yielding to the force of an inferior operator; but could never happen, if the agent were omnipotent.'

A confiderable part of this work is employed in refuting the modern philosophers, who since the time that Locke and Newton ventured to differ from Aristotle, have been corrupting the morals and understandings of men *. His Lordship, throughout his whole performance, professes the utmost contempt for the Essay on the human Understanding. As to Sir Isaac Newton he observes, p. 271, Sir Isaac, I doubt, in ancient times, while philosophy fourished, would not have been dignified with the name of a philosopher.' His Lordship does not condescend to answer particularly the blind followers of these blind guides; but he thinks his work furnishes principles sufficient to answer them all. He modestly observes (p. vii of the preface)' that the style of those authors, as well as their matter, is so different from that of the authors I am accustomed to read, that I had not patience to read them with the attention which is necessary to make a particular answer to them. Another reason is, that as my work is intended more for posterity than the present age, I did not think proper to mix with it a controversy with authors, whose writings, if I may venture to prophecy, will be quite forgotten in not many years, however they may flatter themselves with not only the continuance, but the increase of their literary fame.'

Among those innumerable insects of a day, Lord Monboddo singles out one, and condescends to deliver down to posterity, in his immortal work, the perishing name of Mr. Hume, author of the English History, Essays, &c. ' which have gained reputation among certain persons t.' His Lordship is not satisfied with attacking the performances generally ascribed to that gentleman, but he ventures to ascribe to him some anonymous productions, published since Mr. Hume's death, and disavowed by his friends. Lord M. however, ' is convinced that they belong to him, not only from the impiety of the matter, but from the style, which is dry, inanimate, and without the leaft colouring of classical elegance ‡.' We are not called upon to enter into this controversy between Lord M. and the friends of the late Mr. Hume; but, we hope, it will not be imagined that we exceed the bounds of our province, by suggesting that the known animofity which prevailed between Mr. Hume and Lord Monboddo may have rendered the latter too precipitate in venturing to ascribe to Mr. Hume, works which that gentleman never acknowledged, and which his friends disavow.-We may be permitted farther to suggest to my Lord, that he might

• Chap. iii. B. v.

† P. v. preface.

P. v.

have learned from the pious ancients to respect the ashes of a deceased adversary; and that it may be worth his while to confider whether the conquering of an unruly temper, and subduing the paffions of resentment, envy, and malevolence, be not a better preparation for the world of spirits than the most profound study of Aristotle's metaphysics *.

We have too much respect for the judgment of our Readers to trouble them with an examination of the principles of Sir Ifaac Newton's philosophy by an author who acknowledges that he knows nothing of mathematics but the bare elements to It would be equally impertinent to obtrude on the Public the philofophical or religious sentiments of his Lordship, who, although he discovers new arguments to fupport the mysterious doctrine of the Trinity in the jargon of ancient metaphyfics, contends strenuously for the absurd and impious tenet of the eternity of the world t. We should wish, however, to be able to entertain our Readers with some of the peculiarities of a production which will be reckoned a very curious literary monument of the eighteenth century. But his Lordship's fingularities would afford no kind of amusement; and it happens unfortunately, that such of his discoveries as are worth repeating, have already been explained at length by other writers who had the good fortune to agree with his Lordship. Thus he observes, p. 240, That Van Helmont' (and other chemical visionaries of the dark ages) ' maintained that the celestial bodies were all animated. And I was surprised to find among them, my notion, that there was in the microcosm man, a trinity of principles, corresponding to the Trinity in the great world. Thus, again, in speaking of the profound and modest Cudworth, I was particularly pleased that he agreed with me in what I have laid down as a fundamental principle, that body cannot move itself, and therefore what moves body, must be incorporeal §."

