of true religion, as it is plainly opposite to the maxims upon which Christ founded his kingdom; who choose the motives which are not of this world, to support a kingdom which is not of this world. And, indeed, it is too visible to be hid, that wherever the rewards and punishments are changed from future to present, from the world to come to the world now in possession, there the kingdom founded by our Saviour is, in the nature of it, so far changed, that it is become, in such a degree, what he professed his kingdom was not—that is, of this world; of the same sort with other common earthly kingdoms, in which the rewards are worldly honours, posts, offices, pomp, attendance, dominion; and the punishments are prisons, fines, banishments, galleys, and racks, or something less of the same sort.

GEORGE BERKELEY, afterwards the celebrated Bishop of Cloyne, and to whom Pope assigned 'every virtue under heaven,' was born at Thomastown, in the county of Kilkenney, Ireland, on the twelfth of March, 1684. He was educated at Dublin university, where he remarkably distinguished himself by his proficiency in mathematical studies; and in 1707, became a fellow of Trinity College. In 1709, he published his Theory of Vision; in the following year, The Principles of Human Knowledge; and in 1713, appeared his Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, in which his ideal system was developed in language singularly animated and imaginative. These publications introduced him to the acquaintance of Swift, Pope, Steele, and other members of that brilliant circle, by all of whom he seems to have been greatly beloved.

In 1713, Berkeley, having previously taken orders, and been promoted to the deanery of Clogher, accompanied the Earl of Peterborough, as chaplain and secretary, in his embassy to Sicily; and afterwards travelled on the continent as tutor to the son of the Bishop of Clogher, with whom he remained abroad between four and five years. On his return, he published a Latin tract, De Motu, and an essay on the fatal South Sea scheme, both of which were well received. In 1720, Pope introduced him to the Earl of Burlington, and by that nobleman he was recommended to the Duke of Grafton, lord-lieutenant of Ireland. His grace made Berkeley his chaplain, and afterwards appointed him to the deanery of Derry. It soon became evident, however, that personal aggrandizement was never an object of interest with the benevolent philosopher. He had long cherished a project, which he now announced as a 'Scheme for converting the savage Americans to Christianity, by a college to be erected in the Summer Islands, otherwise called the Isles of Bermuda.' Anticipating no difficulties, he communicated his enthusiastic scheme to others, and even obtained, from Sir Robert Walpole, the promise of twenty thousand pounds to purchase the grounds required, and to erect suitable buildings. While Berkeley's mind glowed, and his heart swelled with the visions of his literary and religious triumphs in the New World, he wrote the following fine verses, expressive of his brilliant anticipations:

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime

Barren of every glorious theme,

In distant lands now waits a better time,
Producing subjects worthy fame.

In happy climes, where from the genial sun
And virgin earth, such scenes ensue,
The force of art by nature seems outdone,
And fancied beauties by the true:

In happy climes the seat of innocence,

Where nature guides and virtue rules,
Where men shall not impose for truth and sense,
The pedantry of courts and schools:

There shall be sung another golden age,
The rise of empire and of arts,
The good and great inspiring epic rage,
The wisest heads and noblest hearts.

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay;
Such as she bred when fresh and young,
When heavenly flame did animate her clay,
By future poets shall be sung.

Westward the course of empire takes its way;
The four first acts already past,

A fifth shall close the drama with the day;
Time's noblest offspring is the last.

In 1728, Berkeley sailed for Rhode Island, and there remained for some years, awaiting the remittance of the money promised by Walpole; but the minister proved faithless to his pledge, and the philosopher was compelled, disappointed, to return to Europe. While in America he composed The Minute Philosopher, a series of moral and philosophical dialogues, which he published in 1732. He soon after attracted the attention of Queen Caroline, and in 1734 was appointed to the bishopric of Cloyne, in Ireland. Some useful tracts were afterwards published by him, including one on tar-water, which he considered to possess high medinical qualities. His last work is entitled, The Querist; containing several Queries proposed to the Consideration of the Public. In 1752, he removed, with his family, to Oxford, to superintend the education of his sons; and conscious of the impropriety of residing apart from his diocess, he endeavored to exchange his bishopric for some canonry, or college, at Oxford. Not succeeding in this project, he proposed to resign his bishopric; but the king declared he should die a bishop, though he gave him liberty to reside where he pleased. This incident is highly honorable to both parties. On the fourteenth of January, 1753, the good prelate died suddenly at his residence at Oxford, and his remains were interred in Christ Church, where a monument was erected to his memory.

