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appear on the surface. Professor Fraser attributes this reticence to his unwillingness to shock the world with a con'ception of its own existence, against which he anticipated a 'strong opposition.' However this may be, the reserve shows his skill and caution as a controversialist. The theory was in reality the thin end of the wedge designed to split up the solid conception of matter which had possession of the scientific and philosophical world, and was firmly rooted in popular opinion and belief. The immediate object was to show that we do not directly perceive through sight externality, magnitude, and distance; in a word, that we do not see external objects, the knowledge of material realities being thus at one entrance quite shut out. While this attempt is by no means successful, the treatise as a whole displays to great advantage some of Berkeley's special excellences, in particular his rare power of delicate psychological analysis, and exquisite clearness and simplicity of style. The leading notions of the theory are derived from the Cartesians, and especially from Malebranche, but, as usual, Berkeley pushes principles good in themselves, such as the influence of association and habit in producing acquired perceptions, to an erroneous and suicidal extreme. In two vital particulars-the alleged non-perception of externality, and the denial of anything in common to touch and sight-the theory not only completely fails, but the failure has been fully acknowledged by the ablest critics, including distinguished physiologists as well as psychologists. In 1710 appeared' A Treatise concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge; wherein the chief Causes of Error and Difficulty in the 'Sciences, with the Grounds of Scepticism, Atheism, and Irreligion, are inquired into.' In this work, having marshalled all his speculative forces, and disposed them in the most effective order, Berkeley uncovers his batteries and attacks the enemy in force along the whole line. The Celtic dash, vigour, and impetuosity of the assault achieved a temporary success, but, like the Celtic dash in actual warfare, it was a short-lived triumph to be soon followed by signal reverses. Still, in the first onset, immaterialism was a kind of surprise, and Berkeley remained for a time in possession of the field. Swift bears witness to this in a letter written many years later to Lord Carteret on Berkeley's behalf. He was,' he says, ' a Fellow in the University here, and going to England when he was very young, about thirteen years ago, he became the founder of a sect then called the Immaterialists, by the force of a very curious book on the subject. Dr. Smalridge and many other eminent persons were his proselytes.' Berkeley himself was

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evidently elated at the success of his earlier works. The Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous in opposition to Sceptics and Atheists,' which appeared after a short interval, breathe the confidence and exhilaration of anticipated if not of achieved victory. They may be described as a kind of festive parade after the main engagement, designed chiefly to strengthen the outposts, to impress and conciliate neutrals, and cut off any stragglers in the rear of the retiring foe. In other words, the Dialogues simply repeated in a more graceful, popular, and animated form the leading arguments and illustrations of the Principles.

The great bolt having at length been shot, Berkeley was anxious to watch for himself its effects in the centre of opinion at which it had been aimed. The publication of the New Theory and the Principles had made his name well known to the scholars and thinkers of the metropolis. He had himself sent copies of the latter work to some of the more eminent dignitaries of the English Church, as well as to several philosophers and men of science in the English capital, and some correspondence had probably ensued. But with the eagerness of a discoverer, he was anxious to ascertain for himself the results which his startling system had produced in the great world of literary interest and philosophical activity. In the days of Queen Anne, London was the world of letters in a more exclusive sense than perhaps at any time before or since. Every aspirant to literary distinction naturally looked to the metropolis, and longed to mingle in the brilliant circle of wits and humourists, poets and philosophers, that made it so attractive. From his ardent nature and excited hopes, this feeling would be specially strong in Berkeley, and early in the spring of 1713 he accordingly determined to visit London. Other motives probably had a share in this determination. The incessant strain of severe study and thought during the last five years had produced a reaction of languor and exhaustion, and he required the relief afforded by society and travel. Health, indeed, is expressly stated as one of the reasons that influenced him in going to London. Then we may be quite sure that he had an eye to business as well as pleasure, that he wished to put fairly forward his claims to advancement in the Church. It is indeed one of the traditions about Berkeley that he was dead to ambition, and in a certain limited sense this is no doubt true. He was quite free from the vulgar and grasping ambition to secure mere wealth or titles or worldly distinctions. But he had an intense desire for recognition and influence, for position in the Church and

power to carry out his own schemes. Nor was he by any means indifferent to literary and philosophic fame. And he neglected no means which an honourable and highminded man could employ to secure these ends. Mrs. Berkeley, indeed, taking on the whole a just, but still an exalted view of her husband's motives and conduct, says, 'that it was from a hope of advancing 'the interest of his college that Dr. Berkeley submitted to the 'drudgery of bearing a part in the fruitless weekly_debates 'with Clarke and Hoadly in the presence of the Princess Charlotte [Caroline].' But it must be remembered that Berkeley was an eager disputant, anxious to defend his system, and that he had shown a strong desire to frequent these circles and take part in such debates ten years before the Bermuda project was thought of. Then his first work-the New Theory -is dedicated to Sir John Percivale in terms of elaborate and high-flown panegyric, in the course of which he says, that to be publicly known as the acquaintance of such a man will advance his interests and reputation. Subsequently, with a direct view to advancement in the Church, he became private chaplain to two noblemen holding high office in the State. He was even willing to submit to some degree of personal humiliation in order to secure this object. While chaplain to the Duke of Grafton, then Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, we find him complaining, half seriously, half playfully, that he has to sup and often dine with the steward, and that the 'Duke keeps him at a great distance; but, he adds, 'a good 'deanery will easily make amends for lessening my quality.'

