Lectures on the philosophy of the human mind

velty of subordinate and particular disquisi- indulge myself in the remembrance. I knew tions are all kept in complete unison with the general design.

him very early; he was one of the first friends that literature procured me, and I hope that at least my gratitude made me worthy of his notice.

The admiration of the extraordinary talents displayed by Dr. Brown in his lectures, which I experienced in common with all 66 His studies had been so various, that I those who attended the Moral Philosophy am not able to name a man of equal knowclass, made me very desirous of his acquain- ledge. His acquaintance with books was tance; and I was happy in having a much great; and what he did not immediately know valued relative, whose mother and brother he knew at least where to find. Such was had been amongst his earliest friends and the amplitude of his learning, and such his correspondents, and whose own meekness of copiousness of communication, that it might wisdom gave her such a place in his estima- be doubted whether a day now passes in tion as to secure a very favourable reception which I have not some advantage from his to any one whom she might introduce to his friendship."§

notice. From the time of my first interview It might be expected that my narrative he showed all that kindly attention by which should now become fuller and more interesthis manners were characterised; and in a ing from the intimacy that began to subsist short period I had the happiness of enjoying between us. But every thing like incident the most habitual and familiar intercourse in Dr. Brown's life terminated with his apwith him. I may, with great truth, apply to pointment to the chair of Moral Philosophy, Dr. Brown the words of the younger Pliny, and the nature of our intercourse afforded in speaking of an eminent philosopher of his but few materials for biography. What I time: Penitus domi inspexi, amarique ab eo witnessed in the course of my acquaintance laboravi, etsi non erat laborandum. Erat enim with him "affords matter for praise," to use obvius et expositus, plenusque humanitate quam the words of a biographer of Barrow, “rapræcepit. Atque utinam sic ipse spem quam ther than narrative." The peaceful and imde me concepit impleverim, ut ille multum virtu- proving hours that are spent in the happiness tibus suis addidit. At ego nunc illas miror, of domestic privacy, owe their greatest charm quia magis intelligo, quanquam ne nunc quidem to the very absence of events calculated to satis intelligo.t gratify curiosity; and the features of his doI still fondly dwell upon the many happy mestic life, it would require the exquisite deand profitable hours spent in his society, and licacy, and fidelity, and warmth, of his own I shall ever look upon it as a happiness and pencil to portray. The more that my mean honour that I succeeded in securing a mory dwells upon the years of our acquainplace in his friendship. To be admitted in-tance, the more I feel my inadequacy to the to the familiar intercourse of a man of virtue task of conveying any idea of that union of and genius, to see him in his hours of great- moral and intellectual excellences which est relaxation, when all the restraints of pub- adorned his character, and which made his lic life are removed, scattering his various house at once a school for the intellect, and opinions upon life and manners in fresh and a home to the heart.

luxuriant fertility, as out of a soil impregnat- There is something indeed in the society ed with all the seeds of wisdom and goodness, of every man of high intellectual endowmay be considered as one of the greatest en- ments, which is to be found only in his sojoyments of life. "Who shall describe," ciety, and which no description can preserve; says a celebrated living poet, in alluding to as the flavour of some fruits is found in perhis acquaintance with another living poet of fection only when we pluck_them from the equal eminence, "who shall describe all that tree. I do not allude merely to the advan. he gains in the social, the unrestrained, and tage and happiness of social intercourse, a the frequent conversations with a friend who rising from the exercise of the kindlier affecis at once communicative and judicious, tions, the refinements of polished life, the whose opinions upon all subjects of literary never-resting and intermingling lights of kind are founded on good taste and exquisite peaceful affection, and easy playfulness, and feeling!" In speaking upon a similar sub- softened wisdom-the seria mixta cum jocis ject, Dr. Johnson has expressed himself with-but to a peculiar liveliness and distincta greater warmth of feeling than usual, and ness, in our perception of truth itself, to his words, in regard to an old and respected which, in such circumstances, we attain. friend, with some few omissions, I may liter- The attractive grace that the soft and flitally apply in the present instance. "Of Gil-ting lights of gaiety and kindness shed upon bert Walmsley thus presented to me let me the forms of truth seems to give them a

readier way to our assent. And every one who has enjoyed the converse of a man of

§ Lives of the Poets.