The life of Bishop Berkeley presents a striking picture of patient labor and romantic enthusiasm, of learning and genius, benevolence and worth. His works form an important landmark in metaphysical science. At first

his valuable and original 'Theory of Vision' was considered a philosophical romance, yet his doctrines are now incorporated with every system of optics. His style is clear and unaffected, with the easy grace of the polished philosopher. A love of description and of external nature is evinced at times, and possesses something of the freshness of old Izaak Walton. The following extract is taken from 'An Essay towards preventing the Ruin of Great Britain,' written soon after the affair of the South Sea scheme :

INDUSTRY.

Industry is the natural sure way to wealth; this is so true, that it is impossible an industrious free people should want the necessaries and comforts of life, or an idle enjoy them under any form of government. Money is so far useful to the public, as it promoteth industry, and credit having the same effect, is of the same value with money; but money or credit circulating through a nation from hand to hand, without producing labour and industry in the inhabitants, is direct gaming.

It is not impossible for cunning men to make such plausible schemes, as may draw those who are less skillful into their own and the public ruin. But surely there is no man of sense and honesty but must see and own, whether he understands the game or not, that it is an evident folly for any people, instead of prosecuting the old honest methods of industry and frugality, to sit down to a public gaming-table and play off their money one to another.

The more methods there are in a state for acquiring riches without industry or merit, the less there will be of either in that state: this is as evident as the ruin that attends it. Besides, when money is shifted from hand to hand in such a blind fortuitous manner, that some men shall from nothing acquire in an instant vast estates, without the least desert; while others are as suddenly stripped of plentiful fortunes, and left on the parish by their own avarice and credulity, what can be hoped for on the one hand but abandoned luxury and wantonness, or on the other but extreme madness and despair?

In short, all projects for growing rich by sudden and extraordinary methods, as they operate violently on the passions of men, and encourage them to despise the slow moderate gains that are to be made by an honest industry, must be ruinous to the public, and even the winners themselves will at length be involved in the public ruin.

*

God grant the time be not near when men shall say, 'This island was once inhabited by a religious, brave, sincere people, of plain uncorrupt manners, respecting inbred worth rather than titles and appearance, assertors of liberty, lovers of their country, jealous of their own rights, and unwilling to infringe the rights of others; improvers of learning and useful arts, enemies to luxury, tender of other men's lives and prodigal of their own; inferior in nothing to the old Greeks or Romans, and superior to each of those people in the perfections of the other. Such were our ancestors during their rise and greatness; but they degenerated, grew servile flatterers of men in power, adopted Epicurean notions, became venal, corrupt, injurious, which drew upon them the hatred of God and man, and occasioned their final ruin.

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU, the writer with whom we shall close our remarks on the present period, was the eldest daughter of the Duke of Kingston, and was born in 1690. She was educated, like her brothers, in the Latin, Greek, and French languages, with each of which she became entirely familiar. In 1712, she married Edward Wortley Montagu, and on

her husband being appointed a commissioner of the treasury, she was introduced to the courtly and polished circles of London, and secured the friendship of Addison, Pôpe, Gay, and other distinguished literati of that period. Her personal beauty, and the charms of her conversation were, at that time, unrivalled. In 1716, her husband was appointed ambassador to the Porte, and Lady Mary accompanied him to Constantinople. During the journey, and her residence in the Levant, she corresponded with her sister, the Countess of Mar, Lady Rich, Pope, and others, delineating European and Turkish scenery and manners with accuracy and minuteness. On observing, among the villages in Turkey, the practice of inoculating for the small-pox, she bocame convinced of its utility and efficacy, and applied it to her own son, at that time about three years old. By great exertions, Lady Mary afterwards established the practice of inoculation in England, and from that country it has spread throughout the civilized world.

In 1718, Lady Mary's husband being recalled from his embassy, she returned to England, and, by the advice of Pope, settled at Twickenham. The rival wits did not, however, long continue friends. Pope seems to have entertained for Lady Mary a passion warmer than friendship; and on one occasion he is said to have made a tender declaration to her, which threw the lady into an immoderate fit of laughter, and made the sensitive poet ever afterwards her implacable enemy. In 1739, her health having declined, Lady Mary again left England, and after visiting Rome, Naples, and other prominent places, she finally settled at Louverre, in the Venetian territory, whence she corresponded freely and fully with her female friends and relations. Montagu died in 1761, immediately after which Lady Mary returned to England, but she did not long survive her husband, as her own death occurred on the twenty-first of August, 1762.

