last week, naturally excited your attention; and I will, as you desire, try to borrow the Swiss gentleman's letter respecting education from Dr. Knox. Emulation has been at all times relied upon as a chief instrument in education, and now comes a philosopher of great experience who discourages the use of it. Certainly, if the mere passion for truth could do the business, if young men could be expected to fall desperately in love with "the beauty "of theorem," the results would be of exceeding value, both in kind and in degree. Can this be

trusted to? Alas, no!

One practice, however, can be reformed, that of giving prizes and commendations only to those who get on the fastest. 'Tis the endeavour, the struggle, the obedience, that should be praised and rewarded. Then a child will not be disheartened by difficulties, nor humiliated by failure; because, when he does his best, he will be sure of approbation. Otherwise, as soon as he is passed in the race by his competitors, he will be inclined to lie down in the dust, with his little heart full of despair, and perhaps full of envy

too.

There was one observation which we agreed inI never did expect much from merely didactic lectures. Knowledge cannot be truly ours till we have appropriated it by some operation of our own minds. The best writers on property in land attribute that right to the first proprietor's having blended his own labour with the soil. Something like this is true of intellectual attainments. For example, surely the best mode of teaching moral philosophy would be by giving each pupil a set of questions such as—

"Why should truth be spoken ?"

"Why should a promise be kept, and a debt paid?" "What is the meaning of the word ought?"

The learners should, indeed, be told that many different answers have been given in all ages, and the most celebrated as well as the most satisfactory authors should be pointed out to them. But they should select their own answers: after being encouraged to reflect as well as to read.

Behold what you have brought upon yourself by the grave and urgent air of your enquiries, and by

not waiting till we could take a turn together in your garden of gardens; where "cum una, meherculè, "ambulatiuncula, atque uno sermone nostro, omnes "provinciæ fructus non confero" addicted as I am to the distant mountains.

TO MR. CUMBERLAND.

London, 18th Dec. 1798.

I AM not only glad, but flattered that you have listened to my suggestion, and that you really intend to write your own life. There are many motives to encourage you, beside those I mentioned. The mere incidents are not common, and you have always lived with eminent persons, whose characters are still the objects of public curiosity. The progress of your own mind, related circumstantially, will not only be interesting, but instructive, especially to young men; and you cannot but feel some pleasure in looking back on the steps that conducted you from

the Westminster-school exercises, to the "West

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Indian," and the " Wheel of Fortune."

The Spanish Mission too was important, and in respect to that, you justly complain of ill-treatment (as Mr. Pitt too tardily confessed), but you seem on no other occasion to have been pelted with calumnies. Is not this being very fortunate, considering how the world abounds with envious libellers? I suppose you have escaped in consequence chiefly of abandoning politics as a profession.

What a coachful was that which entered Dublin with the lord lieutenant, with you as his private, and William Gerard Hamilton, as his public secretary, and Edmund Burke as Hamilton's! Your temptations must have been strong to continue in public life, and, had you yielded to them, you would now be a rich, perhaps a titled man; but, judging from your nature, and from your love of letters, I should say that you would not have been a happy one.

Those who engage in party-struggles must pray, as the Spartans did, for the fortitude to bear in

justice. Indeed this is necessary for all men, in every condition, and luckily we are taught early, by a common child's play, what we are to expect in the world, where, though D deserves it, G gets it.

You will pardon me for saying also, that it was impossible for you to be quite certain that your talents were precisely those best fitted for common official occupations. Vespasian was a wretched prætor, though he was a great emperor, and, near the ground, a swallow can fly faster than an eagle. Perhaps you foresaw that you could not be quite complaisant enough in changing your sentiments with your interest, and that you could not be always quite ready to ring in every new prime minister as impartially as the clapper of a bell. Nor can it be a very easy task to preserve the proper respect for high personages, when seeing them familiarly, since, contrary to the rules of perspective, they commonly seem greatest at a distance.

Probably you might not exactly relish the pleasure of trying to persuade a popular assembly of what