.

Angell's Stenography, or Shorthand improved. 1758.

To the most noble Charles duke of Richmond, Lennox, Aubigny, &c.

May it please Your Grace,

The improvement of arts and sciences has always been esteemed laudable:

and, in proportion to their utility and advantage to mankind, they have

generally gained the patronage of persons the most distinguished for

birth, learning, and reputation in the world. This is an art,

undoubtedly, of publick utility, and which has been cultivated by

persons of distinguished abilities, as will appear from its history.

But, as most of their systems have been defective, clogged with a

multiplicity of rules, and perplexed by arbitrary, intricate, and

impracticable schemes, I have endeavoured to rectify their defects, to

adapt it to all capacities, and render it of general, lasting, and

extensive benefit. How this is effected the following plates will

sufficiently explain, to which I have prefixed a suitable introduction,

and a concise and impartial history of the origin and progressive

improvements of this art. And, as I have submitted the whole to the

inspection of accurate judges, whose approbation I am honoured with, I

most humbly crave leave to publish it to the world, under your grace's

patronage: not merely on account of your great dignity and high rank in

life, though these receive a lustre from your grace's humanity; but also

from a knowledge of your grace's disposition to encourage every useful

art, and favour all true promoters of science. That your grace may long

live the friend of learning, the guardian of liberty, and the patron of

virtue, and then transmit your name, with the highest honour and esteem,

to latest posterity, is the ardent wish of

Your grace's most humble, &c.[1]

[1] This is the dedication mentioned by Dr. Johnson himself in

Boswell's Life, vol. ii. 226. I should not else have suspected what

has so little of his manner.

Baretti's Dictionary of the English and Italian Languages. 2 vols. 4to.

1760.

To his excellency Don Felix, marquis of Abreu and Bertodano, ambassadour

extraordinary and plenipotentiary from his Catholick Majesty to the king

of Great Britain.

My Lord,

That acuteness of penetration into characters and designs, and that nice

discernment of human passions and practices, which have raised you to

your present height of station and dignity of employment, have long

shown you that dedicatory addresses are written for the sake of the

author more frequently than of the patron; and, though they profess only

reverence and zeal, are commonly dictated by interest or vanity. I

shall, therefore, not endeavour to conceal my motives, but confess, that

the Italian Dictionary is dedicated to your excellency, that I might

gratify my vanity, by making it known, that, in a country where I am a

stranger, I have been able, without any external recommendation, to

obtain the notice and countenance of a nobleman so eminent for knowledge

and ability, that, in his twenty-third year, he was sent as

plenipotentiary to superintend, at Aix la Chapelle, the interests of a

nation remarkable, above all others, for gravity and prudence; and who,

at an age when very few are admitted to publick trust, transacts the

most important affairs between two of the greatest monarchs of the

world.

If I could attribute to my own merits the favours which your excellency

every day confers upon me, I know not how much my pride might be

inflamed; but, when I observe the extensive benevolence and boundless

liberality, by which all who have the honour to approach you are

dismissed more happy than they come, I am afraid of raising my own

value, since I dare not ascribe it so much to my power of pleasing as

your willingness to be pleased.

Yet, as every man is inclined to flatter himself, I am desirous to hope,

that I am not admitted to greater intimacy than others, without some

qualifications for so advantageous a distinction, and shall think it my

duty to justify, by constant respect and sincerity, the favours which

you have been pleased to show me.

I am, my lord,

Your excellency's most humble

and most obedient servant,

J. BARETTI.

London, Jan. 12, 1760.

A complete System of Astronomical Chronology, unfolding the Scriptures.

By John Kennedy, rector of Bradley, in Derbyshire. 4to. 1762.

To the King.

Sir,

Having by long labour, and diligent inquiry, endeavoured to illustrate

and establish the chronology of the bible, I hope to be pardoned the

ambition of inscribing my work to your majesty.

An age of war is not often an age of learning; the tumult and anxiety of

military preparations seldom leave attention vacant to the silent

progress of study, and the placid conquests of investigation; yet,

surely, a vindication of the inspired writers can never be unseasonably

offered to the defender of the faith; nor can it ever be improper to

promote that religion, without which all other blessings are snares of

destruction; without which armies cannot make us safe, nor victories

make us happy.

I am far from imagining that my testimony can add any thing to the

honours of your majesty, to the splendour of a reign crowned with

triumphs, to the beauty of a life dignified by virtue. I can only wish,

that your reign may long continue such as it has begun, and that the

effulgence of your example may spread its light through distant ages,

till it shall be the highest praise of any future monarch, that he

exhibits some resemblance of GEORGE THE THIRD.

I am, Sir,

Your majesty's, &c.

JOHN KENNEDY.

Hoole's translation of Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered. 1763.

To the Queen.

Madam,

To approach the high and the illustrious has been, in all ages, the

privilege of poets; and though translations cannot justly claim the same

honour, yet they naturally follow their authors as attendants; and I

hope that, in return for having enabled Tasso to diffuse his fame

through the British dominions, I may be introduced by him to the

presence of your majesty.

Tasso has a peculiar claim to your majesty's favour, as follower and

panegyrist of the house of Este, which has one common ancestor with the

house of Hanover; and, in reviewing his life, it is not easy to forbear

a wish, that he had lived in a happier time, when he might, among the

descendants of that illustrious family, have found a more liberal and

potent patronage.

I cannot but observe, Madam, how unequally reward is proportioned to

merit, when I reflect that the happiness which was withheld from Tasso,

is reserved for me; and that the poem which once hardly procured to its

author the countenance of the princes of Ferrara, has attracted to its

translator the favourable notice of a British queen.

Had this been the fate of Tasso, he would have been able to have

celebrated the condescension of your majesty in nobler language, but

could not have felt it with more ardent gratitude, than,

Madam,

Your majesty's most faithful

and devoted servant.

London and Westminster Improved. Illustrated by Plans.

4to. 1766.

To the King.

Sir,

The patronage of works which have a tendency towards advancing the

happiness of mankind, naturally belongs to great princes; and publick

good, in which publick elegance is comprised, has ever been the object

of your majesty's regard.

In the following pages your majesty, I flatter myself, will find, that I

have endeavoured at extensive and general usefulness. Knowing,

therefore, your majesty's early attention to the polite arts, and more

particular affection for the study of architecture, I was encouraged to

hope, that the work which I now presume to lay before your majesty,

might be thought not unworthy your royal favour; and that the protection

which your majesty always affords to those who mean well, may be

extended to,

Sir,

Your majesty's most dutiful subject,

and most obedient and most humble servant,

JOHN GWYNN.

The English Works of Roger Ascham, edited by James Bennet. 4to. 1767.

To the right hon. Anthony Ashley Cooper, earl of Shaftesbury, baron

Ashley, lord lieutenant and custos rotulorum of Dorsetshire, F.R.S.

My Lord,

Having endeavoured, by an elegant and useful edition, to recover the

esteem of the publick to an author undeservedly neglected, the only care

which I now owe to his memory, is that of inscribing his works to a

patron, whose acknowledged eminence of character may awaken attention,

and attract regard.

I have not suffered the zeal of an editor so far to take possession of

my mind, as that I should obtrude upon your lordship any productions

unsuitable to the dignity of your rank or of your sentiments. Ascham was

not only the chief ornament of a celebrated college, but visited foreign

countries, frequented courts, and lived in familiarity with statesmen

and princes; not only instructed scholars in literature, but formed

Elizabeth to empire.

To propagate the works of such a writer will not be unworthy of your

lordship's patriotism; for I know not, what greater benefits you can

confer on your country, than that of preserving worthy names from

oblivion, by joining them with your own.

I am, my lord,

Your lordship's most obliged,

most obedient, and most humble servant,

JAMES BENNET.

Adams's Treatise on the Globes. 1767.

To the King.

Sir,

It is the privilege of real greatness not to be afraid of diminution by

condescending to the notice of little things; and I, therefore, can

boldly solicit the patronage of your majesty to the humble labours by

which I have endeavoured to improve the instruments of science, and make

the globes, on which the earth and sky are delineated, less defective in

their construction, and less difficult in their use.

Geography is, in a peculiar manner, the science of princes. When a

private student revolves the terraqueous globe, he beholds a succession

of countries, in which he has no more interest, than in the imaginary

regions of Jupiter and Saturn: but your majesty must contemplate the

scientifick picture with other sentiments; and consider, as oceans and

continents are rolling before you, how large a part of mankind is now

waiting on your determinations, and may receive benefits, or suffer

evils, as your influence is extended or withdrawn.

The provinces, which your majesty's arms have added to your dominions,

make no inconsiderable part of the orb allotted to human beings. Your

power is acknowledged by nations, whose names we know not yet how to

write, and whose boundaries we cannot yet describe. But your majesty's

lenity and beneficence give us reason to expect the time, when science

shall be advanced by the diffusion of happiness; when the deserts of

America shall become pervious and safe; when those who are now

restrained by fear shall be attracted by reverence; and multitudes, who

now range the woods for prey, and live at the mercy of winds and

seasons, shall, by the paternal care of your majesty, enjoy the plenty

of cultivated lands, the pleasures of society, the security of law, and

the light of revelation.

I am, Sir,

Your majesty's most humble, most obedient,

and most dutiful subject and servant,

GEORGE ADAMS.

Bishop Zachary Pearce's Posthumous Works, 2 vols. 4to. Published by the

Rev. Mr. Derby. 1777.

To the King.

Sir,

I presume to lay before your majesty, the last labours of a learned

bishop, who died in the toils and duties of his calling. He is now

beyond the reach of all earthly honours and rewards; and only the hope

of inciting others to imitate him, makes it now fit to be remembered,

that he enjoyed in his life the favour of your majesty.

