Still the indefatigable Anderson returned to the
charge, though he brought it against humbler persons in a less conspicuous arena. As he found the authors above his reach, he resolved to proceed against the booksellers; and he brought before the Presbytery of Edinburgh a "Petition and Complaint" against Alexander Kincaid and Alexander Donaldson, the
publishers of "Kames' Essays," praying, "that the said printer and booksellers may be summoned to the next meeting of the Presbytery, and there and then to declare and give up the author of the said book; and that he and they may be censured, according to the law of the gospel, and the practice of this and all other well-governed churches." Anderson indeed would seem to have imbibed the spirit of the great Anthony Arnauld: who, when Nicole spoke of some rest from the endless war of polemical controversy, exclaimed, "Rest! will you not have enough of rest hereafter, through all eternity?" Before the Presbytery could meet he accordingly published another pamphlet, called "the Complaint of George Anderson, minister of the gospel, verified by passages in the book libelled." He died in the 19th October,[432:1] just ten days before the meeting of the presbytery, for which he had made such active preparation. He fell in harness, and the departure of the restless spirit of the champion from its tenement of clay, was death to the cause. After the perusal of written pleadings, and a formal debate, the complaint was dismissed.
This matter appears to have given Hume very little disturbance. He does not mention it in his "own life." He laboured uninterruptedly at the second volume of his History; and his correspondence, which we may now resume, will be found to pursue its even tenor, taking no farther notice of the proceedings of his opponents, than the simple question put to Smith, whether it will be a matter of much consequence if he should be excommunicated?
"Edinburgh, 20th April, 1756.
"Dear Doctor,—There is certainly nothing so unaccountable as my long silence with you; that is, with a man whose friendship I desire most to preserve of any I know, and whose conversation I would be the most covetous to enjoy, were I in the same place with him. But to tell the truth, we people in the country, (for such you Londoners esteem our city,) are apt to be troublesome to you people in town; we are vastly glad to receive letters which convey intelligence to us of things which we should otherwise have been ignorant of, and can pay them back with nothing but provincial stories, which are no way interesting. It was perhaps an apprehension of this kind which held my pen: but really, I believe, the truth is, when I was idle, I was lazy—when I was busy, I was so extremely busy, that I had no leisure to think of any thing else. For, dear Doctor, what have we to do with news on either side, unless it be literary news, which I hope will always interest us? and of these, London seems to me as barren as Edinburgh; or rather more so, since I can tell you that our friend Hume's 'Douglas,' is altered and finished, and will be brought out on the stage next winter, and is a singular, as well as fine performance, [ [433:1]] of the spirit of the English theatre, not devoid of Attic and French elegance. You have sent us nothing worth reading this winter; even your vein of wretched novels is dried up, though not that of scurrilous partial politics. We hear of Sir George Lyttleton's History, from which the populace expect a great deal: but I
hear it is to be three quarto volumes. 'O, magnum horribilem et sacrum Libellum.'—This last epithet of sacrum will probably be applicable to it in more senses than one. However, it cannot well fail to be readable, which is a great deal for an English book now-a-days.
"But, dear Doctor, even places more hyperborean than this, more provincial, more uncultivated, and more barbarous, may furnish articles for a literary correspondence. Have you seen the second volume of Blackwell's 'Court of Augustus?' I had it some days lying on my table, and, on turning it over, met with passages very singular for their ridicule and absurdity. He says that Mark Antony, travelling from Rome in a post-chaise, lay the first night at Redstones: I own I did not think this a very classical name; but, on recollection, I found, by the Philippics, that he lay at Saxa Rubra. He talks also of Mark Antony's favourite poet, Mr. Gosling, meaning Anser, who, methinks, should rather be called Mr. Goose. He also takes notice of Virgil's distinguishing himself, in his youth, by his epigram on Crossbow the robber! Look your Virgil, you'll find that, like other robbers, this man bore various names. Crossbow is the name he took at Aberdeen, but Balista at Rome. The book has many other flowers[434:1]
of a like nature, which made me exclaim, with regard to the author,