teresting. I have been surprised, and I own a little indignant, to observe how little impression his death has made here. Scarce any notice has been taken of it, while for above a year together, after the death of Dr. Johnson, nothing was to be heard of but panegyrics of him. Lives, Letters, and Anecdotes, and even at this moment there are two more lives of him about to start into existence. Indeed one ought not, perhaps, to be very much surprised that the public does not do justice to the works of A. Smith, since he did not do justice to them himself, but always considered his Theory of Moral Sentiments as a much superior work to his Wealth of Nations. The French Revolution seems to be growing popular, where one would last expect it, even in our Universities. One of the questions proposed this year by the Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, for a Latin prize dissertation was, "Whether the French Revolution was likely to prove advantageous or injurious to this country; "and the prize was given to a dissertation written to prove that it would be advantageous to us. I was very agreeably surprised to hear from my friend Mr. Vaughan that he had spent part of one of the very few days which he passed at Paris in your company. I have been importuning him with questions about you, and have made him tell me where he saw you, and when, and for how long, and how long he walked in the garden at Passy, and every thing which could assist me to transport myself to the same scene, and to make one of the company. *This dissertation was written by Mr. Whishaw. Pray assure Mr. G of my warm and unalterable friendship. I mention him less frequently in my letters than I should do, if I did not consider the whole of them as being addressed to him at the same time as to you. Dear Dumont, LETTER LXXII. TO M. DUMONT. September 25. 1790. After reading Duroveray's letter with the greatest attention, I cannot say that I find in it sufficient reason to induce you to undertake the journey which he proposes. If he does not deceive himself as to the situation of affairs at Geneva, your presence seems quite unnecessary; and matters are likely to be settled without you, if not in the best manner possible, at least in the best that can be expected; and if he does deceive himself, and considers matters with too sanguine hopes, it must be at least doubtful what can be done, and how distant may still be that crisis which he supposes has already arrived. I cannot conceive how Duroveray can persuade himself that the people of Geneva ought to be careful not to let the present opportunity pass unimproved. That opportunity (if it ought to be called by that name) is what the French Revolution has offered them, and seems likely to be an opportunity which will last for ages. A counter-revolution is impossible; and, if there were degrees of impossibility, it would be still more impossible that France should again exercise any control over the government of Geneva. The most essential thing, therefore, at Geneva is to do nothing precipitately; the making a constitution is a work of reason, not of enthusiasm. Argument and discussion may be of great use at the present moment at Geneva; but I do not see what good is to be done by eloquence; and argument and discussion may as well be communicated to them from London as at Geneva. I can easily conceive, indeed, that, if you were on the spot, you might be able to induce them to do more for the natives than they would otherwise do; but I own I should dread the effects of what they might be induced to do merely from a sudden movement, with which they would be inspired, and which, in cooler moments of selfish reflection, they might repent of. It is easy to foresee the jealousies which might arise from hence, how the seeds of future divisions might by that means be sown, and how the most generous conduct on your part might in the end receive no other reward than the complaints and dissatisfaction of your countrymen. With all this, however, I cannot in my conscience tell you that I think you would be of no use at Geneva. I have too high an opinion of your talents and your virtues to think that you could ever be useless where any good was to be done. But, of whatever use your journey might be to your countrymen, I am sure it would be of none to yourself: and a person destined to do as much good as I sincerely believe you are, ought to be allowed a little to consider what effect any measure he may take is likely to have on his own character. A person who sets out on such a mission as that on which our friends desire you to go to Geneva assumes to himself a degree of importance which, however well you may be entitled to it, it is not in your temper to assume, and which, if such an expedition prove fruitless, cannot fail of covering him with ridicule. I admit, however, that all this and much more ought to be risked, if there were a prospect of rendering any important service to your country; but I cannot persuade myself that this is the present case. The disinclination you have to going to Geneva is alone sufficient to convince me that you would be of little service there; and though I cannot blame the zeal of your friends, who importune you to surmount that disinclination, and to sacrifice your own ease to an object which they think important; yet, in fact, it is much easier to recommend sacrifices than to make them. The truth is, that we never know what the sacrifices are which we recommend; and that which we look upon as only a slight inconvenience, may be to the person whom we would persuade to submit to it a very serious evil. I say all this merely to convince you that you alone are the proper judge what you ought to do. Trust to your own judgment alone. Regard no part of the letters which you receive from Geneva but the facts they contain, and the opinion which is entertained of your abilities and your virtues, and from those data decide whether you ought to go or not. To undertake such a journey, on such an occasion, merely from deference to the opinions and wishes of others, is a weakness hardly excusable. Trust to yourself, and I have no doubt of your doing right. I dined two days ago with Trail, who was in town for a day. He is very much pleased with Mirabeau's two speeches on the family compact and the assignats*, and has conceived a higher opinion of him than he ever had before, at finding he can do so much when deprived of the assistance to which he owed so great a part of his former reputation. Erskine is returned from Paris a violent democrat. He has had a coat made of the uniform of the Jacobins, with buttons bearing this inscription, "Vivre libre ou mourir," and he says he intends to wear it in our House of Commons, I thank you for your good news, and congratulate you upon it most cordially. I will venture to cast the nativity of your little daughter, and to pronounce that she is infallibly destined to be happy; for the education she will receive cannot fail of rendering her so. You promise me that she is by and by to be my very good friend; in the meantime, however, I foresee that the little damsel will do me a great deal of mischief, and will * See Moniteur for 1790, Nos. 240. and 241. |