And now, Sir, having seen how little can be said in justification of that offensive custom which the learned have somehow taken up, of directly applauding one another, I come to the more immediate purpose of this address, which was to shew how singularly happy you have been in avoiding this great vice, and to take occasion from the example you have now set us to recommend the contrary virtue to the imitation of others.
I am sensible there are some difficulties to be encountered at setting out. A generous mind will probably feel some reluctance, at first, to the scheme of suppressing his natural feelings, and of withholding from his friend that just tribute of praise which many others perhaps are but too willing should be withheld from him. But all scruples of this sort will be got over when the full merit of your example hath been considered; I mean, when the inducements you had to give into the common weakness on this occasion come to be fairly drawn out; by which it will be clearly seen that you have the glory of setting a precedent of the most heroic magnanimity and self-denial, and that nothing can possibly be urged in the case of any other, which you have not triumphantly gotten the better of in your own.
I observe it to your honour, Sir, you have ventured on the same ground in this famous Dissertation, which hath been trodden by the most noted, at least, of our present writers. But this is not enough. It will be of moment to consider a little more particularly the character of the person whom you chuse to follow, or rather nobly emulate, in this route. And lest you should think I have any design to lessen the merit of your conduct towards him by giving it in my cool way, take it from one of those warm friends who never balk their humour in this sort of commendations. Upon asking him what he thought of the learned person’s character, and telling him the use I might perhaps make of his opinion in this address to you, he began in a very solemn way.
“The author of the D. L.” says he, “is a writer whose genius and learning have so far subdued envy itself (though it never rose fiercer against any man, or in more various and grotesque shapes), that every man of sense now esteems him the ornament, and every good man the blessing, of these times.”
Hold, said I, my good friend, I did not mean to put your eloquence to the stretch for this panegyric on his intellectual endowments, which I am very ready to take upon trust, and, to say the truth, have never heard violently run down by any but very prejudiced or very dull men. His moral qualities are those I am most concerned for.
“His moral,” resumed he hastily, “shine forth as strongly from all his writings as the other, and are those which I have ever reverenced most. Of these, his love of letters and of virtue, his veneration of great and good men, his delicacy of honour in not assuming to himself, or depressing, the merit of others, his readiness to give their due to all men of real desert whose principles he opposes, even to the fastidious, scoffing Lord Shaftesbury and the licentious Bayle, but above all, his zeal for religion and for truth, these are qualities which, as often as I look into his volumes, attract my admiration and esteem. Nor is this enumeration, though it be far from complete, made at random. I could illustrate each of these virtues by various instances, taken from his works, were it not that the person you mean to address is more conversant in them, and more ready, I may presume, to do him justice on any fitting occasion than myself. The liberty indeed he takes of dissenting from many great names is considerable, as well as of speaking his free thoughts of the writers for whom he hath no esteem. But the one he doth with that respect and deference, and the other with that reason and justice, and both with that ingenuous openness and candour, the characteristics of a truly great mind, that they, whom he opposes, cannot be angry, and they whom he censures are not misused. I mention this the rather on account of the clamour which has so frequently been raised against the freedom and severity of his pen. But there is no mystery in the case. No dead writer is so bad but he has some advocates, and no living one so contemptible but he has some friends. And the misfortune is, that, while the present generation is too much prejudiced to do him right, posterity, to whom the appeal of course lies, are not likely to have it in their power to re-judge the cause: the names and writings, he most undervalues, being such as are hastening, it seems, to that oblivion which is prepared for such things.
“These,” continued he, “are some of the obvious qualities of the WRITER; and for the personal virtues of the MAN—But here I may well refer you to Dr. Jortin himself, who will take a pleasure to assure you, that his private character is not less respectable than his public; or, rather, if the one demands our veneration, that the other must secure our love. And, yet, why rest the credit of ONE, when ALL of his acquaintance agree in this, that he is the easiest in his conversation, the frankest and most communicative, the readiest to do all good offices, in short the friendliest and most generous of men.”
Thus far our zealous friend. And, though I know how much you agree with him in your sentiments, I dare say you cannot but smile at so egregious a specimen of the high complimentary manner. But, though one is not to expect an encomiast of this class will be very sensible of any defects in the person he celebrates, yet it cannot be disowned that this magnified man hath his foibles as well as another. I will be so fair as to enumerate some of them.
As he is conscious of intending well, and even greatly, in his learned labours, he is rather disposed to think himself injured by malicious slanders and gross misrepresentations. And then, as he hath abundantly too much wit, especially for a great divine, he is apt to say such things as, though dull men do not well comprehend, they see reason enough to take offence at. Besides, he doth not sufficiently consult his ease or his interest by the observance of those forms and practices which are in use amongst the prudent part of his own order. This, no doubt, begets a reasonable disgust. And even his friends, I observe, can hardly restrain their censure of so great a singularity. “He is so much in his study, they say, that he hardly allows himself time to make his appearance at a levee. Not considering that illud unum ad laudem cum labore directum iter qui probaverunt prope jam soli in SCHOLIS sunt relicti.” These infirmities, it must be owned, are very notorious in him; to which it might be added, that he is very indiscreet, sometimes, in the topics and turn of his conversation. His zeal for his FRIEND is so immoderate, that he takes fire even at the most distant reflection he hears cast upon him. And I doubt no consideration could withhold him from contradicting any man, let his quality and station be what it would, that should hazard a joke or an argument, in his company, against Religion.
I thought it but just to take notice of these weaknesses; and there may, perhaps, be some others, which I do not now recollect. Yet, on the whole, I will not deny that he may fairly pass for an able, a friendly, and even amiable man.