The tumultuary life of princes seldom permits them to survey the wide

extent of national interest without losing sight of private merit; to

exhibit qualities which may be imitated by the highest and the humblest

of mankind; and to be at once amiable and great.

Such characters, if now and then they appear in history, are

contemplated with admiration. May it be the ambition of all your

subjects to make haste with their tribute of reverence: and, as

posterity may learn from your majesty how kings should live, may they

learn, likewise, from your people, how they should be honoured.

I am, may it please your majesty,

with the most profound respect,

Your majesty's most dutiful and devoted

subject and servant.

PREFACE TO NEW TABLES OF INTEREST:

Designed to answer, in the most correct and expeditious manner, the

common purposes of business, particularly the business of the publick

funds.

BY JOHN PAYNE, OF THE BANK OF ENGLAND. 1758.

Among the writers of fiction, whose business is to furnish that

entertainment which fancy perpetually demands, it is a standing plea,

that the beauties of nature are now exhausted; that imitation has

exerted all its power; and that nothing more can be done for the service

of their mistress, than to exhibit a perpetual transposition of known

objects, and draw new pictures, not by introducing new images, but by

giving new lights and shades, a new arrangement and colouring to the

old. This plea has been cheerfully admitted; and fancy, led by the hand

of a skilful guide, treads over again the flowery path she has often

trod before, as much enamoured with every new diversification of the

same prospect, as with the first appearance of it.

In the regions of science, however, there is not the same indulgence:

the understanding and the judgment travel there in the pursuit of Truth,

whom they always expect to find in one simple form, free from the

disguises of dress and ornament: and, as they travel with laborious step

and a fixed eye, they are content to stop, when the shades of night

darken the prospect, and patiently wait the radiance of a new morning,

to lead them forward in the path they have chosen, which, however

thorny, or however steep, is severely preferred to the most pleasing

excursions that bring them no nearer to the object of their search. The

plea, therefore, that nature is exhausted, and that nothing is left to

gratify the mind, but different combinations of the same ideas, when

urged as a reason for multiplying unnecessary labours, among the sons of

science, is not so readily admitted: the understanding, when in

possession of truth, is satisfied with the simple acquisition; and not,

like fancy, inclined to wander after new pleasures, in the

diversification of objects already known, which, perhaps, may lead to

errour.

But, notwithstanding this general disinclination to accumulate labours,

for the sake of that pleasure which arises merely from different modes

of investigating truth, yet, as the mines of science have been

diligently opened, and their treasures widely diffused, there may be

parts chosen, which, by a proper combination and arrangement, may

contribute not only to entertainment but use; like the rays of the sun,

collected in a concave mirror, to serve particular purposes of light and

heat.

The power of arithmetical numbers has been tried to a vast extent, and

variously applied to the improvement both of business and science. In

particular, so many calculations have been made, with respect to the

value and use of money, that some serve only for speculation and

amusement; and there is great opportunity for selecting a few that are

peculiarly adapted to common business, and the daily interchanges of

property among men. Those which happen in the publick funds are, at this

time, the most frequent and numerous; and to answer the purposes of that

business, in some degree, more perfectly than has hitherto been done,

the following tables are published. What that degree of perfection above

other tables of the same kind may be, is a matter, not of opinion and

taste, in which many might vary, but of accuracy and usefulness, with

respect to which most will agree. The approbation they meet with will,

therefore, depend upon the experience of those for whom they were

principally designed, the proprietors of the publick funds, and the

brokers who transact the business of the funds, to whose patronage they

are cheerfully committed.

Among the brokers of stocks are men of great honour and probity, who are

candid and open in all their transactions, and incapable of mean and

selfish purposes; and it is to be lamented, that a market of such

importance, as the present state of this nation has made theirs, should

be brought into any discredit by the intrusion of bad men, who, instead

of serving their country, and procuring an honest subsistence in the

army or the fleet, endeavour to maintain luxurious tables, and splendid

equipages, by sporting with the publick credit.

It is not long, since the evil of stockjobbing was risen to such an

enormous height, as to threaten great injury to every actual proprietor,

particularly, to many widows and orphans, who, being bound to depend

upon the funds for their whole subsistence, could not possibly retreat

from the approaching danger. But this evil, after many unsuccessful

attempts of the legislature to conquer it, was, like many others, at

length subdued by its own violence; and the reputable stockbrokers seem

now to have it in their power effectually to prevent its return, by not

suffering the most distant approaches of it to take footing in their own

practice, and by opposing every effort made for its recovery by the

desperate sons of fortune, who, not having the courage of highwaymen

take 'Change-alley rather than the road, because, though more injurious

than highwaymen, they are less in danger of punishment by the loss

either of liberty or life.

With respect to the other patrons, to whose encouragement these tables

have been recommended, the proprietors of the publick funds, who are

busy in the improvement of their fortunes, it is sufficient to say--that

no motive can sanctify the accumulation of wealth, but an ardent desire

to make the most honourable and virtuous use of it, by contributing to

the support of good government, the increase of arts and industry, the

rewards of genius and virtue, and the relief of wretchedness and want.

What good, what true, what fit we justly call,

Let this be all our care--for this is all;

To lay this treasure up, and hoard with haste

What ev'ry day will want, and most the last.

This done, the poorest can no wants endure;

And this not done, the richest must be poor. POPE.

THOUGHTS ON THE CORONATION

OF HIS PRESENT MAJESTY,

KING GEORGE THE THIRD;

Or, reasons offered against confining the procession to the usual track,

and pointing out others more commodious and proper. To which are

prefixed, a plan of the different paths recommended, with the parts

adjacent, and a sketch of the procession.--Most humbly submitted to

consideration[1].

All pomp is instituted for the sake of the publick. A show without

spectators can no longer be a show. Magnificence in obscurity is equally

vain with a sundial in the grave.

As the wisdom of our ancestors has appointed a very splendid and

ceremonious inauguration of our kings, their intention was, that they

should receive their crown with such awful rites, as might for ever

impress upon them a due sense of the duties which they were to take,

when the happiness of nations is put into their hands; and that the

people, as many as can possibly be witnesses to any single act, should

openly acknowledge their sovereign by universal homage.

By the late method of conducting the coronation, all these purposes have

been defeated. Our kings, with their train, have crept to the temple

through obscure passages; and the crown has been worn out of sight of

the people.

Of the multitudes, whom loyalty or curiosity brought together, the

greater part has returned without a single glimpse of their prince's

grandeur, and the day that opened with festivity ended in discontent.

This evil has proceeded from the narrowness and shortness of the way,

through which the procession has lately passed. As it is narrow, it

admits of very few spectators; as it is short, it is soon passed. The

first part of the train reaches the Abbey, before the whole has left the

palace; and the nobility of England, in their robes of state, display

their riches only to themselves.

All this inconvenience may be easily avoided by choosing a wider and

longer course, which may be again enlarged and varied by going one way,

and returning another. This is not without a precedent; for, not to

inquire into the practice of remoter princes, the procession of Charles

the second's coronation issued from the Tower, and passed through the

whole length of the city to Whitehall[2].

The path in the late coronations has been only from Westminster hall,

along New Palace yard, into Union street, through the extreme end of

King street, and to the Abbey door, by the way of St. Margaret's church

yard.

The paths which I propose the procession to pass through, are,

1. From St. James's palace, along Pall Mall and Charing Cross, by

Whitehall, through Parliament street, down Bridge street, into King

street, round St. Margaret's church-yard, and from thence into the

Abbey.

2. From St. James's palace across the canal, into the Birdcage walk,

from thence into Great George street, then turning down Long ditch, (the

Gate house previously to be taken down,) proceed to the Abbey. Or,

3. Continuing the course along George street, into King street, and by

the way of St. Margaret's church yard, to pass into the west door of the

Abbey.

4. From St. James's palace, the usual way his majesty passes to the

House of Lords, as far as to the parade, when, leaving the horse guards

on the left, proceed along the Park, up to Great George street, and pass

to the Abbey in either of the tracks last mentioned.

5. From Westminster hall into Parliament street, down Bridge street,

along Great George street, through Long ditch, (the Gate house, as

before observed, to be taken down,) and so on to the west door of the

Abbey.

6. From Whitehall up Parliament street, down Bridge street, into King

street, round St. Margaret's church yard, proceed into the Abbey.

7. From the House of Lords along St. Margaret's street, across New

Palace yard, into Parliament street, and from thence to the Abbey by the

way last mentioned.

But if, on no account, the path must be extended to any of the lengths

here recommended, I could wish, rather than see the procession confined

to the old way, that it should pass,

8. From Westminster hall along Palace yard, into Parliament street, and

continued in the last mentioned path, viz. through Bridge street, King

street, and round the church yard, to the west door of the cathedral.

9. The return from the Abbey, in either case, to be as usual, viz. round

St. Margaret's church yard, into King street, through Union street,

along New Palace yard, and so into Westminster hall.

It is almost indifferent which of the six first ways, now proposed, be

taken; but there is a stronger reason than mere convenience for changing

the common course. Some of the streets in the old track are so ruinous,

that there is danger lest the houses, loaded as they will be with

people, all pressing forward in the same direction, should fall down

upon the procession. The least evil that can be expected is, that in so

close a crowd, some will be trampled upon, and others smothered; and,

surely, a pomp that costs a single life is too dearly bought. The new

streets, as they are more extensive, will afford place to greater

numbers, with less danger.

In this proposal, I do not foresee any objection that can reasonably be

made. That a longer march will require more time, is not to be

mentioned, as implying any defect in a scheme, of which the whole

purpose is to lengthen the march, and protract the time. The longest

course, which I have proposed, is not equal to an hour's walk in the

Park. The labour is not such, as that the king should refuse it to his

people, or the nobility grudge it to the king. Queen Anne went from the

palace through the Park to the Hall, on the day of her coronation; and,

when old and infirm, used to pass, on solemn thanksgivings, from the

palace to St. Paul's church[3].