philosophic genius, must often have expe-ary eminence came to Edinburgh without
rienced a comprehensiveness and clearness being introduced to him. This certainly
in his views, beyond what either books or made his acquaintance doubly valuable,-
meditation can bestow. This is to be a though his own society was so delightful
scribed partly to that sympathy, by which that I was never happier than when I found
our faculties are stimulated into a corre- him alone. It was usually in the evening
sponding activity. But it is also in a great that I waited upon him. His mother and
measure owing to this circumstance, that, sisters were generally present, and occasion-
besides those obstacles, in the inquiry after ally one or more visitors, who, like myself,
truth, which are common to all, every indi- were on such terms with the family, that
vidual has peculiar difficulties arising from they did not require the formality of an in-
his mental conformation, to which, in their vitation. Nothing could be more delightful
multiplied diversities, the arguments con- than an evening spent with this peaceful and
tained in books cannot be accommodated. | accomplished family. It was impossible not
But in actual conversation, the penetration to observe the attention Dr. Brown paid to
of the philosopher enables him to detect and all; the art with which he made every one
to dispossess the special idol of our mind. feel at home; and his own manners so grace-
He suits his discussion to the peculiar con- fully varying with the varying theme. The
formation of our intellect. And the influ- tones of his voice were extremely pleasing.
ence of his presence is felt, not merely in He conversed with the greatest fluency on
the new truths that he presents to us, but every topic. When the subject was of
in his removing the impediments which check importance, his manners were animated and
the activity of our faculties. In conse- powerful; when about trifles, playful, with
quence of this, while the more obvious a happy turn of wit and elegance of expres-
features in the social character of every great sion. His kindly consideration encouraged
man may be preserved and made obvious to
all, there are other traits that are altogether
indefinable; and these, too, are what each
individual, had he been present, would have
valued most, as speaking to his own intel-
lect. Though the excellence is the same
in reality, yet it is felt as different by each,
being accommodated to each individually.
Bacon says, that the best part of beauty is what
a painter cannot express. And the record-
ed conversation of a man of genius can no
more convey an idea of the effect of that
conversation upon those who actually enjoy-
ed it, than the art which is able to make the
eye of his portrait seem to gaze at once upon
all, can convey the feeling which each indi-
vidual in the presence of the original expe-
rienced from his living glance of affection
and intelligence.

every one to state his sentiments with con-
fidence and freedom; and even when he re-
futed the opinions that he did not agree with,
he did it so as not to offend the most deli-
cate self-love, and poured into the mind
such a flood of light, that personal defeat
was forgotten in the delight of the percep-
tion of truth. When only his own family
were present, he would frequently take up
any book that happened to be lying on the
table, or to which reference might be made,
and read such passages as he had marked,
with many passing observations, and always
courting remark in return.

For some years after his appointment to the Moral Philosophy chair, Dr. Brown had little leisure for engaging in any literary undertaking. Even the long summer vacation he found to be no more than sufficient As Dr. Brown's conversational style was for recruiting his health and spirits, and not less correct than his written discourse, preparing him for the exertions of the sucand exceedingly fluent, those parts of his ceeding season. By degrees, however, he works, where the subjects admit of being became familiarized with the duties of his treated in a more familiar manner, may, in situation, and was enabled to indulge oc. some instances, convey a tolerably_correct casionally in other pursuits. In the summer idea of his language in company. But the of 1814 he brought to a conclusion his Pa many pleasing episodes and breaks in his radise of Coquettes, upon which the fame discussions the elegant turns of wit-the that he at present enjoys as a poet seems playful personal applications with which he chiefly to rest. He had begun this poem, knew how to relieve what might otherwise and written a great part of it more than six have become tedious, but which were still years before, but was obliged to lay it aside felt to be kind even when apparently most on account of his health. In general, insatirical; and above all, the accommodation deed, writing had the effect of raising his that he made of his views and arguments, pulse very much, and rendered it so irritaccording to the character of those with able as to make a difference of thirty in sitwhom he was conversing, cannot be pre- ting or standing. When the work to which served. I at present allude was ready for the press,

Many of the most distinguished literary characters of the age were visitors at Dr. Brown's house, and few foreigners of liter- suavitas.

