ehensible. It is almost as appalling in its realism as some of
the dark pits that open before the reader of the Confessions. Hard
struggles with objective difficulty and external obstacle wear deep
furrows in the brow; they throw into the glance a solicitude, half
penetrating and defiant, half dejected. When a man's hindrances have
sprung up from within, and the ill-fought battle of his days has been
with his own passions and morbid broodings and unchastened dreams, the
eye and the facial lines tell the story of that profound moral defeat
which is unlighted by the memories of resolute combat with evil and
weakness, and leaves only eternal desolation and the misery that is
formless. Our English artist has produced a vision from that prose
Inferno which is made so populous in the modern epoch by impotence of
will. Those who have seen the picture may easily understand how
largely the character of the original must have been pregnant with
harassing confusion and distress.

Four years before this (1762), Hume, to whom Lord Marischal had told
the story of Rousseau's persecutions, had proffered his services, and
declared his eagerness to help in finding a proper refuge for him in
England. There had been an exchange of cordial letters,[351] and then
the matter had lain quiet, until the impossibility of remaining longer
in Neuchatel had once more set his friends on procuring a safe
establishment for their rather difficult refugee. Rousseau's
appearance in Paris had created the keenest excitement. "People may
talk of ancient Greece as they please," wrote Hume from Paris, "but no
nation was ever so proud of genius as this, and no person ever so much
engaged their attention as Rousseau! Voltaire and everybody else are
quite eclipsed by him." Even Theresa Le Vasseur, who was declared very
homely and very awkward, was more talked of than the Princess of
Morocco or the Countess of Egmont, on account of her fidelity towards
him. His very dog had a name and reputation in the world.[352]
Rousseau is always said to have liked the stir which his presence
created, but whether this was so or not, he was very impatient to be
away from it as soon as possible.

In company with Hume, he left Paris in the second week of January
1766. They crossed from Calais to Dover by night in a passage that
lasted twelve hours. Hume, as the orthodox may be glad to know, was
extremely ill, while Rousseau cheerfully passed the whole night upon
deck, taking no