Part of my scheme supposes the demolition of the Gate house, a building;

so offensive, that, without any occasional reason, it ought to be pulled

down, for it disgraces the present magnificence of the capital, and is a

continual nuisance to neighbours and passengers.

A longer course of scaffolding is, doubtless, more expensive than a

shorter; but, it is hoped, that the time is now passed, when any design

was received or rejected, according to the money that it would cost.

Magnificence cannot be cheap, for what is cheap cannot be magnificent.

The money that is so spent, is spent at home, and the king will receive

again what he lays out on the pleasure of his people. Nor is it to be

omitted, that, if the cost be considered as expended by the publick,

much more will be saved than lost; for the excessive prices, at which

windows and tops of houses are now let, will be abated; not only greater

numbers will be admitted to the show, but each will come at a cheaper

rate.

Some regulations are necessary, whatever track be chosen. The scaffold

ought to be raised at least four feet, with rails high enough to support

the standers, and yet so low as not to hinder the view.

It would add much to the gratification of the people, if the horse

guards, by which all our processions have been of late encumbered, and

rendered dangerous to the multitude, were to be left behind at the

coronation; and if, contrary to the desires of the people, the

procession must pass in the old track, that the number of foot soldiers

be diminished; since it cannot but offend every Englishman to see troops

of soldiers placed between him and his sovereign, as if they were the

most honourable of the people, or the king required guards to secure his

person from his subjects. As their station makes them think themselves

important, their insolence is always such as may be expected from

servile authority; and the impatience of the people, under such

immediate oppression, always produces quarrels, tumults, and mischief.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] First printed in the year 1761.

[2] The king went early in the morning to the Tower of London in his

coach, most of the lords being there before. And about ten of the

clock they set forward towards Whitehall, ranged in that order as

the heralds had appointed; those of the long robe, the king's

council at law, the masters of the chancery and judges, going first,

and so the lords in their order, very splendidly habited, on rich

footcloths; the number of their footmen being limited, to the dukes

ten, to the lords eight, and to the viscounts six, and to the barons

four, all richly clad, as their other servants were. The whole show

was the most glorious, in the order and expense, that had been ever

seen in England: they who rode first being in Fleet street when the

king issued out of the Tower, as was known by the discharge of the

ordnance: and it was near three of the clock in the afternoon, when

the king alighted at Whitehall. The next morning the king rode in

the same state in his robes, and with his crown on his head, and all

the lords in their robes to Westminster hall; where all the ensigns

for the coronation were delivered to those who were appointed to

carry them, the earl of Northumberland being made high constable,

and the earl of Suffolk, earl marshal, for the day. And then all the

lords in their order, and the king himself, walked on foot, upon

blue cloth, from Westminster hall to the Abbey church, where, after

a sermon preached by Dr. Morley, (then bishop of Worcester,) in

Henry the seventh's chapel, the king was sworn, crowned, and

anointed, by Dr. Juxon, archbishop of Canterbury, with all the

solemnity that in those cases had been used. All which being done,

the king returned in the same manner on foot to Westminster hall,

which was adorned with rich hangings and statues; and there the king

dined, and the lords on either side, at tables provided for them:

and all other ceremonies were performed with great order and

magnificence.--Life of lord Clarendon, p. 187.

[3] In order to convey to the reader some idea, how highly parade and

magnificence were estimated by our ancestors, on these solemn

occasions, I shall take notice of the manner of conducting lady Anne

Boleyn from Greenwich, previous to her coronation, as it is recited

by Stow.

King Henry the eighth (says that historian) having divorced queen

Catherine, and married Anne Boleyn, or Boloine, who was descended

from Godfrey Boloine, mayor of the city of London, and intending her

coronation, sent to order the lord mayor, not only to make all the

preparations necessary for conducting his royal consort from

Greenwich, by water, to the Tower of London but to adorn the city

after the most magnificent manner, for her passage through it to

Westminster.

In obedience to the royal precept, the mayor and common council not

only ordered the company of haberdashers, of which the lord mayor

was a member, to prepare a magnificent state barge; but enjoined all

the city corporations to provide themselves with barges, and to

adorn them in the most superb manner, and especially to have them

supplied with good bands of music.

On the 29th of May, the time prefixed for this pompous procession by

water the mayor, aldermen, and commons, assembled at St. Mary hill;

the mayor and aldermen in scarlet, with gold chains, and those who

were knights, with the collars of SS. At one they went on board the

city barge at Billingsgate, which was most magnificently decorated,

and attended by fifty noble barges, belonging to the several

companies of the city, with each its own corporation on board; and,

for the better regulation of this procession, it was ordered, that

each barge should keep twice their lengths asunder.

Thus regulated, the city barge was preceded by another mounted with

ordnance, and the figures of dragons, and other monsters,

incessantly emitting fire and smoke, with much noise. Then the city

barge, attended on the right by the haberdashers' state barge,

called the bachelors', which was covered with gold brocade, and

adorned with sails of silk, with two rich standards of the king's

and queen's arms at her head and stern, besides a variety of flags

and streamers, containing the arms of that company, and those of the

merchant adventurers; besides which, the shrouds and ratlines were

hung with a number of small bells: on the left was a barge that

contained a very beautiful mount, on which stood a white falcon

crowned, perched upon a golden stump, enriched with roses, being the

queen's emblem; and round the mount sat several beautiful virgins,

singing, and playing upon instruments. The other barges followed, in

regular order, till they came below Greenwich. On their return the

procession began with that barge which was before the last, in which

were the mayor's and sheriff's officers, and this was followed by

those of the inferior companies, ascending to the lord mayor's,

which immediately preceded that of the queen, who was attended by

the bachelors' or state barge, with the magnificence of which her

majesty was much delighted; and being arrived at the Tower, she

returned the lord mayor and aldermen thanks, for the pomp with which

she had been conducted thither.

Two days after, the lord mayor, in a gown of crimson velvet, and a

rich collar of SS, attended by the sheriffs, and two domestics in

red and white damask, went to receive the queen at the Tower of

London, whence the sheriffs returned to see that every thing was in

order. The streets were just before new gravelled, from the Tower to

Temple-bar, and railed in on each side, to the intent that the

horses should not slide on the pavement, nor the people be hurt by

the horses; within the rails near Gracechurch, stood a body of

Anseatic merchants, and next to them the several corporations of the

city, in their formalities, reaching to the alderman's station at

the upper end of Cheapside. On the opposite side were placed the

city constables, dressed in silk and velvet, with staffs in their

hands, to prevent the breaking in of the mob, or any other

disturbance. On this occasion, Gracechurch street and Corn hill were

hung with crimson and scarlet cloth, and the sides of the houses of

a place then called Goldsmiths' row, in Cheapside, were adorned with

gold brocades, velvet, and rich tapestry.

The procession began from the Tower, with twelve of the French

ambassador's domestics in blue velvet, the trappings of their horses

being blue sarsnet, interspersed with white crosses; after whom

marched those of the equestrian order, two and two, followed by

judges in their robes, two and two; then came the knights of the

bath in violet gowns, purfled with menever. Next came the abbots,

barons, bishops, earls, and marquises, in their robes, two and two.

Then the lord chancellor, followed by the Venetian ambassador and

the archbishop of York; next the French ambassador and the

archbishop of Canterbury, followed by two gentlemen representing the

dukes of Normandy and Aquitain; after whom rode the lord mayor of

London with his mace, and garter in his coat of arms; then the duke

of Suffolk, lord high steward, followed by the deputy marshal of

England, and all the other officers of state in their robes,

carrying the symbols of their several offices: then others of the

nobility in crimson velvet, and all the queen's officers in scarlet,

followed by her chancellor uncovered, who immediately preceded his

mistress.

The queen was dressed in silver brocade, with a mantle of the same

furred with ermine; her hair was dishevelled, and she wore a chaplet

upon her head set with jewels of inestimable value. She sat in a

litter covered with silver tissue, and carried by two beautiful pads

cloathed in white damask, and led by her footmen. Over the litter

was carried a canopy of cloth of gold, with a silver bell at each

corner, supported by sixteen knights alternately, by four at a time.

After her majesty came her chamberlain, followed by her master of

horse, leading a beautiful pad, with a side-saddle, and trappings of

silver tissue. Next came seven ladies in crimson velvet, faced with

gold brocade, mounted on beautiful horses with gold trappings. Then

followed two chariots covered with cloth of gold, in the first of

which were the duchess of Norfolk and the marchioness of Dorset, and

in the second four ladies in crimson velvet; then followed seven

ladies dressed in the same manner, on horseback, with magnificent

trappings, followed by another chariot all in white, with six ladies

in crimson velvet; this was followed by another all in red, with

eight ladies in the same dress with the former; next came thirty

gentlewomen, attendants to the ladies of honour; they were on

horseback, dressed in silks and velvet; and the cavalcade was closed

by the horse guards.

This pompous procession being arrived in Fenchurch street, the queen

stopped at a beautiful pageant, crowded with children in mercantile

habits, who congratulated her majesty upon the joyful occasion of

her happy arrival in the city.

Thence she proceeded to Gracechurch corner, where was erected a very

magnificent pageant, at the expense of the company of Anseatic

merchants, in which was represented mount Parnassus, with the

fountain of Helicon, of white marble, out of which arose four

springs, about four feet high, centering at the top in a small

globe, from whence issued plenty of Rhenish wine till night. On the

mount sat Apollo, at his feet was Calliope, and beneath were the

rest of the Muses, surrounding the mount, and playing upon a variety

of musical instruments, at whose feet were inscribed several

epigrams suited to the occasion, in letters of gold.

