of the final summons from the world seemed to have prevailed with him; for several of the previous hours were employed in sending messages of affectionate remembrance to absent friends, in expressing his forgiveness of all who had in any manner injured or offended him, and in request. ing the same from all whom his general or particular infirmities had offended. He recapitulated his motives of action in great public emergencies-his then thoughts on the alarming state of the country the ruling passion even in death,-gave some private directions connected with his approaching decease, and afterwards listened attentively to the perusal, by his own desire, of some serious papers of Addison on religious subjects, and on the immortality of the soul. These duties finished, his attendants, with Mr Nagle of the War-office, a relation, were conveying him to his bed, when, indistinctly articulating a blessing on those around him, he sunk down, and after a momentary struggle expired, July 8th, 1797, in the sixty-eighth year of his age.

His end,' said Dr Lawrence, with great truth, 'was suited to the simple greatness of mind which he displayed through life, every way unaffected, without levity, without ostentation, full of natural grace and dignity. He appeared neither to wish, nor to dread, but patiently and placidly to await, the appointed hour of his disso lution.'"

"In person he was five feet ten inches high, erect, well-formed, never very robust; when young, expert in the sports of his country and time; until his last illness, active in habits suited to his years, and always, it scarcely need be added, active in mind, having nothing of what he called that master vice sloth,' in his composition. His countenance in early life possessed considerable sweetness, and by his female friends was esteemed handsome.-Like Mr Fox, he was somewhat negligent in common dress, being latterly distinguished by a tight brown coat, which seemed to impede freedom of motion, and a little bob-wig with curls, which, in addition to his spectacles, made him be recognised by those who had never previously seen him, the moment he rose to speak in the House of Commons.-His address in private life possessed something of a chivalrous air-noble, yet unaffected and unreserved, impressing upon strangers of every rank, imperceptibly and without effort, the conviction of his being a remarkable man.-His manner in mixed society was unobtrusive, surrendering at once his desire to talk to any one who had, or who thought he had, the least claim to be heard: Where a loud-tongued

talker was in company,' writes Cumberland, Edmund Burke declined all claims upon attention.' His conversational powers partook of the same fulness of mind which distinguished his eloquence; they never ran dry; the supply for the subject always exceeded the demand."

We regret that our limits will not permit us to extract Mr Prior's details and anecdotes respecting Burke's private character. They prove that he was one of the best, as well as one of the greatest, of men. The generous and ready assistance which he ever rendered to destitute genius whenever it appealed to him, ought to endear and the arts. His munificent patronhis name to every friend of literature age of Barry is well known, and several of his admirable letters to the artist enrich Mr Prior's work.

Two reasons prevent us from quoting more largely from the volume. One is, the belief that our readers are already familiar with the leading incidents of Burke's life, and the other is, a wish to employ the remainder of our paper in enforcing some of the many lessons which his history offers to our public men, our political parties, and the country.

The circumstances which led this wonderful man into public life, are not a little remarkable. He had no romance in his composition-he was a man of great caution, and vast foresight-he excelled all other men in comprehensive examination and unerring judgment-he had his full share of honourable ambition-he discovered immediately on his arrival in London, that "genius, the rath primrose, which forsaken dies,' was not patronized by any of the nobility, and that writers of the first talents were left to the capricious patronage of the public;"-and yet he abandoned the study of the law to become an author by profession. He forsook the path which seldom fails to lead moderate talents and industry to affluence and diguities, to follow that which rarely takes those who tread it to anything but poverty and obscurity, until they are alike insensible to dishonour and fame.

This was singular, and it was still more singular, that after becoming a writer by profession, Burke should be able, without fortune, friends, and interest, as he was, to struggle into active and exalted political existence. If a man wish for a calling that will conduct him to honours and emolu

ment-ff he wish for a seat in Parliament, a post in the service of his country, and the legitimate rewards of public services-let him tug in our law courts at the intricacies and chicanery of Nisi Prius-let him become a cotton-spinner-let him open a shawl shop in Fleet Street-let him do anything rather than become a public writer. An author may realize a fair fortune by poetry and novels; but if he pass from these to subjects which are of far greater importance to the interests of the community, he must resign all hope of fortune and preferment. To him the gate of emolument and dignity is closed, while it constantly stands open to the members of almost every other profession.

