unaccountable. And the rather, when the reader understands that this
clause was, with the greater readiness and pleasure, inserted into it,
as this Vice-chancellor himself, whose goodness and candour require no
encomiums of mine, had intimated, and even declared, that a provision
of this kind was all the restriction upon _the liberty of appealing_
which he wished to see made to it. For this excellent person was so much
convinced of the propriety and expediency of this claim in general, that
he very frankly professed his approbation of it, and only wanted to
secure his authority, where indeed the only danger lay, from a _torrent
of Appeals, which, as he apprehended, might pour in upon him from the
younger sort_. So that, I think, we shall hear no more of this objection;
and I am even not without the fond hopes, that, after this information,
the _Inquirer_ himself, whatever _displeasure_ he might conceive at this
part of the _Grace_ before, will now grow into good humour with it.
After all, one cannot but suspect, that the _Inquirer_ must have some
better reason for his strong antipathy to this _Grace_ than any that has
yet appeared. The violent heat it puts him into, whenever he touches upon
it, demonstrates, there must still be something at the bottom of this
matter, which is the object of just offence. In looking narrowly for
it, I found it at last, half smothered under a very shrewd and indirect
insinuation, which I shall bring to light, after having presented the
reader with his own words:
“I see not how a Grace of this kind could be offered,
consistently with the Resolution said to have been taken at one
of your first meetings, to assert the right of Appeal in such
a manner as was warranted by the Statutes of the University:
Nor am I less able to reconcile it with those professions of
deference and respect, which at the same time were thought
proper to be made for our great and illustrious Chancellor. No
person would receive a greater pleasure than myself from seeing
all the members of the University, however divided in other
points, agreed in entertaining the highest sentiments of regard
and veneration for him; but I confess, that this is a pleasure
I am not very likely to have; till one set of men shall be
pleased to give clearer and less questionable testimonies of
this, than by opposing every useful regulation he recommended,
and endeavouring to lessen and curtail an authority, which is
only vested in the Vice-chancellor as his representative and
locum-tenens[117].”
Here, then, we have all the venom of his heart injected into one
malignant paragraph; which, under the gilding of a compliment, is to do
its office without offence. And yet, it is plain enough what he would
insinuate. It is neither more nor less than that the advocates for this
right of Appeal are an unquiet, factious set of persons, bent on opposing
all measures that tend to promote the good of the University; and, to say
all in one word, listed in a vile cabal to dishonour, revile, and abuse
their Chancellor himself. The gentlemen against whom all this is levelled
must, I am persuaded, hold such senseless and licentious calumnies in
such contempt, that I should not merit their thanks for attempting
seriously to confute them. And yet I cannot help saying for them, that
the _Resolution_ hinted at in this place was drawn up with so respectful
a regard to the authority of the Statues, and to the honour and dignity
of our great Chancellor, as, one should think, might stop the mouth of
Malice itself. Yet all this can be overlooked by our candid Inquirer. And
on what pretence? Why, because some of those persons, who came to such
a _Resolution_, had different sentiments, it seems, of the expediency
of the late regulations from this writer; and because this claim of
Appeals tends to lessen the authority of the Vice-chancellor. For this he
modestly calls _opposing the Chancellor, and curtailing his power_.
Well, then, the crime is now out; and, to say the truth, if it be a
crime, the University is deeply involved in it. For, when the late
_regulations_ were first proposed to the consideration of the Senate, a
considerable majority were clearly of the same opinion as these culprits:
and, with regard to the present claim, the University may be almost said
to be _unanimous_ in supporting it. But what in the mean time must be
this scribbler’s sentiments of that most noble and illustrious person,
for whose honour he here professes himself concerned; and of whom, it
seems, he can think so unworthily, as to believe, that a liberty in
judging concerning the expediency of some academical laws, which he had
the goodness to propose to them, should give offence to one who has no
other aim than to serve the University in a manner the most agreeable
to their best judgments; and which, I am satisfied, they used the
more freely, on a full persuasion that such liberty could not be taken
as an instance of disrespect to him. This I should not doubt to call,
of itself, a sufficient confutation of the idle calumny. But it comes
with the worst grace imaginable from a declared enemy to _the right of
Appeals_; who must know, if he be at all acquainted with what passed at
that time, that the principal reason, which induced the University to
oppose the _regulations_, was the just apprehension they were under, of
an encroachment on this _very right_; not indeed from the Chancellor,
who had no such intention, nor even any knowledge of it, but from
certain forward directors in that affair, who gave the _clearest and
least questionable_ proofs of their designing to make the _new laws_ the
instruments of their own tyranny in this respect. So that, if any offence
_was_ given by the University on that occasion, the blame of it should
fall elsewhere, and not on those on whom it is here so invidiously cast;
persons, who on every occasion have testified the sincerest honour for
their Chancellor, who venerate him as the protector and patron of the
University, and would humbly co-operate with him to the attainment of
those good ends, which it is his sole endeavour to promote.