Few persons of any age or country ever united more solid sense and learning, to wit, fancy, and lively powers of description, than Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. In epistolary composition she has very few equals, and scarcely a superior. Walpole may be more witty and sarcastic, and Cowper more unaffectedly natural, pure, and delightful; but if we consider the variety and novelty of the objects described in Lady Mary's letters, the fund of anecdote and observation they display, the just reflections that spring out of them, and the happy clearness and idiomatic grace of her style, we shall hesitate about placing her below any letter-writer that England ever produced. Her letters, it is true, may sometimes betray a want of feminine softness and delicacy; but that is attributable rather to the fashion of the times, than to any defect in her taste. Of these incomparable letters we present the following:

TO E. W. MONTAGU, ESQ.-ON MATRIMONIAL HAPPINESS. * * If we marry, our happiness must consist in loving one another: 'tis principally my concern to think of the most probable method of making that love eternal. You object against living in London; I am not fond of it myself, and readily

give it up to you, though I am assured there needs more art to keep a fondness alive in solitude, where it generally preys upon itself. There is one article absolutely necessary to be ever beloved, one must be ever agreeable. There is no such thing as being agreeable without a thorough good-humour, a natural sweetness of temper, enlivened by cheerfulness. Whatever natural funds of gayety one is born with, 'tis ⚫ necessary to be entertained with agreeable objects. Any body capable of tasting pleasure, when they confine themselves to one place, should take care 'tis the place in the world the most agreeable. Whatever you may now think (now, perhaps, you have some fondness for me), though your love should continue in its full force, there are hours when the most beloved mistress would be troublesome. People are not forever (nor is it in human nature that they should be) disposed to be fond; you would be glad to find in me the friend and the companion. To be agreeably the last, it is necessary to be gay and entertaining. A perpetual solitude, in a place where you see nothing to raise your spirits, at length wears them out, and conversation insensibly falls into dull and insipid. When I have no more to say to you, you will like me no longer. How dreadful is that view! You will reflect, for my sake you have abandoned the conversation of a friend that you liked, and your situation in a country where all things would have contributed to make your life pass in (the true volupté) a smooth tranquillity. I shall lose the vivacity which should entertain you, and you will have nothing to recompense you for what you have lost. Very few people that have settled entirely in the country, but have grown at length weary of one another. The lady's conversation generally falls into a thousand impertinent effects of idleness; and the gentleman falls in love with his dogs and his horses, and out of love with every thing else. I am not now arguing in favour of the town; you have answered me as to that point. In respect of your health, 'tis the first thing to be considered, and I shall never ask you to do any thing injurious to that. But 'tis my opinion, 'tis necessary to be happy, that we neither of us think any place more agreeable than that where we are.

TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE-ON FEMALE EDUCATION.

Louverre, Jany. 28, N. S., 1753.

DEAR CHILD-You have given me a great deal of satisfaction by your account of your eldest daughter. I am particularly pleased to hear she is a good arithmetician; it is the best proof of understanding: the knowledge of numbers is one of the chief distinctions between us and brutes.

If there is any thing in blood, you may reasonably expect your children should be endowed with an uncommon share of good sense. Mr. Wortley's family and mine have both produced some of the greatest men that have been born in England; I mean Admiral Sandwich, and my grandfather, who was distinguished by the name of Wise William. I have heard Lord Bute's father mentioned as an extraordinary genius, though he had not many opportunities of showing it; and his uncle, the present Duke of Argyll, has one of the best heads I ever knew. I will therefore speak to you as supposing Lady Mary not only capable, but desirous of learning; in that case by all means let her be indulged in it. You will tell me I did not make it a part of your education; your prospect was very different from hers. As you had much in your circumstances to attract the highest offers, it seemed your business to learn how to live in the world, as it is hers to know how to be easy out of it. It is the common error of builders and parents to follow some plan they think beautiful (and perhaps is so), without considering that nothing is beautiful which is displaced. Hence we see so many edifices raised, that the raisers can never inhabit, being too large for their fortunes. Vistas are laid open over barren heaths, and apartments contrived for a coolness very agreeable in Italy, but killing in the north of Britain: thus every woman endeavours to breed her daughter a fine lady,