The Origin of the Distinction of Ranks. John Millar

of the profit of stock, may be ascribed.^* Which of them first suggested this ingenious idea, it would probably have been difficult, even for<xci> themselves, to determine: it is likely to have occurred in some of their conversations on political oeconomy, and, having been afterwards developed and improved by both, it naturally conducted them to similar results.

      Mr. Millar paid two visits to London; the first was in 1774. Having remained in the capital about two months, and having seen the principal objects of curiosity, he made a short excursion to Cambridge, and stopped for three weeks at Oxford, on his return; partly with the view of making himself acquainted with the present state of these celebrated Universities, and partly for the purpose of consulting several authors on the early history of Modern Europe, whose works he had not an opportunity of perusing at home.

      His second visit to London he made in 1792, accompanied by Mrs. Millar and his eldest daughter. Having set off in the beginning of May, immediately after the conclusion of his Lectures, he arrived in London in sufficient time to be present at several very important debates, in both houses of Parliament, and he enjoyed the satisfaction of becoming acquainted with Mr. Fox and the other leaders of opposition, whose talents he admired, whose steady patriotism, unshaken by obloquy, and superior to popular cen-<xcii>sure or applause, was the object of his highest veneration. The chief part of his time, however, that from which he probably derived the greatest enjoyment, was passed in the society of his former pupils, Lord Lauderdale, and Mr. Adam, now one of the King’s Counsel, and Attorney General to the Prince of Wales, and in the family of his old friend, Dr. Moore, the celebrated author of Zeluco and Edward.²³

      The greatest intimacy had subsisted between Dr. Moore and Mr. Millar, from the time they were young men; an intimacy which had been farther promoted by their marrying ladies who were companions and friends. While Dr. Moore was on the continent, with the Duke of Hamilton, engaged in those travels, with an account of which he afterwards delighted the world, Mrs. Moore was a frequent visiter at the college, and Mr. Millar took a general superintendence of the education of her sons. During the short stay the Doctor made in Glasgow, after his return, he spent a great deal of his time with Mr. Millar, and, on his going to reside in London, they began a correspondence, some part of which might not have been uninteresting to the public, had they thought it proper to preserve letters written merely for each other’s<xciii> perusal.^* Their talents were calculated to produce mutual esteem, and their powers of conversation to contribute very highly to each other’s amusement.

      Mr. Millar had the art, in a most uncommon degree, of adapting his conversation to those around him. Even to children, he could make himself a most amusing companion; and no young person ever left his company without being charmed with his vivacity. His countenance was uncommonly animated and expressive; his stature about the middle size; his person strong, active, and athletic, rather than elegant. When he first entered a room, his manner was not altogether free from formality and constraint; but this continued only for a moment. The first subject that was started kindled animation in his eye, and seemed entirely to engross his mind. Never did he show the slightest absence, nor allow any carelessness, or contemptuous indif-<xciv>ference, to escape him. Never, indeed, did he feel that languor from which they most commonly proceed. However trifling the subject might be, he was always lively and animated; his constant flow of spirits enabled him to extract some amusement from every topic, and every character; and his repartees, though not rising to that high species of wit, which can delight on repetition, flowed so naturally from the conversation, and were accompanied with so much gaiety, playfulness, and good humour, that, perhaps, no company ever was dull or languid in his presence.

      His conversation was equally agreeable to those who preferred subjects of a graver or more improving kind. His information reached to almost every subject which was likely to occur in conversation. He was completely master of whatever had been written on the sciences connected with the study of mind, and had added many new opinions and combinations to the discoveries of others. The whole range of history was familiar to him, and there was little in the manners or customs of any nation, which he could not state with accuracy, and account for with surprising quickness and ingenuity. Nor was he ignorant of the physical sciences, although his knowledge of them rather embraced the different theories by which the facts are<xcv> explained, than showed any very intimate acquaintance with the facts themselves. To the task of minute observation, or the drudgery of accurate experiment, he could not submit: but, wherever there was an appearance of system, his attention was roused so fully, that, for a time, it almost engrossed his mind. It was thus, that, after Lavoisier²⁴ published his astonishing experiments, and no less astonishing system built on these experiments, Mr. Millar, for a whole winter, thought of nothing but chemistry; and so great was his veneration for that philosopher, that no circumstance in the French Revolution struck him with so much horror, as the murder of the man whom he considered as the brightest ornament of the age.

      In Literature and Belles Lettres, perhaps the most delightful of all subjects for conversation, Mr. Millar was completely conversant. In his youth, he had read all the classics with such pleasure and discrimination, that, although his line of study was afterwards extremely different, he could always refer to the most impressive passages, and discuss, with much intelligence, their relative beauties and defects. His acquaintance with English Poetry was also very general, though his taste might be considered as somewhat fastidious. Mediocrity, in every thing, but particularly in verse, he was<xcvi> accustomed to treat with marked contempt; and the frequent recurrence of such expressions in his conversation, joined to the ridicule with which, in a sportive humour, he sometimes treated even compositions of considerable merit, gave those not intimately acquainted with him, an idea that he had little relish for poetry. Perhaps the severity in which he indulged rather arose from a taste too delicate and refined. Seldom have I known any person more alive to the higher kinds of poetry; to those striking and sublime allusions, that rich and varied imagery, that loftiness of thought, and dignity of expression, which delight the imagination and elevate the mind. Nor did he confine his admiration to poets of the highest order; to Milton, Akenside, and Gray: He was highly delighted with the fancy, the elegance, and varied talents of Pope, the natural and impressive descriptions of Thomson, and that charming blending of melancholy with ideas of pleasure, which a great critic has failed to discover, in the little poems of Prior.^* He was also well acquainted with the best French<xcvii> and Italian Poets; but, while he was obliged to admit the more refined eloquence, and superior conduct of the French Drama, he always contended for the superiority of the English, in delineating the simple and genuine feelings of the human heart, and in using a measure of versification which is at once capable of approaching the looseness and facility of prose, and of being adapted to the expression of exalted and heroic sentiment.

      Nor was Mr. Millar averse to argument; or to the display of his ingenuity in supporting paradoxes, often the children of the moment. He was indeed so complete a master of debate, that it was unsafe to attack him, even when he occupied most disadvantageous ground. Ever acute and collected, he was apt, by slight sarcasms, to put his antagonist off his guard, and to surprise him by unexpected inferences from whatever was unadvisedly admitted. He overpowered his opponent by innumerable analogies, drawn from the most remote quarters, and presented in the most forcible points of view. He covered, with infinite art, the weaker parts of his own argument, and exposed, with much ingenuity, any mistakes or fallacies by which he was assailed. When fairly driven from all his positions, he often became most formidable: seiz-<xcviii>ing some unguarded expression, or some unfortunate illustration, he held it up to ridicule, with a degree of vivacity and humour, which carried off the attention from the previous subject of debate, and secured him the honours of a triumph, when he had really suffered a defeat. On the subject of Politics he argued always with zeal; and, towards the end of his life, with a considerable degree of keenness. He, who had refused the offer of a lucrative place, which might have introduced him to higher honours, because he feared that his acceptance might be construed into an engagement to support an administration whose measures he condemned,^* had little allowance to make for those who sacrificed their principles to their interest. Ever steady and consistent himself, he was apt to suspect the purity of the motives from which all violent or sudden changes in political opinion arose; without perhaps making a due degree of allowance for that alarm, which, however hurtful in its consequences, was the natural result of the blind fanaticism