But what follows, if possible, is still worse. A _second charge_
against the University is, that they are _endeavouring to lessen and
curtail an authority, which is only vested in the Vice-chancellor, as
his representative and locum tenens_. What the collective body would
return to this accusation, I pretend not to say; I have no commission to
answer in their name. But, for myself, and those whose thoughts I have
the opportunity of knowing on this matter, I answer boldly thus: That
we are not in the least apprehensive of giving offence to this great
person, who is more solicitous for the maintenance of the just rights
of the University than any other member of it, by any respectful and
moderate endeavours to assert our own reasonable privileges; that we are
well assured, he approves, and is ready to countenance, all such honest
endeavours; and that, lastly and _chiefly_, we are _therefore_ earnest in
our endeavours to lessen an authority (if that must be called _lessening_
which is but preventing its being usurped), because it _is_ vested in,
and must be constantly exercised _by his representative_. For, whatever
liberties he may presume to take with the assertors of this claim, I
will venture to assure him, that, were unappealable power itself to
be exercised only by our Chancellor, who is too high in rank, and too
noble in nature, to be under any temptations of abusing it, though we
might still think the authority unreasonable and dangerous in itself, we
should esteem ourselves in perfect security under him, and could safely
trust the administration of it to his care. But, as the person who by
our Constitution is vested with it, is and must be a very imperfect
_representative_ of the Chancellor, in this as well as other respects, we
hope to be forgiven by every equitable judge, if we are not forward to
_compliment_ ourselves out of our privileges; and have little inclination
to lodge our liberties in less worthy hands.
After all, one would be glad to know a little more explicitly of this
writer, since he professes himself so little satisfied with the conduct
of the University, what those _clearer and less questionable testimonies_
of their regard for the Chancellor are which he so loudly calls for,
and the want of which, it seems, hath made his life so distasteful and
uneasy to him. And, I think, I durst almost take upon me to guess at
them. No doubt, they are such as these: “That the University Senate
would be pleased to make no distinction in any case between the supreme
Magistrate and his representative, nay, and his representative’s
_representatives_”—“That they would courteously give that honour to his
_locum tenens_ or _locum tenentes_, without perhaps one single merit to
justify such a claim, which the illustrious rank and dignity of their
Chancellor himself, his eminent virtues, and services to the University,
all conspire to challenge and demand from them:”—In a word, “that the
University would offer themselves as willing instruments to carry into
execution every paltry project, every low and selfish design, which
little men in office are apt to form for themselves; and all this under
the notion of its being a tribute of respect to the supreme Magistrate,
and an instance of their veneration for him.”
Such as these, I can readily believe, are the _testimonies_ of respect
the _Inquirer_ wishes to see paid to the Chancellor, and which, no doubt,
would administer that sincere pleasure, which at present he divines
(and, I trust, truly) _he is not very likely to have_. But does he think
the Chancellor is to be abused by this thin pretence of respect? that
true greatness is to be taken by this mere outside of an officious and
false compliment? On the other hand, I dare be confident that nothing is
more disgusting to him than such sycophancy; and that he is so far from
allowing this conduct in the _Inquirer_, that he even disdains to have
his cause and dignity so defended. “For, though (to use my Lord _Bacon’s_
words on a like occasion) I observe in his book many glosses, whereby
the man would insinuate himself into his favour, yet I find it to be
ordinary, that many pressing and fawning persons do misconjecture of the
humour of men in authority; and many times seek to gratify them with that
which they most dislike.”
