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If A R 
proceeded from the pen of this ingenious writer, was his 
Philological Enquiries ; which was received by the 
learned world with merited praife. While we are read¬ 
ing this work, we feem, as it were, lidening to the con- 
verfation of an elegant fcholar, a gentleman, a perfon of 
'the greateft candour, fincerity, and worth; defirous of 
impreffing his own liberal fentiments on the minds of 
others. 
Of this lad production of Mr. Harris’s pen, Lord 
Malmfoury obferves : .“ It is a more popular work than 
any of his former ones, and contains rather a fummary 
of the cdnclufions to which the philofophy of the an¬ 
cients had conduced them in their critical inquiries, 
than a regular and perfeCt fydem. The principles on 
which thofe conclulions depend are therefore omitted, 
as being of a more abdrufe nature than was agreeable to 
his defign ; which was to teach by illudration and ex¬ 
ample, not by driCt demondration. Indeed, this publi¬ 
cation appears to have been meant not only as a retro- 
fpeCtive view of thofe dudies which exercifed his min'd 
in the full vigour of his life^ but likewife as a monu¬ 
ment of his adeCtion towards many of his intimate frifends. 
I cannot therefore but conftder it as a pleafing proof of 
a mind retaining, at an advanced age, a condderable de- 
■'gree of its former energy and activity, together with, 
what is dill more rarely to be found, an und.iminiflied 
. ^portion of its candour and benevolence. Before this 
lad volume was entirely concluded, my father’s health 
had evidently begun to be very much impaired. He ne¬ 
ver enjoyed a robud conditution; but for fome time, 
towards the end of his life,' the infirmities under which 
he laboured had gradually increafed. His family at 
length became apprehenfive of a decline, fymptoms of 
which were very apparent, and by none more clearly 
-perceived than by himfelf. This was evident from a 
variety of little circumfiances, but by no means from 
any impatience or fretfulnefs, nor yet from any. dejec¬ 
tion of l’pirits, fuch as are frequently incident to extreme 
weaknefs of body, efpecially when it proves to be the 
forerunner of approaching diffolution. On the contrary, 
thd fame equable and placid temper which had didin- 
gfiiflied him throughout his whole life, the fame tender 
and affectionate attention to his furrounding family, 
which he had Unceafingly manifeded while in health, 
continued, without the /mailed change or abatement, 
to the very lad ; difplaying a mind ^thoroughly at peace 
with itfelf, and able, without didurbance or difmay, to 
contemplate the awful profpeCt of futurity. 
“The diftinCtion, (continues lord Malmlbury,) by 
which my father was mod generally known, while liv¬ 
ing,and: by which he is likely to furvive to poderity,.is 
that/of a man of learning. His profound knowledge of 
Greek, which he applied more-fuccefsfully, perhaps, 
than any modern writer has done, to the dudy and ex¬ 
planation of ancient philofophy, arofe from an early and 
intimate acquaintance with the- excellent poets and His¬ 
torians in that language. They, and the bed writers of 
the Auguftan age, were his condant and never-failing 
recreation.. By his familiarity with them, he was ena¬ 
bled to enliven and illudrate his deeper and more ab¬ 
drufe fpeculations; as every page almod of thefe vo¬ 
lumes will abundantly tedify. But his attainments were 
not confined to ancient philofophy and clallical learning. 