Her majesty then proceeded to Leadenhall, where stood a pageant,

representing a hill encompassed with red and white roses; and above

it was a golden stump, upon which a white falcon, descending from

above, perched, and was quickly followed by an angel, who put a

crown of gold upon his head. A little lower on the hillock sat St.

Anne, surrounded by her progeny, one of whom made an oration, in

which was a wish that her majesty might prove extremely prolific.

The procession then advanced to the conduit in Corn hill, where the

Graces sat enthroned, with a fountain before them, incessantly

discharging wine; and underneath, a poet, who described the

qualities peculiar to each of these amiable deities, and presented

the queen with their several gifts.

The cavalcade thence proceeded to a great conduit that stood

opposite to Mercers' hall in Cheapside, and, upon that occasion, was

painted with a variety of emblems, and during the solemnity and

remaining part of the day, ran with different sorts of wine, for the

entertainment of the populace.

At the end of Wood street, the standard there was finely embellished

with royal portraitures and a number of flags, on which were painted

coats of arms and trophies, and above was a concert of vocal and

instrumental music.

At the upper end of Cheapside was the aldermen's station, where the

recorder addressed the queen in a very elegant oration, and, in the

name of the citizens, presented her with a thousand marks, in a

purse of gold tissue, which her majesty very gracefully received.

At a small distance, by Cheapside conduit, was a pageant, in which

were seated Minerva, Juno, and Venus; before whom stood the god

Mercury, who, in their names, presented the queen a golden apple.

At St. Paul's gate was a fine pageant, in which sat three ladies

richly dressed, with each a chaplet on her head, and a tablet in her

hand, containing Latin inscriptions.

At the east end of St. Paul's cathedral, the queen was entertained

by some of the scholars belonging to St. Paul's school, with verses

in praise of the king and her majesty, with which she seemed highly

delighted.

Thence proceeding to Ludgate, which was finely decorated, her

majesty was entertained with several songs adapted to the occasion,

sung in concert by men and boys upon the leads over the gate.

At the end of Shoe lane, in Fleet street, a handsome tower with four

turrets, was erected upon the conduit, in each of which stood one of

the cardinal virtues, with their several symbols; who, addressing

themselves to the queen, promised they would never leave her, but be

always her constant attendants. Within the tower was an excellent

concert of music, and the conduit all the while ran with various

sorts of wine.

At Temple-bar she was again entertained with songs, sung in concert

by a choir of men and boys; and having from thence proceeded to

Westminster, she returned the lord mayor thanks for his good

offices, and those of the citizens, that day. The day after, the

lord mayor, aldermen, and sheriffs, assisted at the coronation,

which was performed with great splendour.--Stow's Annals.

_Note_. The same historian informs us, that queen Elizabeth passed

in the like manner, through the city, to her coronation.

The admirers of the descriptions of pageants may be amply gratified

in Henry's History of England. The field of the cloth of gold shines

"luna inter minora sidera."--Ed.

PREFACE TO THE ARTISTS' CATALOGUE, FOR 1762.

The publick may justly require to be informed of the nature and extent

of every design, for which the favour of the publick is openly

solicited. The artists, who were themselves the first projectors of an

exhibition in this nation, and who have now contributed to the following

catalogue, think it, therefore, necessary to explain their purpose, and

justify their conduct. An exhibition of the works of art, being a

spectacle new in this kingdom, has raised various opinions and

conjectures, among those who are unacquainted with the practice in

foreign nations. Those who set out their performances to general view,

have been too often considered as the rivals of each other, as men

actuated, if not by avarice, at least by vanity, and contending for

superiority of fame, though not for a pecuniary prize: it cannot be

denied or doubted, that all who offer themselves to criticism are

desirous of praise; this desire is not only innocent, but virtuous,

while it is undebased by artifice, and unpolluted by envy, and of envy

or artifice these men can never be accused, who, already enjoying all

the honours and profits of their profession, are content to stand

candidates for publick notice, with genius yet unexperienced, and

diligence yet unrewarded; who, without any hope of increasing their own

reputation or interest, expose their names and their works, only that

they may furnish an opportunity of appearance to the young, the

diffident, and the neglected. The purpose of this exhibition is not to

enrich the artists, but to advance the art; the eminent are not

flattered with preference, nor the obscure insulted with contempt;

whoever hopes to deserve publick favour, is here invited to display his

merit.

Of the price put upon this exhibition, some account may be demanded.

Whoever sets his work to be shown, naturally desires a multitude of

spectators; but his desire defeats its own end, when spectators assemble

in such numbers as to obstruct one another. Though we are far from

wishing to diminish the pleasures, or depreciate the sentiments of any

class of the community, we know, however, what every one knows, that all

cannot be judges or purchasers of works of art; yet we have already

found, by experience, that all are desirous to see an exhibition. When

the terms of admission were low, our room was thronged with such

multitudes as made access dangerous, and frightened away those whose

approbation was most desired.

Yet, because it is seldom believed that money is got but for the love of

money, we shall tell the use which we intend to make of our expected

profits.

Many artists of great abilities are unable to sell their works for their

due price; to remove this inconvenience, an annual sale will be

appointed, to which every man may send his works, and send them, if he

will, without his name. These works will be reviewed by the committee

that conduct the exhibition. A price will be secretly set on every

piece, and registered by the secretary. If the piece exposed is sold for

more, the whole price shall be the artist's; but if the purchaser's

value is at less than the committee, the artist shall be paid the

deficiency from the profits of the exhibition.

OPINIONS ON QUESTIONS OF LAW.

The following opinions on cases of law may be regarded as among the

strongest proofs of Johnson's enlarged powers of mind, and of his

ability to grapple with subjects, on general principles, with whose

technicalities he could not be familiar. Of law, as a science, he ever

expressed the deepest admiration, and an author who combines an accurate

knowledge of the practical details of jurisprudence with the most

philosophical views of legal principles, has quoted Dr. Johnson, as

pronouncing the study of law "the last effort of human intelligence

acting upon human experience." We allude to the eloquent and excellent

Sir James Mackintosh's Discourse on the Study of the Law of Nature and

Nations, p. 58. Lord Bacon, in his two books on the Advancement of

Learning, has affirmed, that professed lawyers are not the best law

authors; and the comprehensive and lucid opinions which Dr. Johnson has

here given, and which, in many instances, have been subsequently

sanctioned by legislative authority, seem to establish the remark.

The first Case in the present edition, involves an ingenious defence of

the right of abridgment, founded on considerations on Dr. Trapp's

celebrated sermons "on the nature, folly, sin, and danger of being

righteous over-much." These discourses, about the year 1739, when

methodism was a novelty, attracted much attention. Mr. Cave, always

anxious to gratify his readers, abridged and extracted parts from them,

and promised a continuation. This never appeared; stopped, perhaps, by

threats of prosecution on the part of the original publishers of the

sermons. It was, in all probability, on this occasion, that Dr. Johnson

wrote the following paper.--Gent. Mag. July, 1787. It is a subject with

whose bearings he might be presumed to be practically conversant; and,

accordingly, we find, in his memoirs, many recorded arguments of his, on

literary property. They uniformly exhibit the most enlarged and liberal

views--a readiness to sacrifice private considerations to publick and

general good. He wished the author to be adequately remunerated for his

labour, and tenderly protected from spoliation, but, by no means,

encouraged in monopoly. See Boswell's Life, i. ii. iv.

CONSIDERATIONS ON THE

CASE OF DR. T[RAPP]'S SERMONS.

ABRIDGED BY MR. CAVE, 1739.

1. That the copy of a book is the property of the author, and that he

may, by sale, or otherwise, transfer that property to another, who has a

right to be protected in the possession of that property, so

transferred, is not to be denied.

2. That the complainants may be lawfully invested with the property of

this copy, is likewise granted.

3. But the complainants have mistaken the nature of this property; and,

in consequence of their mistake, have supposed it to be invaded by an

act, in itself legal, and justifiable by an uninterrupted series of

precedents, from the first establishment of printing, among us, down to

the present time.

4. He that purchases the copy of a book, purchases the sole right of

printing it, and of vending the books printed according to it; but has

no right to add to it, or take from it, without the author's consent,

who still preserves such a right in it, as follows from the right every

man has to preserve his own reputation.

5. Every single book, so sold by the proprietor, becomes the property of

the buyer, who purchases, with the book, the right of making such use of

it as he shall think most convenient, either for his own improvement or

amusement, or the benefit or entertainment of mankind.

6. This right the reader of a book may use, many ways, to the

disadvantage both of the author and the proprietor, which yet they have

not any right to complain of, because the author when he wrote, and the

proprietor when he purchased the copy, knew, or ought to have known,

that the one wrote, and the other purchased, under the hazard of such

treatment from the buyer and reader, and without any security from the

bad consequences of that treatment, except the excellence of the book.

7. Reputation and property are of different kinds; one kind of each is

more necessary to be secured by the law than another, and the law has

provided more effectually for its defence. My character as a man, a

subject, or a trader, is under the protection of the law; but my

reputation, as an author, is at the mercy of the reader, who lies under

no other obligations to do me justice than those of religion and

morality. If a man calls me rebel or bankrupt, I may prosecute and

punish him; but, if a man calls me ideot or plagiary, I have no remedy;

since, by selling him the book, I admit his privilege of judging, and

declaring his judgment, and can appeal only to other readers, if I think

myself injured.

8. In different characters we are more or less protected; to hiss a

pleader at the bar would, perhaps, be deemed illegal and punishable, but

to hiss a dramatick writer is justifiable by custom.

9. What is here said of the writer, extends itself naturally to the

purchaser of a copy, since the one seldom suffers without the other.