But the virulence of these malignant calumnies hath held me on a very
unnecessary argument too long: I return again to the _Inquirer_, to whom
I have but one word or two more to say, and shall then take my final
leave of him.
You have talked, Sir, very importantly of the pernicious consequences
of a right of Appeal in the University. The reasons on which you would
ground these so anxious fears have been examined, and exposed, as they
deserve. But, granting that some slight, nay, that some considerable
inconveniencies might arise from it; were this any good argument, think
you, against the subsistence of such a right? What would become of all
the liberties which just government leaves us, nay, of the blessings and
privileges which indulgent nature bestows upon us, if the accidental and
occasional abuse of them were thought a reason sufficient to extort them
out of our hands? Should you not have considered that a _right of Appeal_
is one of the most important and valuable rights which mankind enjoy in
society, and which, indeed, is almost essential to the very being of
it? And would you have this sacred claim, _patronam illam et vindicem
libertatis_, as a great ancient calls it, rudely and inhumanly wrested
from us, on the frivolous pretence of some possible or even probable
abuse? Had you been as conversant in the civil law as an _Inquirer_
into such a question should have been, you might have found cause to
entertain very different opinions of it. For the great masters in that
science were as well aware as you can be, that such a right was liable to
some abuse; but which of them ever thought this consideration of force
enough to decry or abolish it? On the other hand, they _acknowledge the
inconvenience_, yet assert and vindicate the _use_. Give me leave to
refer you to one passage (you will find _L._ 1. _D. De Appell._), very
express to this purpose. “Appellandi usus quam sit frequens quamque
NECESSARIUS, nemo est qui nesciat: quippe cum iniquitatem judicantium
vel imperitiam re corrigat; _licet nonnunquam bene latas sententias in
pejus reformet_, neque enim utique melius pronuntiat, qui novissimus
sententiam laturus est.” What will you say, now, to this? That _Ulpian_,
who affirmed it, was a factious, turbulent boy? one of those whom you
disgrace under the name of the _warm, assertors of independency_, and
_who bear with indignation the thought of having any part of their
conduct judicially animadverted upon_? I presume to think you would
hardly venture on this assertion. Nay, I please myself with hoping, that,
when you have well considered this so sage and venerable sentence of an
ancient Lawyer, you will even be disposed to abate of your vehemence in
declaiming against such as go on _his_ principles at this day.
Seriously, Sir, it is a bad cause you have engaged in; and, in mere
kindness to you, I would wish you to relinquish it with all speed. The
claim itself of _Appeals_, as I have had the honour to shew you, is of
long and ancient date; indeed as _ancient_ as the Constitution of the
_English_ government itself. Of what consequence you may chance to be
in your political capacity, it is impossible for me to say; if you are
of any, and should proceed in these _Inquiries_, I should go near to
apprehend that the _House of Commons_ itself might take umbrage at them;
for the rise of that great part of our Constitution is not usually,
I think, carried higher than the point from which the right of Appeal
hath here been deduced. Or, do you think you may safely make free with
the Constitution of an University, though it were dangerous meddling
with that of the State itself? This may be true, indeed; but where is
your generosity in the mean time? Why should the thoughts of impunity
encourage you to such an attack on the rights and privileges of a body
of men, who, though unable to punish such offences against themselves as
they deserve, have yet been generally secured from all outrage, by the
very regard and reverence which the public hath ever paid to them? In a
word (for I would not hold you longer from your _necessary avocations_),
it may be worth your _inquiry_, when you shall think fit to sally forth
on another adventure, what the Learned of _Great Britain_ have done,
that they should have their liberties written and inveighed against in
so outrageous a manner; and, amidst the securest enjoyment of every
civil right, under the justest and most equal Government in the world,
what peculiar circumstances of offence have so inflamed the guilt of the
scholars of this land, that they, of _all_ his Majesty’s good subjects,
should deserve to be the only slaves.