From these various motives of business and pleasure, he was bent on going to London, and making the most of his opportunities during his stay. Here his usual good fortune attended him, the magic of his presence being immediately felt, and securing for him honour, love, obedience, and troops of friends.' Men of different political parties, and of the most opposite aims and dispositions, seem to have been equally attracted towards him, and to have almost vied with each other in seeking his society, celebrating his merits, and rendering him important personal services. Swift and Steele, Addison and Pope, Sherlock and Atterbury, all interested themselves on his behalf, and sought to further his social, professional, and philosophical aims. He was introduced at court, frequented the Princess of Wales' evening parties, and received marked attention from eminent noblemen and leading members of the Government. The earlier period of his visit was thus a kind of triumphal progress through the best sections of London society. The great success was due, in part, no doubt to the

freshness, ardour, and geniality of his Irish nature, his real goodness of heart, and rare powers of conversation. But it was due still more perhaps to the fact that his living interest in men and things, as well as in the world of thought, was fed by secret springs of feeling that usually run dry in the heated and superficial atmosphere of society. Without a particle of mere sentiment or affectation, he had a genuine enthusiasm for ideas, almost a poet's love for ideals, and this gave a real, though at the same time romantic, glow to all the activities of his mind. The purity and fervour of poetic feeling, reflected in answering charms of manner and conversation, must have filled the veteran intriguers and worldlings of the court and city clubs with mingled feelings of admiration and envy. And Berkeley's manly presence, frankness, varied culture, and vigour of mind, would effectually prevent their admiration from degenerating into pity or contempt for him as a dreamer or enthusiast. They would feel at once how thoroughly genuine he was, even in his most exalted moods, and, to those who could appreciate them, these moods must have been thoroughly refreshing and delightful. The kindled thoughts, radiant fancies, and transparent purity of mind and motive, reflected in the grace and animated flow of his speech at such seasons, must have been as warmth and sunlight to a nature so turbulent and ambitious, so proud and gloomy, so envious and cynical, as that of Swift. But all who were brought into contact with him seem to have felt the spell of Berkeley's personal influence, and to have yielded themselves, at least in a measure, to the fascination. In particular, he had just the combination of personal and moral qualities to impress the more refined, intellectual, and ardent types of female character; and to the admiration he excited in the minds of accomplished women such as Vanessa and the Princess Caroline, he owed much of his advancement in life.

The greater part of the next seven years Berkeley spent on the Continent, first as chaplain to the Earl of Peterborough, who went in November 1713 as Ambassador Extraordinary to the King of Sicily, and then for a much longer period as companion to Mr. Ashe, son of his old tutor, now Bishop of Clogher, by whom he had been ordained a few years before. Professor Fraser gives an interesting account of the second tour, and he has been fortunate enough to recover a diary which the observant traveller kept during part of the time. This enables us to follow Berkeley from place to place, and see the keen interest he takes in art and literature, in the manners, the social and industrial condition, of the populations,

as well as in the scenery of the different countries through which he passed. The prolonged round of varied European travel may be said to have completed Berkeley's adult liberal education. It quickened and trained his powers of observation, enlarged his knowledge of the world, and gave still more grace and polish to his already attractive manners and conversation. On returning to England in 1721, his mind was shocked and saddened at the social desolation and misery produced by the terrible collapse of the South Sea Scheme.

The train of bitter and despairing reflections this calamity awakened, found concentrated expression in one of the most curious and characteristic productions of his pen- An Essay towards pre'venting the Ruin of Great Britain.' This essay vividly illustrates a striking feature of Berkeley's mind-the deep, painful, and persistent impression which any shock to his keen moral and institutional sensibilities produced. In this, as in other cases, his excited feeling immensely exaggerated the calamity, and led him to take the most extreme and erroneous views of its moral causes and material results. In the first sentence of the essay, he announces that the country is evidently undone, and after giving various exaggerated illustrations of its ruinous state, he gloomily concludes that restoration or recovery is all but hopeless:

It must be owned,' he says, 'that little can be hoped if we consider the corrupt degenerate age we live in. One may venture to affirm that the present time hath brought forth new and portentous villanies, not to be paralleled in our own or any other history. We have been long preparing for some great catastrophe. Vice and villany have by degrees grown reputable amongst us, our infidels have passed for fine gentlemen, and our venal traitors for men of sense who knew the world. We have made a jest of public spirit, and cancelled all respect for whatever our laws and religion repute sacred. Instead of blushing for our crimes, we are ashamed only of piety and virtue. In short, other nations have been wicked, but we are the first who have been wicked upon principle.'

As usual, he attributes the impending national ruin to what was with him the root of all evil, infidelity and freethinking, and suggests that freethinkers should be severely chastised by the law, and that blasphemy, by which he means very much what would now be called neology, should be punished with the same rigour as treason against the King. Having made such a thoroughly false estimate of the cause, nature, and extent of the calamity, he was hardly likely to suggest any appropriate remedy. Like most men of philanthropic minds who feel keenly the misfortunes of others without knowing