10. By these liberties it is obvious, that authors and proprietors may

often suffer, and sometimes unjustly: but as these liberties are

encouraged and allowed for the same reason with writing itself, for the

discovery and propagation of truth, though, like other human goods, they

have their alloys and ill consequences; yet, as their advantages

abundantly preponderate, they have never yet been abolished or

restrained.

11. Thus every book, when it falls into the hands of the reader, is

liable to be examined, confuted, censured, translated, and abridged; any

of which may destroy the credit of the author, or hinder the sale of the

book.

12. That all these liberties are allowed, and cannot be prohibited

without manifest disadvantage to the publick, may be easily proved; but

we shall confine ourselves to the liberty of making epitomes, which

gives occasion to our present inquiry.

13. That an uninterrupted prescription confers a right, will be easily

granted, especially if it appears that the prescription, pleaded in

defence of that right, might at any time have been interrupted, had it

not been always thought agreeable to reason and to justice.

14. The numberless abridgments that are to be found of all kinds of

writings, afford sufficient evidence that they were always thought

legal, for they are printed with the names of the abbreviators and

publishers, and without the least appearance of a clandestine

transaction. Many of the books, so abridged, were the properties of men

who wanted neither wealth, nor interest, nor spirit, to sue for justice,

if they had thought themselves injured. Many of these abridgments must

have been made by men whom we can least suspect of illegal practices,

for there are few books of late that are not abridged.

15. When bishop Burnet heard that his History of the Reformation was

about to be abridged, he did not think of appealing to the court of

chancery; but, to avoid any misrepresentation of his history, epitomised

it himself, as he tells us in his preface.

16. But, lest it should be imagined that an author might do this rather

by choice than necessity, we shall produce two more instances of the

like practice, where it would certainly not have been borne, if it had

been suspected of illegality. The one, in Clarendon's History, which was

abridged, in 2 vols. 8vo.; and the other in bishop Burnet's History of

his Own Time, abridged in the same manner. The first of these books was

the property of the university of Oxford, a body tenacious enough of

their rights; the other, of bishop Burnet's heirs, whose circumstances

were such as made them very sensible of any diminution of their

inheritance.

17. It is observable, that both these abridgments last mentioned, with

many others that might be produced, were made when the act of parliament

for securing the property of copies was in force, and which, if that

property was injured, afforded an easy redress: what then can be

inferred from the silence and forbearance of the proprietors, but that

they thought an epitome of a book no violation of the right of the

proprietor?

18. That their opinion, so contrary to their own interest, was founded

in reason, will appear from the nature and end of an abridgment.

19. The design of an abridgment is, to benefit mankind by facilitating

the attainment of knowledge; and by contracting arguments, relations, or

descriptions, into a narrow compass, to convey instruction in the

easiest method, without fatiguing the attention, burdening the memory,

or impairing the health of the student.

20. By this method the original author becomes, perhaps, of less value,

and the proprietor's profits are diminished; but these inconveniencies

give way to the advantage received by mankind, from the easier

propagation of knowledge; for as an incorrect book is lawfully

criticised, and false assertions justly confuted, because it is more the

interest of mankind, that errour should be detected, and truth

discovered, than that the proprietors of a particular book should enjoy

their profits undiminished; so a tedious volume may, no less lawfully,

be abridged, because it is better that the proprietors should suffer

some damage, than that the acquisition of knowledge should be obstructed

with unnecessary difficulties, and the valuable hours of thousands

thrown away.

21. Therefore, as he that buys the copy of a book, buys it under this

condition, that it is liable to be confuted, if it is false, however his

property may be affected by such a confutation; so he buys it, likewise,

liable to be abridged, if it be tedious, however his property may suffer

by the abridgment.

22. To abridge a book, therefore, is no violation of the right of the

proprietor, because to be subject to the hazard of an abridgment was an

original condition of the property.

23. Thus we see the right of abridging authors established both by

reason and the customs of trade. But, perhaps, the necessity of this

practice may appear more evident, from a consideration of the

consequences that must probably follow from the prohibition of it.

24. If abridgments be condemned, as injurious to the proprietor of the

copy, where will this argument end? Must not confutations be, likewise,

prohibited for the same reason? Or, in writings of entertainment, will

not criticisms, at least, be entirely suppressed, as equally hurtful to

the proprietor, and certainly not more necessary to the publick?

25. Will not authors, who write for pay, and who are rewarded, commonly,

according to the bulk of their work, be tempted to fill their works with

superfluities and digressions, when the dread of an abridgment is taken

away, as doubtless more negligences would be committed, and more

falsehoods published, if men were not restrained by the fear of censure

and confutation?

26. How many useful works will the busy, the indolent, and the less

wealthy part of mankind be deprived of! How few will read or purchase

forty-four large volumes of the transactions of the royal society,

which, in abridgment, are generally read, to the great improvement of

philosophy!

27. How must general systems of sciences be written, which are nothing

more than epitomes of those authors who have written on particular

branches, and those works are made less necessary by such collections!

Can he that destroys the profit of many copies be less criminal than he

that lessens the sale of one?

28. Even to confute an erroneous book will become more difficult, since

it has always been a custom to abridge the author whose assertions are

examined, and, sometimes, to transcribe all the essential parts of his

book. Must an inquirer after truth be debarred from the benefit of such

confutations, unless he purchases the book, however useless, that gave

occasion to the answer?

29. Having thus endeavoured to prove the legality of abridgments from

custom from reason, it remains only that we show, that we have not

printed the complainant's copy, but abridged it[1].

30. This will need no proof, since it will appear, upon comparing the

two books, that we have reduced thirty-seven pages to thirteen of the

same print.

31. Our design is, to give our readers a short view of the present

controversy; and we require, that one of these two positions be proved,

either that we have no right to exhibit such a view, or that we can

exhibit it, without epitomising the writers of each party.

[1] A fair and bona fide abridgment of any book is considered a new

work; and however it may injure the sale of the original, yet it is not

deemed, in law, to be a piracy, or violation of the author's copyright.

1 Bro. 451. 2. Atk. 141. and Mr. Christian's note on the Commentaries,

ii. 407.--Ed.

ON SCHOOL CHASTISEMENT.

[The following argument, on school chastisement, was dictated to Mr.

Boswell, who was counsel in the case. It originated in 1772, when a

schoolmaster at Campbelltown was deprived, by a court of inferior

jurisdiction, of his office, for alleged cruelty to his scholars. The

court of session restored him. The parents or friends, whose weak

indulgence had listened to their children's complaints in the first

stage, now appealed to the house of lords, who reversed the decree of

the court of session, and the schoolmaster was, accordingly, deprived of

his situation, April 14, 1772.--Boswell, ii.]

The charge is, that this schoolmaster has used immoderate and cruel

correction. Correction, in itself, is not cruel; children, being not

reasonable, can be governed only by fear. To impress this fear is,

therefore, one of the first duties of those who have the care of

children. It is the duty of a parent; and has never been thought

inconsistent with parental tenderness. It is the duty of a master, who

is in his highest exaltation, when he is "loco parentis[1]." Yet, as

good things become evil by excess, correction, by being immoderate, may

become cruel. But, when is correction immoderate? When it is more

frequent or more severe than is required, "ad monendum et docendum," for

reformation and instruction. No severity is cruel which obstinacy makes

necessary; for the greatest cruelty would be to desist, and leave the

scholar too careless for instruction, and too much hardened for reproof.

Locke, in his Treatise of Education, mentions a mother, with applause,

who whipped an infant eight times before she had subdued it; for, had

she stopped at the seventh act of correction, her daughter, says he,

would have been ruined. The degrees of obstinacy in young minds are very

different; as different must be the degrees of persevering severity. A

stubborn scholar must be corrected, till he is subdued. The discipline

of a school is military. There must be either unbounded license, or

absolute authority. The master, who punishes, not only consults the

future happiness of him who is the immediate subject of correction, but

he propagates obedience through the whole school; and establishes

regularity by exemplary justice. The victorious obstinacy of a single

boy, would make his future endeavours of reformation or instruction

totally ineffectual. Obstinacy, therefore, must never be victorious.

Yet, it is well known that there, sometimes, occurs a sullen and hardy

resolution, that laughs at all common punishment, and bids defiance to

all common degrees of pain. Correction must be proportionate to

occasions. The flexible will be reformed by gentle discipline, and the

refractory must be subdued by harsher methods. The degrees of

scholastick, as of military punishment, no stated rules can ascertain.

It must be enforced till it overpowers temptation; till stubbornness

become flexible, and perverseness regular. Custom and reason have,

indeed, set some bounds to scholastick penalties. The schoolmaster

inflicts no capital punishments; nor enforces his edicts by either death

or mutilation. The civil law has wisely determined, that a master who

strikes at a scholar's eye shall be considered as criminal. But

punishments, however severe, that produce no lasting evil, may be just

and reasonable, because they may be necessary. Such have been the

punishments used by the respondent. No scholar has gone from him either

blind or lame, or with any of his limbs or powers injured or impaired.

They were irregular, and he punished them; they were obstinate, and he

enforced his punishment. But, however provoked, he never exceeded the

limits of moderation, for he inflicted nothing beyond present pain; and

how much of that was required, no man is so little able to determine as

those who have determined against him--the parents of the offenders. It

has been said, that he used unprecedented and improper instruments of

correction. Of this accusation the meaning is not very easy to be found.

No instrument of correction is more proper than another, but as it is

better adapted to produce present pain, without lasting mischief.

