highest rank. Queen Caroline frequently commanded his attendance at court to converse with him on what he had seen in America; and on the rich deanery of Down falling vacant, she manifested her interest in him by desiring him to be nominated to it. But through Lord Burlington neglecting to inform the Lord Lieutenant of the royal intentions, his Lordship was so offended that the richest deanery in Ireland should be disposed of without his concurrence, that the matter was pushed no further. But the Queen declared that if Berkeley could not be a dean he should be a bishop. Accordingly he was nominated to the bishopric of Cloyne, which then fell vacant, and was consecrated in St. Paul's, Dublin. After many years of wandering, Berkeley was now again in his native country, devoting himself with zeal to his episcopal duties and with increased energy to his studies. He arose early in the morning, spending the first hours of the day generally in company with Plato and Hooker, his favourite authors. From acquired habit, as well as declining health, his life became more retired than it had been. His diocese, which was far away from the thoroughfares of life, was favourable to study and retirement. Here he found also incitements to, and a wide sphere for, the exercise of his benevolent sympathies. The social condition of the poor Irish was deplorably wretched, and it was impossible for him to live among them without his generous sympathies being awakened. As his 'Essay towards Preventing the Ruin of Great Britain' expressed the sad feelings which many years before the social condition of England on the collapsing of the South Sea Bubble aroused, so the poverty and ignorance with which he came into contact in Ireland originated the 'Querist,' which came out in parts, a work containing hints and suggestions for the social improvement and better government of Ireland. The sensible improvement which was visible in the state of Ireland towards the middle of the last century is said to have been due mainly to the "Querist' and the manly patriotism of Swift.

In the winter of 1739 a hard frost, such as had not occurred in the memory of man, was followed by a season of great scarcity. Famine and disease, in the form of epidemic fever and bloody flux, devastated the neighbourhood of Cloyne. Berkeley's simple benevolence, as well as his peculiar notions in political economy, may be seen in the following circumstance. At the commencement of the frost he came down to breakfast one morning without a grain of powder on his Cloyne-made wig (for all his own dress, as well as that of his servants, were made in the village of Cloyne). His wife expressing her surprise at his unwonted appearance, he replied, ' We shall have a famine forthwith, and I have desired that none of the servants put any powder on their wigs; neither will I.' The chaplain, secretary, and the whole party took the hint. Through all

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that winter, every Monday morning, he gave twenty pounds to be distributed among the poor of Clogne, besides what they received out of his kitchen.

During this distressing season Berkeley turned his attention to medicine. Having heard, when he was among the Narragansett Indians, of the medical virtues of tar-water, he thought of it now as a remedy for the diseases which followed the famine in Cloyne and its neighbourhood. Its success in some diseases encouraged him to apply it in others. By reading and meditating on the causes of its efficacy, he was satisfied' that tar contained an extraordinary proportion of the vital element of the universe, and that water was the menstrum by which this element was drawn off and conveyed into vegetable and animal organizations.' He imagined that he had found in tar-water a panacea for the ills to which flesh is heir. It is impossible to conceive of the enthusiasm which this supposed discovery awakened within him. He rejoiced in the prospect of a physically healthy race, better able, on account of the connection between mind and body, to grapple with error and prejudice. "Tar-water was his ruling thought and enthusiasm in the last twelve years of his life. An apparatus for manufacturing it was set up in one of the rooms of his house. The nauseous drug was the great medicine in his family, and he tried, by offering it in the least unpalatable form, and enveloping it in a halo of philosophical imagination and reason, to make it the medicine for his neighbours and for all the world.' We owe to this tar-water enthusiasm one of the most curious and beautiful of Berkeley's speculative works, which, beside its temporary interest as recommending the new medicine, is of permanent value as containing the ripest fruits of his philosophic researches and of his readings in the seclusion of Cloyne in Greek and Oriental literature. Siris, a Chain of Philosophical Reflections and Enquiries concerning the Virtues of Tarwater, and divers other Subjects connected together and arising one from another,' appeared in the spring of 1744. From the supposed virtue of tar-water, he ascends from the vital spirit of vegetables and animals to the vital spirit of the universe, and then to the dependence of life in all its forms upon mind. It was in reality the same great question of the relation of sensible things to intelligence that engaged his youthful days, which now occupied his contemplative old age. Siris' is distinguished from Berkeley's earlier works, however, by its recognising fire, light, or æther, as the 'animal spirit' of the sensible world. It is difficult, however, to reconcile the idea of this plastic medium with the essential spirit of his philosophy-the direct dependence of all sensible changes on the universal mind. But this last speculative work shows how his ideas had gained breadth by the studies of his later years. He no longer regards the New Principle as competent to settle all

difficulties in philosophy. It is also pleasant to observe the humble, unworldly spirit which it breathes. The parting thought of the work is that in this mortal state we must be satisfied to make the best of those glimpses within our reach ;' and right nobly did his own conduct illustrate the words, 'He that would make a real progress in knowledge must dedicate his age as well as youth, the later growth as well as first fruits, at the altar of truth.'