He poffeffed likewife a general knowledge of modern hif- 
tory, with a very didinguidiing tade in the fine arts, in 
one of which, as before obferved, he was an eminent 
proficient. His lingular indudry empowered him to 
make thefe various acquifitions without neglecting any 
of the duties which he owed to his family, his friends, 
or his country. Not only Was he'accudomed, through 
a long feries of years, to make copious extracts from 
the different books which he read, and to write critical 
remarks and conjectures on many of the pad’ages ex¬ 
tracted, but he was alfo in the habit of regularly com¬ 
mitting to writing fuch reflections as arofe out of his 
R I S, 
dudy, which evince a mind carefully difciplined, and 
anxioufly bent on the attainment of felf-knowledge, and 
felf-govemment. And yet., though habituated to deep 
thinking and laborious reading, he was generally cheer¬ 
ful, even to playfulnefs. There was no pedantry in his 
manners or converfation, nor was he ever feen either to 
difplay his learning with odentation, or to treat with 
flight or fupercilioufnefs thofe lefs informed than him¬ 
felf. He rather fought to make them partakers of what 
lie knew, than to mortify them by a parade of his own 
fuperiority. Nor had he any of that miferable fadidi- 
oufnefs about him which too often difg,races men of learn¬ 
ing, and prevents their being annifedor intereded, at 
lead their choofing to appear fo, by common perform¬ 
ances, and common events. 
“It was with him a maxim, that'the mod difficult, 
ard infinitely the preferable, fort of criticifm, both in 
literature and in the arts, was that which conlids in find¬ 
ing out beauties,. rather than defeCts ; and although he 
certainly wanted not judgment to didinguilh and to pre¬ 
fer.fuperior excellence of any kind, he was too reasona¬ 
ble to expeCt it Ihould very often occur^ and too wife to 
allow himfelf to be difguded at common weaknefs or 
imperfection. He thought, indeed, that the very at¬ 
tempt to pleafe, however it might fall Ihort of its aim, 
deferved lome return of thanks, fome degree of approba¬ 
tion; and that to endeavour at being pleafed by fuch 
efforts, was due tcfjudice, to good-nature, and to good- 
fenfe. Far, at the fame time, from that prefumptuous 
conceit, which is Solicitous about mending others, and 
that m'orofeneSs which feeds its own pride by dealing 
general cenfure, he cultivated to the utmod that great 
moral wifdom, by which we are made humane, gentle, 
and forgiving; thankful for the bleflings of life, acqui¬ 
escent in the afflictions we endure, and fubmiffive to all 
the difpenfations of Providence. He deteded the gloom 
of fuperdition, and the persecuting fpirit by which .it is 
fo often accompanied : but he abhorred dill more that 
baneful and deftruCtive fydem [wliich lias been termed] 
modern philofophy; and from his early folicitude to infpire 
me with a hatred of it, it would almod feem that he 
forefaw its late alarrning approach and fatal progreSs. 
There is no obligation which I acknowledge with more 
thankfulnefs ; none that I fhall more anx-ioufly endea¬ 
vour to confer upon my own children, from a thorough 
conviction of its value and importance. 
“My father’s adeCtion to every part of his family was 
exemplary and uniform. As a hulband, a parent, a 
mader, he was ever kind and indulgent; and it deferves 
to be mentioned to his honour, that he thought it no in¬ 
terruption of his graver occupations, himfelf to indruCt 
his daughters, by exercifing them daily both in reading 
compofition, and writing ellays for rheir improvement, 
during many of their younger years. No man was a 
better judge of what belonged to female education, and 
the elegant accompli diluents of the fex, or more dif- 
pdfed to fet a high value upon them. But he had infi¬ 
nitely more at heart, that his children (hould be early 
habituated to the practice of religion and morality, and 
deeply impreffed with their true principles. To.promote 
this defirable-end, he was adiduous both by indruCtion 
and example: being himfelf a condant attendant upon 
public worlhip, and enforcing that great duty upon every 
part of his family. The deep fenl’e of moral and religi¬ 
ous obligation which was habitual to him, and thofe be¬ 
nevolent feelings which were fo great a happinefs to his 
family and friends, had the fame powerful influence 
over his public as his private life. He had an ardent 
zeal for the prol'perity of lfis country, whofe real inte- 
reds he well underdood ; and in his parliamentary con¬ 
duct he proved himfelf a warm friend to the genuine. 
principles of religious and civil liberty, as well as a 
firm fupporter of every branch of our admirable con¬ 
ditution. ” Mr. Harris died on the 22A of December 
1780, in the feventy-fecond year of his age. All his 