Whatever were his instruments, no lasting mischief has ensued; and,

therefore, however unusual, in hands so cautious, they were proper. It

has been objected, that the respondent admits the charge of cruelty, by

producing no evidence to confute it. Let it be considered, that his

scholars are either dispersed at large in the world, or continue to

inhabit the place in which they were bred. Those who are dispersed

cannot be found; those who remain are the sons of his prosecutors, and

are not likely to support a man to whom their fathers are enemies. If it

be supposed that the enmity of their fathers proves the justness of the

charge, it must be considered how often experience shows us, that men

who are angry on one ground will accuse on another; with how little

kindness, in a town of low trade, a man who lives by learning is

regarded; and how implicitly, where the inhabitants are not very rich, a

rich man is hearkened to and followed. In a place like Campbelltown, it

is easy for one of the principal inhabitants to make a party. It is easy

for that party to heat themselves with imaginary grievances. It is easy

for them to oppress a man poorer than themselves; and natural to assert

the dignity of riches, by persisting in oppression. The argument which

attempts to prove the impropriety of restoring him to the school, by

alleging that he has lost the confidence of the people, is not the

subject of juridical consideration; for he is to suffer, if he must

suffer, not for their judgment, but for his own actions. It may be

convenient for them to have another master; but it is a convenience of

their own making. It would be, likewise, convenient for him to find

another school; but this convenience he cannot obtain. The question is

not, what is now convenient, but what is generally right. If the people

of Campbelltown be distressed by the restoration of the respondent, they

are distressed only by their own fault; by turbulent passions and

unreasonable desires; by tyranny, which law has defeated, and by malice,

which virtue has surmounted.

[1] See Blackstone's Comment, i. 453.

VITIOUS INTROMISSION.

[This argument cannot be better prefaced than by Mr. Boswell's own

exposition of the law of vitious intromission. He was himself an

advocate at the Scotch bar, and of counsel in this case. "It was held of

old, and continued for a long period, to be an established principle in

Scotch law, that whoever intermeddled with the effects of a person

deceased, without the interposition of legal authority to guard against

embezzlement, should be subjected to pay all the debts of the deceased,

as having been guilty of what was technically called _vitious

intromission_. The court of session had, gradually, relaxed the

strictness of this principle, where an interference proved had been

inconsiderable. In the case of Wilson against Smith and Armour, in the

year 1772, I had laboured to persuade the judge to return to the ancient

law. It was my own sincere opinion, that they ought to adhere to it; but

I had exhausted all my powers of reasoning in vain. Johnson thought as I

did; and in order to assist me in my application to the court, for a

revision and alteration of the judgment, he dictated to me the following

argument."--Boswell, ii. 200.]

This, we are told, is a law which has its force only from the long

practice of the court; and may, therefore, be suspended or modified as

the court shall think proper.

Concerning the power of the court, to make or to suspend a law, we have

no intention to inquire. It is sufficient, for our purpose, that every

just law is dictated by reason, and that the practice of every legal

court is regulated by equity. It is the quality of reason, to be

invariable and constant; and of equity, to give to one man what, in the

same case, is given to another. The advantage which humanity derives

from law is this: that the law gives every man a rule of action, and

prescribes a mode of conduct which shall entitle him to the support and

protection of society. That the law may be a rule of action, it is

necessary that it be known; it is necessary that it be permanent and

stable. The law is the measure of civil right; but, if the measure be

changeable, the extent of the thing measured never can be settled.

To permit a law to be modified at discretion, is to leave the community

without law. It is to withdraw the direction of that publick wisdom, by

which the deficiencies of private understanding are to be supplied. It

is to suffer the rash and ignorant to act at discretion, and then to

depend for the legality of that action on the sentence of the judge. He

that is thus governed lives not by law, but by opinion; not by a certain

rule, to which he can apply his intention before he acts, but by an

uncertain and variable opinion, which he can-never know but after he has

committed the act, on which that opinion shall be passed. He lives by a

law, if a law it be, which he can never know her fore he has offended

it. To this case may be justly applied that important principle, "misera

est servitus ubi jus est aut incognitum aut vagum." If intromission be

not criminal, till it exceeds a certain point, and that point be

unsettled, and, consequently, different in different minds, the right of

intromission, and the right of the creditor arising from it, are all

_jura vaga_, and, by consequence, are _jura incognita_; and the result

can be no other than a _misera servitus_, an uncertainty concerning the

event of action, a servile dependance on private opinion.

It may be urged, and with great plausibility, that there may be

intromission without fraud; which, however true, will by no means

justify an occasional and arbitrary relaxation of the law. The end of

law is protection, as well as vengeance. Indeed, vengeance is never used

but to strengthen protection. That society only is well governed, where

life is freed from danger and from suspicion; where possession is so

sheltered by salutary prohibitions, that violation is prevented more

frequently than punished. Such a prohibition was this, while it operated

with its original force. The creditor of the deceased was not only

without loss, but without fear. He was not to seek a remedy for an

injury suffered; for injury was warded off.

As the law has been sometimes administered, it lays us open to wounds,

because it is imagined to have the power of healing. To punish fraud,

when it is detected, is the proper art of vindictive justice; but to

prevent frauds, and make punishment unnecessary, is the great employment

of legislative wisdom. To permit intromission, and to punish fraud, is

to make law no better than a pitfall. To tread upon the brink is safe;

but to come a step further is destruction. But, surely, it is better to

enclose the gulf, and hinder all access, than by encouraging us to

advance a little, to entice us afterwards a little further, and let us

perceive our folly only by our destruction.

As law supplies the weak with adventitious strength, it likewise

enlightens the ignorant with extrinsick understanding. Law teaches us to

know when we commit injury and when we suffer it. It fixes certain marks

upon actions, by which we are admonished to do or to forbear them. "Qui

sibi bene temperat in licitis," says one of the fathers, "nunquam cadet

in illicita:" he who never intromits at all, will never intromit with

fraudulent intentions.

The relaxation of the law against vitious intromission has been very

favourably represented by a great master of jurisprudence[1], whose

words have been exhibited with unnecessary pomp, and seem to be

considered as irresistibly decisive. The great moment of his authority

makes it necessary to examine his position: 'Some ages ago,' says he,

'before the ferocity of the inhabitants of this part of the island was

subdued, the utmost severity of the civil law was necessary, to restrain

individuals from plundering each other. Thus, the man who intermeddled

irregularly with the moveables of a person deceased, was subjected to

all the debts of the deceased, without limitation. This makes a branch

of the law of Scotland, known by the name of vitious intromission: and

so rigidly was this regulation applied in our courts of law, that the

most trifling moveable abstracted mala fide, subjected the intermeddler

to the foregoing consequences, which proved, in many instances, a most

rigorous punishment. But this severity was necessary, in order to subdue

the undisciplined nature of our people. It is extremely remarkable,

that, in proportion to our improvement in manners, this regulation has

been gradually softened, and applied by our sovereign court with a

sparing hand.'

I find myself under the necessity of observing, that this learned and

judicious writer has not accurately distinguished the deficiencies and

demands of the different conditions of human life, which, from a degree

of savageness and independence, in which all laws are vain, passes, or

may pass, by innumerable gradations, to a state of reciprocal benignity,

in which laws shall be no longer necessary. Men are first wild and

unsocial, living each man to himself, taking from the weak, and losing

to the strong. In their first coalitions of society, much of this

original savageness is retained. Of general happiness, the product of

general confidence, there is yet no thought. Men continue to prosecute

their own advantages by the nearest way; and the utmost severity of the

civil law is necessary to restrain individuals from plundering each

other. The restraints then necessary, are restraints from plunder, from

acts of publick violence, and undisguised oppression. The ferocity of

our ancestors, as of all other nations, produced not fraud, but rapine.

They had not yet learned to cheat, and attempted only to rob. As manners

grow more polished, with the knowledge of good, men attain, likewise,

dexterity in evil. Open rapine becomes less frequent, and violence gives

way to cunning. Those who before invaded pastures and stormed houses,

now begin to enrich themselves by unequal contracts and fraudulent

intromissions.

It is not against the violence of ferocity, but the circumventions of

deceit, that this law was framed; and, I am afraid, the increase of

commerce, and the incessant struggle for riches, which commerce excites,

give us no prospect of an end speedily to be expected of artifice and

fraud. It, therefore, seems to be no very conclusive reasoning, which

connects those two propositions:--'the nation is become less ferocious,

and, therefore, the laws against fraud and covin shall be relaxed.'

Whatever reason may have influenced the judges to a relaxation of the

law, it was not that the nation was grown less fierce; and, I am afraid,

it cannot be affirmed, that it is grown less fraudulent.

Since this law has been represented as rigorously and unreasonably

penal, it seems not improper to consider, what are the conditions and

qualities that make the justice or propriety of a penal law.

To make a penal law reasonable and just, two conditions are necessary,

and two proper. It is necessary that the law should be adequate to its

end; that, if it be observed, it shall prevent the evil against which it

is directed. It is, secondly, necessary that the end of the law be of

such importance as to deserve the security of a penal sanction. The

other conditions of a penal law, which, though not absolutely necessary,

are, to a very high degree, fit, are, that to the moral violation of the

law there are many temptations, and, that of the physical observance

there is great facility.

All these conditions apparently concur to justify the law which we are

now considering. Its end is the security of property, and property very

often of great value. The method by which it effects the security is

efficacious, because it admits, in its original rigour, no gradations of

injury; but keeps guilt and innocence apart, by a distinct and definite

limitation. He that intromits, is criminal; he that intromits not, is

innocent. Of the two secondary considerations it cannot be denied that

both are in our favour. The temptation to intromit is frequent and

strong; so strong, and so frequent, as to require the utmost activity of

justice, and vigilance of caution, to withstand its prevalence: and the

method by which a man may entitle himself to legal intromission, is so

open and so facile, that to neglect it is a proof of fraudulent

intention; for why should a man omit to do (but for reasons which he

will not confess) that which he can do so easily, and that which he

knows to be required by the law? If temptation were rare, a penal law

might be deemed unnecessary. If the duty, enjoined by the law, were of

difficult performance, omission, though it could not be justified, might

be pitied. But in the present case, neither equity nor compassion

operate against it. An useful, a necessary law is broken, not only

without a reasonable motive, but with all the inducements to obedience

that can be derived from safety and facility.