FINIS.
ON THE
DELICACY
OF
FRIENDSHIP
FIRST PRINTED IN 1755.
ON THE
DELICACY
OF
FRIENDSHIP.
A SEVENTH DISSERTATION.
ADDRESSED
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE SIXTH.
Si bene te novi, metues, liberrime Lolli,
Scurrantis speciem præbere, professus Amicum.
HOR.
Nunc te _marmoreum_ pro tempore fecimus: at tu,
Si fœtura gregem suppleverit, AUREUS esto.
VIRG.
AN ADDRESS TO THE REV. DR. JORTIN.
REV. SIR,
As great an admirer as I must profess myself of your writings, I little
expected that any of them would give me the pleasure that I have just now
received from the last of your SIX DISSERTATIONS ON DIFFERENT SUBJECTS.
The other FIVE have doubtless their distinct merits. But in this,
methinks, I see an assemblage, a very constellation, as it were, of all
your virtues, all that can recommend the scholar or endear the friend.
This last, give me leave to say, is so unusual a part of a learned mind’s
character, and appears with so peculiar a lustre in this discourse,
that the public will not be displeased to have it set before them in
full view, and recommended to general imitation, with a frankness,
which though it may somewhat disgust your own delicacy, seems but very
necessary on such an occasion and in such times.
I leave it to others therefore to celebrate the happiness of your
invention, the urbanity of your wit, the regularity of your plan, the
address with which you conceal the point you aim at in this Dissertation,
and yet the pains you take in seeming obliquely to make your way to it.
These and many other beauties which your long study of the ancients hath
enabled you to bring into modern composition, have been generally taken
notice of in your other writings, and will find encomiasts enough among
the common herd of your readers. The honour I propose to do you by this
address is of another kind; and as it lies a little remote from vulgar
apprehension, I shall have some merit with you for displaying it as it
deserves.
To come to a point then, next to the total _want_ of FRIENDSHIP which
one has too much reason to observe and lament in the great scholars of
every age, nothing hath at any time disgusted me so much as the gross
indelicacy with which they are usually seen to conduct themselves in
their _expression_ of this virtue.
I have by me a large collection of the civil things which these lettered
friends have been pleased to say of one another, and it would amaze you
to see with what an energy and force of language they are delivered. One
thing I thought very remarkable, that the greater the parts and the more
unquestioned the learning and abilities of the encomiast, just so much
the stronger, that is to say, according to the usual acceptation, just so
much the more _friendly_ are his encomiums.
I have a great example in my eye. A man, for instance, hath a bosom
FRIEND, whom he takes for a person of the purest and most benevolent
virtue, presently he sets him down for such, and publisheth him to all
the world.—Or he hath an intimacy with an eminent POET: and no regard
to decency restrains him from calling him a great genius, as Horace,
you know, did his friend Virgil, almost to his face.—Or, he is loved
and honoured by a great LAWYER or two; and then be sure all the fine
things that have been said of your CICEROS, your SCÆVOLAS on your
HYDES, are squandered away upon them.—Or, he hath perchance the honour
of being well with a great CHURCHMAN, much famed for his political and
religious services; down he goes at once for a lover of his country, and
the scourge of infidels and freethinkers, with as little reserve as if
he had a JEROM or a father PAUL to celebrate.—Or, once or twice in his
life it hath been his fortune to be distinguished by great MINISTERS.
Such occasions are rare. And therefore a little gratitude, we will
say, is allowable. But can any thing be said for abominable formal
_dedications_?—Or, lastly, he thinks he sees some sparks of virtue even
in his ordinary acquaintance, and these, as fast as he observes them he
gathers up, and sticks, on the first occasion, in some or other of his
immortal volumes.
O Doctor Jortin! if you did but see half the extravagancies I have
collected of this sort in the single instance of one man, you would stand
aghast at this degree of corruption in the learned world, and would begin
to apprehend something of your great merit in this seasonable endeavour
to put a stop to its progress.
And what above all grieves me is that this is no _novel_ invention; for
then it might well have ranked with the other arguments of degeneracy so
justly chargeable on the present times; but the all-accomplished ancients
themselves have, to own the truth, set the example.