* Mira in sermone, mira etiam in ore ipso vultuque

he was induced, from various circumstances, to resolve upon publishing it without his name. Every thing, accordingly, was gone about with the greatest secrecy. A gentleman, in whom he reposed great confidence, transacted with an eminent publisher, from whom the name of the author for a time was very carefully concealed, and the poem was published anonymously in London in 1814. The manner in which this poem was received, must have been gratifying to Dr. Brown's feelings. The sentence of the Reviewers was decidedly favourable; and the opinion of those, whose opinion he valued more than all the fame that a Review can give, was more favourable still. It would be doing injustice to Mr. Stewart not to mention, that upon receiving the poem, he read it with great delight, and that his discerning taste immediately discovered the author.

Dr. Brown's next publication was also poetical. At an early period, he had written some verses to accompany the Letters of Mary Wollstonecroft from Norway, as sent to a female friend, who had expressed a desire of reading them. These verses are to be found in the first edition of his Poems. And at Logie, in the neighbourhood of Stirling, where, in the summer of 1815, he had gone for the recovery of his health, he employed himself in filling up the plan that he had originally sketched. Upon this enlarged scale, he selected the poem to give name to a volume, and in the winter of 1815 it was published under the title of The Wanderer in Norway.

The poetical merits of the piece consist principally in its containing what he intended it should contain, a picture of an impassioned mind, in circumstances of strong and wild emotion, and of "the country which bears in the rapid variety of its rude and magnificent scenery many analogies to the impetuous but changeful feelings, that may be supposed to have agitated such a mind in the dreadful circumstances in which it was placed."

which poetry is generally read to allow them to depend.

After the rising of his class in April, Dr. Brown usually continued two or three months in Edinburgh, when he retired with his sisters to some rural retreat, in the choice of which he was chiefly influenced by the opportunities it afforded him of indulging undisturbed in his admiration of external nature. He had all his life a great love of wandering among intricate paths, climbing high hills, and proceeding to the very brink of precipices, a taste which he not unfrequently indulged to his imminent danger.

From rock to rock,

When other steps paus'd shuddering at the chasm
And the scant footing of the onward cliff,
His leap was first. It was a joy, to tread
The airy height, and gaze on all below,
And feel no hazard but in the firm heart
That dar'd to master it. Each rugged path
He knew, and steep recess, whose shadows nurs'd
The mountain flower.

From the usual sports of the field he shrunk with insuperable aversion; and these were the simple delights in which it was his happiness, with an almost boyish joyousness of spirit, day after day to indulge.

Walking was his favourite exercise, which he preferred to every other, as he was thus able to pause and admire a rock, a wild flower, a brook, or whatever else of beautiful presented itself. This circumstance made him feel the presence of a stranger to be a restraint. His sisters were his chief companions. A small rivulet, and the smoke rising from a cottage sheltered among trees, were the natural objects that he seemed to contemplate with most delight. He never could pass either without pausing first to admire. Many allusions to this are to be found in his poetry.

He spent a considerable part of two summers at Invar, in the immediate neighbourhood of Dunkeld, and the happiness he enjoyed there, and his plans connected with it, entered so largely into his thoughts, that the account of his life would be defective, if I had passed over this circumstance.

There are in the poem many beautiful de- It was at Invar, in the autumn of 1816, that scriptions of external nature, and many pas- he wrote the Bower of Spring. It was sages of exquisite pathos. Its most charac-published in Edinburgh as by the author teristic features, however, are its nice analyses of feeling, and detection of the secret springs of conduct, in combination with the imagery and fervour of poetry.

The great defect of the poem is, not the predominance of the philosophic over the poetic spirit, with this I do not think it chargeable, but that it takes for granted too intimate an acquaintance, on the part of the reader, with the circumstances to which it refers, and that the merits of the different parts depend more upon their perceived relations to the other parts, than it is wise for a poet who considers the indolent temper in

of the Paradise of Coquettes, and from this and some other circumstances, the name of the author began to be suspected. He at one time hesitated about bringing it out in Edinburgh; and I cannot help thinking, that if it had been published in London, it would have had a much more extensive circulation. In that case, the author for a time would have continued unknown, and as the poem exhibits all the characteristic excellences of the Paradise, and is free from many of its disadvantages, it would have enjoyed at least an equal popularity. The volume, besides the poem which gives it its name,

contains several smaller pieces of very great beauty.