I, therefore, return to my original position, that a law, to have its

effects, must be permanent and stable. It may be said, in the language

of the schools, "lex non recipit majus et minus;" we may have a law, or

we may have no law, but we cannot have half a law. We must either have a

rule of action, or be permitted to act by discretion and by chance.

Deviations from the law must be uniformly punished, or no man can be

certain when he shall be safe.

That from the rigour of the original institution this court has

sometimes departed, cannot be denied. But as it is evident that such

deviations as they, make law uncertain, make life unsafe, I hope, that

of departing from it there will now be an end; that the wisdom of our

ancestors will be treated with due reverence; and that consistent and

steady decisions will furnish the people with a rule of action, and

leave fraud and fraudulent intromissions no future hope of impunity or

escape[2].

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Lord Kames, in his Historical Law Tracts.

[2] "This masterly argument on vitious intromission, after being

prefaced and concluded with some sentences of my own," says Mr.

Boswell, "and garnished with the usual formularies, was actually

printed, and laid before the lords of session, but without

success."--Boswell, ii. 207.

ON LAY PATRONAGE IN THE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND.

[Dr. Johnson has treated this delicate and difficult subject with

unusual acuteness. As Mr. Boswell has recorded the argument, we will

make use, once more, of his words to introduce it; observing, by the

way, that it did not convince Mr. Boswell's own mind, who was himself a

lay patron. "I introduced a question which has been much agitated in the

church of Scotland, whether the claim of lay patrons to present

ministers to parishes be well founded; and, supposing it to be well

founded, whether it ought to be exercised without the concurrence of the

people? That church is composed of a series of judicatures; a

presbytery, a synod, and, finally, a general assembly; before all of

which this matter may be contended; and, in some cases, the presbytery

having refused to induct or _settle_, as they call it, the person

presented by the patron, it has been found necessary to appeal to the

general assembly. Johnson said, I might see the subject well treated in

the Defence of Pluralities; and although he thought that a patron should

exercise his right with tenderness to the inclinations of the people of

a parish, he was very clear as to his right. Then supposing the question

to be pleaded before the general assembly, he dictated to me what

follows."--Boswell, ii. 248.]

Against the right of patrons is commonly opposed, by the inferiour

judicatures, the plea of conscience. Their conscience tells them, that

the people ought to choose their pastor; their conscience tells them,

that they ought not to impose upon a congregation a minister ungrateful

and unacceptable to his auditors. Conscience is nothing more than a

conviction, felt by ourselves, of something to be done, or something to

be avoided; and in questions of simple unperplexed morality, conscience

is very often a guide that may be trusted. But before conscience can

determine, the state of the question is supposed to be completely known.

In questions of law, or of fact, conscience is very often confounded

with opinion. No man's conscience can tell him the rights of another

man; they must be known by rational investigation, or historical

inquiry. Opinion, which he that holds it may call his conscience, may

teach some men that religion would be promoted, and quiet preserved, by

granting to the people universally the choice of their ministers. But it

is a conscience very ill informed that violates the rights of one man,

for the convenience of another. Religion cannot be promoted by

injustice: and it was never yet found that a popular election was very

quietly transacted.

That justice would be violated by transferring to the people the right

of patronage, is apparent to all who know whence that right had its

original. The right of patronage was not at first a privilege torn by

power from unresisting poverty. It is not an authority, at first usurped

in times of ignorance, and established only by succession and by

precedents. It is not a grant capriciously made from a higher tyrant to

a lower. It is a right dearly purchased by the first possessours, and

justly inherited by those that succeed them. When Christianity was

established in this island, a regular mode of worship was prescribed.

Publick worship requires a publick place; and the proprietors of lands,

as they were converted, built churches for their families and their

vassals. For the maintenance of ministers they settled a certain portion

of their lands; and a district, through which each minister was required

to extend his care, was, by that circumscription, constituted a parish.

This is a position so generally received in England, that the extent of

a manor and of a parish are regularly received for each other. The

churches which the proprietors of lands had thus built and thus endowed,

they justly thought themselves entitled to provide with ministers; and,

where the episcopal government prevails, the bishop has no power to

reject a man nominated by the patron, but for some crime that might

exclude him from the priesthood. For, the endowment of the church being

the gift of the landlord, he was, consequently, at liberty to give it,

according to his choice, to any man capable of performing the holy

offices. The people did not choose him, because the people did not pay

him.

We hear it sometimes urged, that this original right is passed out of

memory, and is obliterated and obscured by many translations of property

and changes of government; that scarce any church is now in the hands of

the heirs of the builders; and that the present persons have entered

subsequently upon the pretended rights by a thousand accidental and

unknown causes. Much of this, perhaps, is true. But how is the right of

patronage extinguished? If the right followed the lands, it is

possessed, by the same equity by which the lands are possessed. It is,

in effect, part of the manor, and protected by the same laws with every

other privilege. Let us suppose an estate forfeited by treason, and

granted by the crown to a new family. With the lands were forfeited all

the rights appendant to those lands; by the same power that grants the

lands, the rights also are granted. The right, lost to the patron, falls

not to the people, but is either retained by the crown, or, what to the

people is the same thing, is by the crown given away. Let it change

hands ever so often, it is possessed by him that receives it, with the

same right as it was conveyed. It may, indeed, like all our possessions,

be forcibly seized or fraudulently obtained. But no injury is still done

to the people; for what they never had, they have never lost. Caius may

usurp the right of Titius, but neither Caius nor Titius injure the

people; and no man's conscience, however tender or however active, can

prompt him to restore what may be proved to have been never taken away.

Supposing, what I think cannot be proved, that a popular election of

ministers were to be desired, our desires are not the measure of equity.

It were to be desired, that power should be only in the hands of the

merciful, and riches in the possession of the generous; but the law must

leave both riches and power where it finds them; and must often leave

riches with the covetous, and power with the cruel. Convenience may be a

rule in little things, where no other rule has been established. But, as

the great end of government is to give every man his own, no

inconvenience is greater than that of making right uncertain. Nor is any

man more an enemy to publick peace, than he who fills weak heads with

imaginary claims, and breaks the series of civil subordination, by

inciting the lower classes of mankind to encroach upon the higher.

Having thus shown that the right of patronage, being originally

purchased, may be legally transferred, and that it is now in the hands

of lawful possessours, at least as certainly as any other right, we have

left the advocates of the people no other plea than that of convenience.

Let us, therefore, now consider what the people would really gain by a

general abolition of the right of patronage. What is most to be desired

by such a change is, that the country should be supplied with better

ministers. But why should we suppose that the parish will make a wiser

choice than the patron? If we suppose mankind actuated by interest, the

patron is more likely to choose with caution, because he will suffer

more by choosing wrong. By the deficiencies of his minister, or by his

vices, he is equally offended with the rest of the congregation; but he

will have this reason more to lament them, that they will be imputed to

his absurdity or corruption. The qualifications of a minister are well

known to be learning and piety. Of his learning the patron is probably

the only judge in the parish; and of his piety not less a judge than

others; and is more likely to inquire minutely and diligently before he

gives a presentation, than one of the parochial rabble, who can give

nothing but a vote. It may be urged, that though the parish might not

choose better ministers, they would, at least, choose ministers whom

they like better, and who would, therefore, officiate with greater

efficacy. That ignorance and perverseness should always obtain what they

like, was never considered as the end of government; of which it is the

great and standing benefit, that the wise see for the simple, and the

regular act for the capricious. But that this argument supposes the

people capable of judging, and resolute to act according to their best

judgments, though this be sufficiently absurd, it is not all its

absurdity. It supposes not only wisdom, but unanimity in those, who upon

no other occasions are unanimous or wise. If by some strange concurrence

all the voices of a parish should unite in the choice of any single man,

though I could not charge the patron with injustice for presenting a

minister, I should censure him as unkind and injudicious. But it is

evident, that, as in all other popular elections, there will be

contrariety of judgment and acrimony of passion; a parish upon every

vacancy would break into factions, and the contest for the choice of a

minister would set neighbours at variance, and bring discord into

families. The minister would be taught all the arts of a candidate,

would flatter some, and bribe others; and the electors, as in all other

cases, would call for holy-days and ale, and break the heads of each

other during the jollity of the canvass. The time must, however, come at

last, when one of the factions must prevail, and one of the ministers

get possession of the church. On what terms does he enter upon his

ministry, but those of enmity with half his parish? By what prudence or

what diligence can he hope to conciliate the affections of that party,

by whose defeat he has obtained his living? Every man who voted against

him will enter the church with hanging head and downcast eyes, afraid to

encounter that neighbour by whose vote and influence he has been

overpowered. He will hate his neighbour for opposing him, and his

minister for having prospered by the opposition; and, as he will never

see him but with pain, he will never see him but with hatred. Of a

minister presented by the patron, the parish has seldom any thing worse

to say, than that they do not know him. Of a minister chosen by a

popular contest, all those who do not favour him, have nursed up in

their bosoms principles of hatred and reasons of rejection. Anger is

excited principally by pride. The pride of a common man is very little

exasperated by the supposed usurpation of an acknowledged superiour. He

bears only his little share of a general evil, and suffers in common

with the whole parish; but when the contest is between equals, the

defeat has many aggravations, and he that is defeated by his next

neighbour, is seldom satisfied without some revenge: and it is hard to

say, what bitterness of malignity would prevail in a parish, where these

elections should happen to be frequent, and the enmity of opposition

should be rekindled before it had cooled.