We have already taken notice, that the greatest part of his Lordship's work is employed in proving the truth of what he here lays down as a fundamental principle; a conduct familiar enough to metaphysicians, who frequently arrive, after a tedious circuit, at the precise point from which they set out. This is poetically called, by Mr. Pope, prancing on metaphyfic ground || and is not unlike the disease described by his Lordship under the name of the louping, that is the jumping, ague, which prevailed fome years ago near his Lordship's house in the country. We shall infert the whole passage, as the only new information that we have obtained from this very fingular performance:

See Ancient Metaphyfics, paflim. * See the preface, p. 9.

+ P. 263. || Dunciad.

‡ Chap. xix. p. 259, &c.

P.3

• We

* There was a phænomenon of the like kind, concerning which I had an opportunity of being very particularly and accurately informed. It was the case of a young girl, in the neighbourhood of my house in the country, who had a disease that is pretty well known in the country where I live, under the name of the louping, that is, the jumping ague; and which is no other than a kind of frenzy, which seizes the patients in their fleep, and makes them jump and run like persons possessed. The girl was attacked by this difease three years ago, in the spring, when the was about fixteen years of age, and it lasted something more than three months. The fit always feized her in the day-time, commonly about seven or eight o'clock in the morning, after the had been out of bed two or three hours. It began with a heaviness and drowsiness, which ended in fleep, at least what had the appearance of fleep, for her eyes were close shut. In this condition, the would leap up upon stools and tables, with surprising agility; then the would get out of the cottage, where she lived with her father, mother, and brother, and run with great violence, and much faster than the could do when well, but always with a certain destination to fome one place in the neighbourhood; and to which place she often faid, when she found the fit coming upon her, that the was to go; and, after she had gone to the place of her destination, if she did not there awake, she came back with the same certain direction, though she did not always keep the high road, but frequently went a nearer way across the fields; and though her road, for this reason, was often very rough, she never fell, notwithstanding the violence with which the ran. But all the while the ran, her eyes were quite shut, as her brother attests, who often ran with her to take care of her, and who, though he was much older, stronger, and cleverer, than she, was hardly able to keep up with her. When she told, before the fit came on, to what place she was to run, she said she dreamed the night before, that she was to run to that place; and, though they sometimes difsuaded her from going to a particular place, as to my house, for example, where they said the dogs would bite her, she said she would run that way, and no other. When the awaked, and came out of her delirium, she found herself extremely weak; but soon recovered her ftrength, and was nothing the worse for it, but, on the contrary, was much the worse for being restrained from running. When the awaked, and came to herself, the had not the least remembrance of what had passed while she was asleep. Sometimes the would run upon the top of the earthen fence which surrounded her father's little garden; and, though the fence was of an irregular figure, and very narrow at top, yet the never fell from it, nor from the top of the house, upon which the would sometimes get by the assistance of this fence, though her eyes were then likewise shut. Sone time before the disorder left her, the dreamed, as she said, that the water of a well in the neighbourhood, called the driping well, would cure her; and, accordingly, the drank of it very plentifully, both when she was well, and when she was ill. Once, when she was ill, he expressed, by figns, a violent defire to drink of it (for the did not, while in the fit, speak so as to be intelligible), and they having brought her other water, the would not let it come near her, but re

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jected it with signs of great averfion; but, when they brought her the water of this well, she drank it greedily, her eyes being all the while shut. Before her last fit came upon her, she said she had just three leaps to make, and she would neither leap nor run more. And accordingly, having fallen asleep, as usual, she leaped up upon the stone at the back of the chimney, and down again; and having done this three times, she kept her word, and never leaped or run more. She is now in perfect health.

• This account I had from the father, mother, and brother, whom I examined separately and together, and likewife from the girl herself, so far as the remembered; for, as I have said, she had no memory of what passed while she was in the fit; but the remembered very well every thing that happened when the was not, and particularly her dreams. And she told me, that she slept very well at night, had a good stomach, and was in every respect well till the fit feized her. It began, she says, at her feet, and, like a coldness or numbness, crept upwards and upwards, till it came to her heart; after which she had no more sense or feeling of the condition she was in.'