I took notice just now of the INGENIUM INGENS of Horace. The other poets
of that time abound in these fulsome encomiums. But I am even shocked to
think that such men as CICERO and PLINY, men so perfect, as they were, in
the commerce of the world, and from their rank and station, so practised
in all the decencies of conversation, were far gone in the folly. And yet
there are, in truth, more instances of this weakness in their writings
than in those of any modern I can readily call to mind.
Something I know hath been said in excuse of this _illiberal manner_,
from the VIEWS and CHARACTERS and NECESSITIES of those that use it. And
my unfeigned regard for the professors of learning makes me willing that
any thing they have to offer for themselves should be fairly heard.
They say then, and with some appearance of truth, that as all the benefit
they propose to themselves by their labours is for the most part nothing
more than a little _fame_ (which whether good or bad, as the poet
observes,
——begins and ends
In the small circle of our foes or friends.)
they think it hard to be denied this slender recompence, which each
expects in his turn, and should therefore be not unwilling to pay to
others.
They, further, alledge, that as they are generally _plain men_, much
given to speak their mind, and quite unpractised in the arts of that
chaste reserve and delicate self-denial, to which some few of their order
have happily habituated themselves, they hope to be forgiven so natural
an infirmity, to which the circumstances of their situation and character
fatally expose them.
But, lastly, they say, this practice is in a manner forced upon them by
the _malignity of the times_. Let a learned man deserve ever so well of
the public, none but those who are known to be of his acquaintance think
themselves at all concerned to take notice of his services. Especially
this is observed to be the constant humour of our countrymen, who rarely
speak well of any but their friends, as our polite neighbours rarely
speak ill of any but their enemies. Now this malevolent disposition
of the learned makes it necessary, they pretend, that such of them as
are connected by any bond of friendship should be indulged the greater
liberty of commending one another. Unless you will utterly exclude all
intercourse of praise and panegyric from human society, which they humbly
conceive may be attended with some few inconveniencies. To strengthen
this last observation they even add, that the public is usually more shy
in bestowing its praises on writers of eminent and superior merit than on
others. As well knowing, I suppose, that posterity will make them ample
amends for any mortification they may meet with at present; and that in
the mean time they are more than sufficiently honoured by the constant
railings and invectives of the dunces. Lastly, they observe, that in
the more frivolous and easy kinds of learning, such for instance as are
conversant about the collation of MSS, the rectification of POINTS, and
the correction of LETTERS, the general and approved custom is for all
professors of this class, whether friends or enemies, to cry up each
other as much as they please, and that it is even reckoned a piece of
incivility not to preface a citation from ever so insignificant a dealer
in verbal criticism with some superlative appellation. And why, say they,
should these nibblers of old books, “_These word-catchers that live on
syllables_,” be indulged in this amplitude of expression to one another,
when they who furnish the materials on which the spawn of these vermin
are to feed in after-ages, are denied the little satisfaction of a more
sizeable, as well as a more deserved praise?
I have not been afraid, you see, to set the arguments of these unhappy
advocates for themselves in as strong a light as they will well bear,
because I can easily trust your sagacity to find out a full and decisive
answer to them.
In the _first_ place, you will refer these idolaters of FAME, for their
better information, to that curious discourse on this subject, which
makes the _fourth_ in the present collection. Next you will tell them
that you by no means intend to deprive them of their just praise, but
that they must not set up for judges in their own case, and presume to
think how much of it they have reason to look for from their friends.
You will further signify to them that the truest office of friendship is
to be sparing of commendation, lest it awaken the envy of a malicious
world; that there is a kind of fascination in praise which wise men have
been justly suspicious of in all ages; and that a grain or two from those
who are not used to be prodigal of this incense, is an offering of no
small value. But chiefly and lastly, you will give them to understand
that true honour is seated not in the mouths but in hearts of men; and
that, for any thing they know, one may be forced to entertain the highest
possible esteem of their virtues, though, for their sakes, and for other
wise reasons, one has that virtuous command of one’s tongue and pen as
not to acquaint them with it.