ON PULPIT CENSURE.

[This case shall be introduced by Mr. Boswell himself. "In the course of

a contested election for the borough of Dumfermline, which I attended as

one of my friend Sir Archibald Campbell's counsel, one of his political

agents, who was charged with having been unfaithful to his employer, and

having deserted to the opposite party for a pecuniary reward, attacked,

very rudely, in the newspapers, the reverend James Thompson, one of the

ministers of that place, on account of a supposed allusion to him in one

of his sermons. Upon this, the minister, on a subsequent Sunday,

arraigned him by name, from the pulpit, with some severity; and the

agent, after the sermon was over, rose up and asked the minister aloud,

'What bribe he had received for telling so many lies from the chair of

verity.' I was present at this very extraordinary scene. The person

arraigned, and his father and brother, who also had a share both of the

reproof from the pulpit, and in the retaliation, brought an action

against Mr. Thompson, in the court of session, for defamation and

damages, and I was one of the counsel for the reverend defendant. The

liberty of the pulpit was our great ground of defence; but we argued

also on the provocation of the previous attack, and on the instant

retaliation. The court of session, however, the fifteen judges, who are

at the same time the jury, decided against the minister, contrary to my

humble opinion; and several of them expressed themselves with

indignation against him. He was an aged gentleman, formerly a military

chaplain, and a man of high spirit and honour. He wished to bring the

cause by appeal before the house of lords, but was dissuaded by the

advice of the noble person, who lately presided so ably in that most

honourable house, and who was then attorney-general. Johnson was

satisfied that the judgment was wrong, and dictated to me the following

argument in confutation of it." As our readers will, no doubt, be

pleased to read the opinion of so eminent a man as lord Thurlow, in

immediate comparison with one on the same subject by Johnson, we refer

them to Boswell's Life, vol. iii. p. 59. edit. 1802; from whence the

above extract is taken.]

Of the censure pronounced from the pulpit, our determination must be

formed, as in other cases, by a consideration of the act itself, and the

particular circumstances with which it is invested.

The right of censure and rebuke seems necessarily appendant to the

pastoral office. He, to whom the care of a congregation is entrusted, is

considered as the shepherd of a flock, as the teacher of a school, as

the father of a family. As a shepherd, tending not his own sheep but

those of his master, he is answerable for those that stray, and that

lose themselves by straying. But no man can be answerable for losses

which he has not power to prevent, or for vagrancy which he has not

authority to restrain.

As a teacher giving instruction for wages, and liable to reproach, if

those whom he undertakes to inform make no proficiency, he must have the

power of enforcing attendance, of awakening negligence, and repressing

contradiction.

As a father, he possesses the paternal authority of admonition, rebuke

and punishment. He cannot, without reducing his office to an empty name,

be hindered from the exercise of any practice necessary to stimulate the

idle, to reform the vicious, to check the petulant, and correct the

stubborn.

If we inquire into the practice of the primitive church, we shall, I

believe, find the ministers of the word exercising the whole authority

of this complicated character. We shall find them not only encouraging

the good by exhortation, but terrifying the wicked by reproof and

denunciation. In the earliest ages of the church, while religion was yet

pure from secular advantages, the punishment of sinners was publick

censure, and open penance; penalties inflicted merely by ecclesiastical

authority, at a time when the church had yet no help from the civil

power; while the hand of the magistrate lifted only the rod of

persecution; and when governours were ready to afford a refuge to all

those who fled from clerical authority.

That the church, therefore, had once a power of publick censure is

evident, because that power was frequently exercised. That it borrowed

not its power from the civil authority is, likewise, certain, because

civil authority was at that time its enemy.

The hour came, at length, when, after three hundred years of struggle

and distress, truth took possession of imperial power, and the civil

laws lent their aid to the ecclesiastical constitutions. The magistrate,

from that time, cooperated with the priest, and clerical sentences were

made efficacious by secular force. But the state, when it came to the

assistance of the church, had no intention to diminish its authority.

Those rebukes and those censures, which were lawful before, were lawful

still. But they had hitherto operated only upon voluntary submission.

The refractory and contemptuous were at first in no danger of temporal

severities, except what they might suffer from the reproaches of

conscience, or the detestation of their fellow christians. When religion

obtained the support of law, if admonitions and censures had no effect,

they were seconded by the magistrates with coercion and punishment.

It, therefore, appears, from ecclesiastical history, that the right of

inflicting shame by publick censure has been always considered as

inherent in the church; and that this right was not conferred by the

civil power; for it was exercised when the civil power operated against

it. By the civil power it was never taken away; for the Christian

magistrate interposed his office, not to rescue sinners from censure,

but to supply more powerful means of reformation; to add pain where

shame was insufficient; and when men were proclaimed unworthy of the

society of the faithful, to restrain them by imprisonment, from

spreading abroad the contagion of wickedness.

It is not improbable, that from this acknowledged power of publick

censure, grew, in time, the practice of auricular confession. Those who

dreaded the blast of publick reprehension, were willing to submit

themselves to the priest, by a private accusation of themselves; and to

obtain a reconciliation with the church by a kind of clandestine

absolution and invisible penance; conditions with which the priest

would, in times of ignorance and corruption, easily comply, as they

increased his influence, by adding the knowledge of secret sins to that

of notorious offences, and enlarged his authority, by making him the

sole arbiter of the terms of reconcilement.

From this bondage the Reformation set us free. The minister has no

longer power to press into the retirements of conscience, or torture us

by interrogatories, or put himself in possession of our secrets and our

lives. But though we have thus controlled his usurpations, his just and

original power remains unimpaired. He may still see, though he may not

pry; he may yet hear, though he may not question. And that knowledge

which his eyes and ears force upon him, it is still his duty to use, for

the benefit of his flock. A father, who lives near a wicked neighbour,

may forbid a son to frequent his company. A minister, who has in his

congregation a man of open and scandalous wickedness, may warn his

parishioners to shun his conversation. To warn them is not only lawful,

but not to warn them would be criminal. He may warn them, one by one, in

friendly converse, or by a parochial visitation. But if he may warn each

man singly, what shall forbid him to warn them altogether? Of that which

is to be made known to all, how is there any difference, whether it be

communicated to each singly, or to all together? What is known to all,

must necessarily be publick, whether it shall be publick at once, or

publick by degrees, is the only question. And of a sudden and Solemn

publication the impression is deeper, and the warning more effectual.

It may easily be urged, if a minister be thus left at liberty to delate

sinners from the pulpit, and to publish, at will, the crimes of a

parishioner, he may often blast the innocent and distress the timorous.

He may be suspicious, and condemn without evidence; he may be rash, and

judge without examination; he may be severe, and treat slight offences

with too much harshness; he may be malignant and partial, and gratify

his private interest or resentment under the shelter of his pastoral

character.

Of all this there is possibility, and of all this there is danger. But

if possibility of evil be to exclude good, no good ever can be done. If

nothing is to be attempted in which there is danger, we must all sink

into hopeless inactivity. The evils that may be feared from this

practice arise not from any defect in the institution, but from the

infirmities of human nature. Power, in whatever hands it is placed, will

be sometimes improperly exerted; yet courts of law must judge, though

they will sometimes judge amiss. A father must instruct his children,

though he himself may often want instruction. A minister must censure

sinners, though his censure may be sometimes erroneous by want of

judgment, and sometimes unjust by want of honesty.

If we examine the circumstances of the present case, we shall find the

sentence neither erroneous nor unjust; we shall find no breach of

private confidence, no intrusion into secret transactions. The fact was

notorious and indubitable; so easy to be proved, that no proof was

desired. The act was base and treacherous, the perpetration insolent and

open, and the example naturally mischievous. The minister, however,

being retired and recluse, had not yet heard what was publickly known

throughout the parish; and, on occasion of a publick election, warned

his people, according to his duty, against the crimes which publick

elections frequently produce. His warning was felt by one of his

parishioners, as pointed particularly at himself. But instead of

producing, as might be wished, private compunction and immediate

reformation, it kindled only rage and resentment. He charged his

minister, in a publick paper, with scandal, defamation, and falsehood.

The minister, thus reproached, had his own character to vindicate, upon

which his pastoral authority must necessarily depend. To be charged with

a defamatory lie is an injury which no man patiently endures in common

life. To be charged with polluting the pastoral office with scandal and

falsehood, was a violation of character still more atrocious, as it

affected not only his personal but his clerical veracity. His

indignation naturally rose in proportion to his honesty, and, with all

the fortitude of injured honesty, he dared this calumniator in the

church, and at once exonerated himself from censure, and rescued his

flock from deception and from danger. The man, whom he accuses, pretends

not to be innocent; or, at least, only pretends, for he declines a

trial. The crime of which he is accused has frequent opportunities, and

strong temptations. It has already spread far, with much depravation of

private morals, and much injury to publick happiness.

To warn the people, therefore, against it, was not wanton and officious,

but necessary and pastoral.

What then is the fault with which this worthy minister is charged? He

has usurped no dominion over conscience. He has exerted no authority in

support of doubtful and controverted opinions. He has not dragged into

light a bashful and corrigible sinner. His censure was directed against

a breach of morality, against an act which no man justifies. The man who

appropriated this censure to himself, is evidently and notoriously

guilty. His consciousness of his own wickedness incited him to attack

his faithful reprover with open insolence and printed accusations. Such

an attack made defence necessary; and we hope it will be, at last,

decided, that the means of defence were just and lawful[1].

[1] This nervous argument was honoured by the particular approbation of

Mr. Burke.--Boswell, iii. 62.

END OF VOL. V.