From this and the other passages which we have cited, the Reader will be enabled to form a judgment of his Lordship's style, which cannot be more justly characterised than by the same epithets which his Lordship bestows on that of the admired author of the English History, 'dry, inanimate, and without the least colouring of classical elegance.'

After declaring our sentiments with equal fincerity and freedom concerning the demerit of his Lordship's performance, justice obliges us to observe, that we approve of the admiration and enthusiasm which he every where discovers for the Grecian language and literature. The Greeks, doubtless, are our masters in almost every art that is either elegant or useful. Their works of poetry and eloquence are still unrivalled; but their philosophical disquisitions, whether concerning mind or body, have been greatly improved by the labour and ingenuity of succeeding ages. Lord M. however, is unwilling to make any fuch distinction; and his admiration of ancient metaphyfics (which we consider as the least valuable part of Grecian science), degenerating into extravagance and absurdity, there is danger that he may hurt the cause which he means to defend. In proof of this observation we shall cite a passage, which it is scarcely possible to believe should have been written in a country enlightened by the discoveries of modern philosophy:

• What I have said in the preceding chapter concerning the connection of the prædicate or attribute with the subject, in propofitions of which both the terms are general, is not to be understood by a reader who does not know the difference betwixt Sense and Intellect, Generals and Particulars, Genus and Species, Accident and Substance; for (I must repeat it again, though I should give offence) fence) let a man flatter himself as much as he will, and think as highly as he pleases of his genius and natural parts, I will use the freedom to tell him, that, without the knowledge of these first principles of logic, he never can understand, as a philosopher ought to understand, the philosophy of Mind, and the nature of Truth and Science. These principles are to be learned from Aristotle's book of Categories, with the assistance of Porphyry's Introduction to that book, and of Ammonius's Commentary upon both the introduction and the book itself. There are, I doubt not, some French or English systems of logic which may be of use to the reader; but with these I am not much acquainted, nor desire to be more, because I chuse to go to the source itself, being well affured, from what I know of them, that, if they have not drawn from that source, they have produced nothing that is valuable upon the subject. Not that I believe it to be absolutely impoffible, even as men are educated and live at present, that our times should produce a great genius in philosophy; but I say, that genius must be taught, and by good masters; and, that it is impossible, without such affistance, for any mortal man to invent a whole system of science. I think I may say, without offence to any modern philosopher, that Ariftotle had as acute and inventive a genius in philosophy as any of them; yet, I will venture to affirm, that, unless he had been taught, as he was, both by Socrates and Plato, and, unless he had studied diligently, as it appears he did, the writings of the more ancient philosophers of the Ionic and Eleatic school, and of a greater school than either of these, I mean the Pythagorean, from which he took his book of Categories, the foundation of his whole system, he never could have discovered the Syllogifm (if it be true that it is his discovery), nor produced that compleat system of logic to be found in his book of Categories, his firit and second Analytics, his Topics, and his treatise of Sophifm, to which the labours of all the ages since his time have added nothing confiderable. Before him, many philosophers, no doubt, reafoned very well, and made great discoveries; but they reasoned as the women and children spoke; for, though women and children, who have been well educated, may speak very well, they do it by mere habit, without being able to give any account bow they do it; the reason of which is, that they cannot analyse language into its elements, nor account how these elements are composed into speech; for analysis is the work of art or science. In the fame manner, the philosophers before Aristorie could reason very well; but, as they could not analyse reason, so they could not give any rational account why one argument was conclusive, and another inconclusive; but they knew them to be so only by common sense, that is, natural sense, not instructed by science.'

We consider the above, and such like passages, of which the present work is principally composed, as a gross infult offered to the difcernment of the present age. It is to suppose that God Almighty made men with legs and arms, but that Ariftotle made them reasonable creatures. We are so far from thinking that the works which our Author ascribes to Aristotle (several of which, however, are probably the productions of very infe

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