In the year 1817, Dr. Brown lost his mother, whom he loved with the utmost reverence and tenderness of affection. The care and kindness with which he watched over her in her last illness, cannot be described, and his affliction upon her death was deep and lasting. Her remains were at first placed in a vault in Edinburgh, and at the end of the winter session, removed to the family burying-ground in the old church-yard of Kirkmabreck. This romantic and secluded spot, Dr. Brown had always viewed with great interest. A few years before, in visiting his father's grave, he had been altogether overcome, and when he saw the earth closing m upon all that remained on earth of a mother that was so dear to him, and the long grassy mantle cover all, his distress was such as to affect every person who saw him.

that have been discussed among philosophers, made him feel it as an irksome task to dwell upon those intermediate steps which were necessary for the satisfaction of other minds, How far he though, to his quicker glance, the conclusion seemed intuitively obvious. was justifiable in yielding to his own taste in the choice of his literary pursuits, it might require a casuist to decide. It must, however, be observed that he neglected none of the duties of his situation which his health would allow, and it does appear to me that to aim at refining the mind by habituating it to the contemplation of the fairest forms of beauty or virtue, may be as worthy as to determine wherein the essence of beauty or virtue conAnd the man who, by his writings, sists. seeks to raise and refine the tone of the moral sentiments of his readers, deserves as well of mankind as if he had endeavoured to disclose to them principles that might have servAfter his mother's funeral, Dr. Brown re-ed to augment the wealth of the community. sided some months at the Manse of Balmaclellan, where he wrote his Agnes, which was published in the beginning of the winter of 1818. Its circulation does not appear to have been more extensive than that of his former poems, a circumstance for which it may appear difficult to account, as the poem is free from those obscurities that had been supposed to diminish the interest in his former pieces, and has the recommendation of an affecting and simple story.

That Dr. Brown did not consult for his But before he brought immediate fame in the choice he made, may be readily allowed. himself forward in the character of a poet, he was aware of the risk to which he subjected himself. And, having once resolved, he had too much firmness of character to be moved by the censure or neglect of his contemporaries.

In the summer of 1819, after spending a few days in the neighbourhood of Glasgow with his much valued friend Mr. Reddie, he went to London, where, however, he did not

Upon his return, he paid another visit to Dunkeld, with which he was still more delighted than he had ever preAt this viously been, and he resolved to spend there a part of every future summer. time he began his Text Book, a work which he had long intended to prepare.

The frequency with which the poetical works of Dr. Brown succeeded each other began to excite remark. And while the de-long continue. votion of his mind to poetry, to the neglect, as was supposed, of philosophy, was objected to him by his enemies almost as a moral defect in his character, even those who were inclined to judge more favourably, regretted it as a weakness that materially injured his reputation. The objection was somewhat similar to that which Cicero tells us was made to him for the attention he paid to the Greek philosophy. Non eram nescius, ut hic noster labor in varias reprehensiones incurreret, nam quibusdam, et iis quidem non admodum indoctis, totum hoc displicet, philosophari. quidam autem non id tam reprehendunt, si remissius agatur: sed tantum studium, tamque multam operam ponendam in eo non arbitrantur. Postremo aliquos futuros suspicor, qui me ad alias litteras vocent: genus hoc scribendi, etsi sit elegans, personæ tamen, et dignitatis esse negent.

In the end of autumn he returned to Edinburgh in high health and spirits, and was remarked by every person who saw him, to look unusually well. As for many reasons he was anxious that his Outlines should speedily be published, he engaged in the work with great ardour. His method of preparing it was, not to satisfy himself with a cold and formal enumeration of the heads of his lectures, but to take a distinct subject, whether it occupied one or more lectures, or was discussed in a part of a lecture, and to conceive himself speaking to one of his pupils, and endeavouring, in as short a space as possible, to convey an idea of his doctrines. Those who consider the abstract nature of Si delectamur cum scribimus, quis est tam the points he had thus to discuss, will perinvidus, qui ab e nos abducat? sin laboramus, ceive at once that his work must have requirquis est, qui alienæ modum statuat indus-ed a very great effort of thought. A few days before the Christmas holidays tria? That Dr. Brown preferred poetry to phi- he felt rather unwell. During the holidays osophy, is certain. The rapidity with which he confined himself to the house, and was in ne arrived at the knowledge of the questions | hopes that, by taking care of his health, he

To these objections Dr. Brown's answer might be the same as Cicero's.