Meanwhile, changes were taking place in his domestic life. Sons and daughters had been born to him, some of whom had been early removed by death. But he had now to suffer one of the keenest trials in the death of his favourite son, William, a handsome and accomplished youth. It was a loving household circle that death now invaded, which had been carefully guarded by a mother's tenderness and a father's skill. Knowing that errors in early training are seldom cured, he would not entrust the education of his children to mercenary hands, but even when he was old and sickly performed the tedious task himself. The episcopal palace at Cloyne was a school in which the inmates were not only trained in solid learning, but in those arts which embellish life. By a variety of employments, conversation, and company he made home pleasant. Pure in speech, temperate in his habits, and carefully on his guard against evil-speaking and detraction of others in conversation, he was an example of all goodness to his children; while he endeavoured to instil into their minds a contempt of worldly titles, finery, and show, and a love of what is beautiful and noble in character and conduct. There breathed, also, through the whole a spirit of self-sacrificing, earnest piety. He struck a light at twelve to rise and study and pray,' wrote his widow to her son George, for he was very pious; and his studies were no barren speculations, for he loved God and man.' It was no wonder, then, that, when his son George had to remove to the larger world of Oxford, he should resolve to accompany him, in order to superintend his education at the University. As he objected to nonresident bishops, he proposed to exchange his bishopric for a canonry at Oxford, but failing in this he offered absolutely to resign it. This singular proposal excited the curiosity of George II., who, on learning that it was his old friend Berkeley, declared that he should die a bishop in spite of himself, but he might live where he pleased.

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It is only a dim view which we gain of Berkeley's life at Oxford. His long cherished desire to spend the evening of his days in learned retirement had been realized; and now, under the shadow of her schools of learning and amid the classic memories of Oxford, his studious life comes to a fitting close. Happily, a clear light falls upon the final scene. On a Sunday evening (January 14, 1753), he was resting on his couch in his own house, surrounded

by his family. His wife had been reading aloud the lesson in the Burial service, 1 Cor. xv., upon which he had made some remarks. Soon after his daughter brought him some tea, but found him, as it seemed, asleep, but his body was already cold-it was the last sleep. Without warning his spirit had forsaken that ideal fabric in association with which it had dwelt for a time, that it might be clothed upon with its house which is from heaven.

We conclude this paper with expressing our conviction that in this materialistic age, when physical science, transcending its legitimate domain, is producing a general feeling of scepticism in relation to spiritual truth, nothing would serve to counteract that tendency so effectually as a careful study of the philosophy of Berkeley. Berkeley's theory of idealism has hitherto been less frequently studied than ignorantly referred to and ridiculed. The most of people have generally tried to answer it in Johnson's way, who when Boswell said 'that though we are satisfied his doctrine is not true, it is impossible to refute it,' answered, striking his foot with mighty force against a large stone until it rebounded from it, -I refute it thus.' His system is usually misrepresented, nor, it must be admitted, is he always consistent in his exposition of it; but we think were its radical ideas consistently and logically developed, as Berkeley hoped they would be, he having only supplied hints for future thinkers, it would present, if not a perfectly satisfactory, at least, one of the simplest and grandest theories of existence that the history of philosophy can show. But while men may differ in their opinions of the permanent value of his speculations, no one can fail to admire the literary beauty of his writings. His philosophy, it has been truly said, assumes the form of a work of art; and no mental exercise could be recommended which would tend more to elevate the understanding, refine the taste, and improve the heart, than a study of the life and writings of Berkeley. JOHN WATSON.

ART. II.-CHRISTIAN MORALITY; ITS ESSENTIAL AND DISTINCTIVE PECULIARITIES.

FIRST PAPER.

BY morality in the abstract we understand a system of rules or in than conduct. Christian morality is morality

as taught by the lips of Christ and exemplified in his life. The essential characteristics of this morality are those elements in it without which it could not be a Christian morality at all; and its peculiar characteristics are those features which distinguish it from other systems of morality.

Now, one of the essential characteristics of Christian morality is its Authoritativeness. It is witnessed of Jesus, that 'He taught the people as one having authority, and not as the scribes.' Let the reader figure to himself the contrast, or rather contrasts, between the teaching parties here. Of the one no man can say where, when, or how he obtained his education, supposing him to have any. Hillel denies him; Schammai wots not of him. Then, too, he is so irregular in his modes of teaching. If occasion serves, indeed, he will speak in the synagogue, waking up its somnolent occupants with his new doctrine. But if cast out' from thence, he will go up into a mountain, or down into a fishing vessel, and, from the firm earth in the one case and the fickle sea in the other, speak moving words to the promiscuous crowds that gather around. Moreover, he wears no long robes, makes no long prayers, loves no greetings in the markets, nor to be called 'Rabbi, Rabbi.' He has no sympathy with mere ecclesiastics and ecclesiasticism. His heart dwells amidst the purely divine, and the purely human. Not to multiply rules of conduct, but to minimise them, is his endeavour. Not to engender moral phthisis by such tight-lacing as consists in the tithing of ' mint, rue, and all manner of herbs;' by splitting the difference between swearing by the altar and the gift that lies upon it, or by the temple and the gold that enriches or adorns it, is his object. But rather to promote a healthy, robust, moral life, by directing attention to such simple, but at the same time grand and comprehensive principles of action as 'judgment, mercy, and the love of God.' His purpose is not to irritate the conscience of man unnecessarily, but to heal and help it; to clear away, by his authoritative utterances, from the path of the moral wayfarer, the vast accumulations of priestly ordinances which encumbered it, and to make straight paths for lame feet, only bounded on the right by the command, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and soul and strength,' and on the left by this other, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.' Hence, while the scribes, or, as they are often called, the 'lawyers,' (nomioi) divines, were drawing moral pictures in the air-amusing for their puerility to the indifferent and unbelieving, but annoying and heart-breaking for their unrealizableness to the earnest and sincere, Christ was tracing grand moral pictures in outline on the hearts of men, and withal imparting power to those who believed on him to fill up those outlines to a rounded and heavenly beauty.

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Authority! yes, this divine moralist has authority, indisputably. Even his bitterest enemies cannot deny it. The fact is there visible to all. It is even rumoured of him that he has power over the forces of nature, whereby he has been known to render themotherwise so terrible and destructive-tractable and harmless;