With best regards,
Ever yours faithfully,
THOS. BROWN.

79, Prince's Street,

Jan. 17.

would be able to meet with his class at their | me with them. That I am under your care, termination. His only complaint at this will, I am sure, be considered by them as a time was what he seldom failed to be affect- good omen of my return being the speeded with when composing, quickness of pulse, ier. and a feeling of weakness. In such circumstances, losing a little blood had been known to do him good, and his sisters were very anxious that he should again make trial of this remedy; but the fear that it might keep him a few days longer from his duties deterred him. At the end of the holidays, he conThe regret he felt in not being able to attinued nearly in the same state, and delayed tend to the duties of his class, and his anxiety lecturing for a few days. When he again to get a person appointed to read his lecmet his class, his lecture unfortunately hap-tures, injured him greatly. pened to be one which always excited in him In the beginning of February he went a a great deal of emotion. Indeed many of few miles out of town, to the country house his lectures affected him so much, that he of his much valued friend Dr. Charles Stufound it difficult to conceal from his pupils art. what he felt. When he read any thing ed with favourable effects. The change was for a few days attendThe weather that contained sublime moral sentiments, or was at that time very mild, he thought himany thing very tender, he never failed to be self rather better, and great hopes were enmuch moved. The lecture to which I at tertained of his recovery. But, alas! these present refer, is the thirty-fifth in this vol- hopes were soon dispelled. The mildness ume; and those who recollect the man- of the season was but of brief continuance. ner in which he always recited the very A dreadful storm succeeded, with heavy falls affecting lines from Beattie's Hermit, will of snow. not wonder that some who attended his last was immediate; and from this time his health The effect upon his feeble frame course should conceive that the emotion he rapidly declined. displayed arose from a foreboding of his own approaching dissolution.

'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more:
I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glittering with
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn; [dew:
Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save.

But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn?
O! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?
This was the last lecture he ever delivered.
As yet he had not allowed a physician to be
sent for. Having often been in the same
state before, he apprehended no particular
danger. When Dr. Gregory saw him, he
did not think his case alarming, and ordered
nothing but that he should keep himself
quiet, and not go out. On the day after
this restriction he wrote the following note.

TO DR. GREGORY.

It was while he was here that I saw, for the last time, my ever-lamented friend. The variety of my avocations had, about this period, prevented me from enjoying so much of his society as on former occasions; and indeed, since the commencement of our acquaintance, there never had been a season in which I had been so seldom with him. The last time I had seen him he was in the enjoyment of excellent health, and seemed more than usually sanguine in regard to the completion of his Physiology, with which he was busily engaged. Since that, I had heard merely that he was unwell, without the remotest idea that his complaints were dangerous, and I have no words to express my feelings when I entered his apartment.

Vidi egomet duro graviter concussa dolore
Pectora, in alterius non unquam lenta dolorem ;
Et languere oculos vidi, et pallescere amantem
Vultum, quo nunquam Pietas nisi rara, Fidesque,
Altus amor Veri, et purum spirabat Honestum.

I found him in bed; and there was something in the sound of his voice, and in the expression of his countenance altogether, that at the very first look irresistibly impressed upon me that there was nothing more to

MY DEAR SIR,-As you would not allow me to think of lecturing this week, may I beg you to take the trouble of intimating your opinion to my class. I know that, to any one else, with as few spare moments in a well-filled day as you have, this would be a very impertinent request. But I have learned by long habit to rely so fully on your friendly kindness, that I fear I have begun to The gentleman appointed was the late Mr. John think it an impossible thing to intrude on it. Stewart, for whom Dr. Brown entertained a high esMay I beg you, at the same time, to state first edition of the following Lectures was committed The superintendence of the publication of the to my young Moral Philosophers, how much to Mr. Stewart, and he added the titles and notes of I regret our separation, and what double en-still retained. Upon his lamented death, which took reference, which, with some trifling alterations, are joyment of health I shall feel in being enabled to return to the official duties that connect | Rev. Edward Milroy.

teem.

place when the work was little more than half completed, he was succeeded in his editorial labours by the

« 이전 계속 »

도서