Burke, however, was raised above all obstacles; his mighty powers were brought into their proper sphere of action almost by miracle. The mock philosophers of the day ascribe such things to chance and accident, but true philosophy sees an agency guide the fortunes of men and nations, which commands it to reason differently.

Burke was fashioned by nature for a statesman of the first class. Common men follow politics as a profession, he followed them from the irresistible impulses of political genius. Ambition, emolument, dignities, fame itself, had with him but secondary influence; he was led by a mind which was only in its natural element when amidst the profound, the stupendous, and the magnificent, which could only find enjoyment in investigating the condition of the universe, the history of human nature, and the vast creation of principle and experiment-and which was only labouring in its destined occupation when solving what was incomprehensible, and performing what was impossible, to ordinary politicians when regulating kingdoms, and guiding mankind. In politics, as in the arts, common minds may rise to respectable mediocrity, but none save men like Burke may reach truth, nature, originality, grandeur, and sublimity. That which formed the limit of the labours of others, was but the commencement of his-his eye was the most powerful in the regions to which the eyes of others could not ascend-his gigantic powers never fully unfolded themselves, until they were left without path, copy, and ally. While he was supported by a party,

and had merely the common feelings and occurrences of the world to deal with, he was only one of the greatest of men; but when he was desertedwhen Europe was a scene of passion, convulsion, and chaos-when precedent failed him-when everything around him in feeling and deed was novelty-when every tongue was either silent or espousing the cause of error and ruin-he then became a guardian angel: the man shook off the infirmities and disabilities of human nature, and seemed to grasp the wisdom, the omniscience, and the power of Heaven.

A mind so perfectly constituted as his, rarely indeed illuminates this wretched world. He was a man of surpassing genius, without the eccentricities and frailties of genius. The prodigious power of his imagination only rendered his judgment more comprehensive and unerring. His passions only strengthened his virtue and wisdom. His mighty intellect scorned slumber, enemy, and boundary, and yet it scarcely ever wandered from the pure, the true, the expedient, and the beneficial-it excelled alike in the most dissimilar employments-it would make no division in the science of government, and it possessed itself with equal ease of the bewildering cal→ culations of finance, the perplexing details of commerce and agriculture, the widely-spread mysteries of general policy, and the abstruse, complicated, and numberless principles and feelings, which form the foundations of society, and the primary rulers of mankind."

In these glorious days of gorgeous names and wonderful systems, it is the fashion to mark the distinctions between truth and error, wisdom and folly, by the terms, practical and theoretic. The man who propagates false opinions, and labours to introduce pernicious changes, is called, not a fool, or a knave, but a theorist. Burke is called a practical statesman, while those whom he opposed are named theoretic ones. This is, we think, alike erroneous and mischievous. Burke was as much a theorist, in the proper sense of the term, as Fox, or the French revolutionists. They differed in this-his theory was, in the highest degree, true, scientific, philosophic, magnificent, and practicable, and theirs was directly the contrary. Men, and bodies of men, were the ob

jects, and he, like a true philosopher, thoroughly examined their nature and properties, their relations and condition, and the experiments which had been made upon them, for materials for his system. He laid nothing down for a principle, without first proving it to be truth; he made no calculation which he could not shew to be correct by demonstration; he analized and tested everything before he used it. Their conduct was just the reverse. They assumed men, and bodies of men, to be just the contrary of what they notoriously were; that which history and experience had proved to be false, they made the corner-stone of their structure; and as to examination and calculation, these were the things which they avoided above all others. A theory is, of course, practicable in proportion to its truth, and vice versa; and therefore, while he formed a theory of liberty alike perfect, splendid, and practicable, they formed one which was but a mass of falsehoods, a thing equally filthy and frightful, and which produced a greater portion of slavery than anything else could have brought upon the civilized world. They were the people who could only vociferate the name of liberty, and destroy the substance; he was the man who could create it, and make it eternal.

No man, we think, was ever so well qualified, in all the higher points of qualification, to be a party leader in the House of Commons as Burke. In very many of these points the difference between him and Fox was highly striking. In ability to range through every circle of instruction without being misled by names or dates-to separate truth and wisdom from false hood and folly in whatever came before him-to wield the vast experience of past ages-to grasp every property and relation of his subject to distinguish, class, connect, and harmonize the multifarious interests and feelings of men and nations-and to keep the whole of these constantly before him whenever he was called on to rectify the disorders, or administer to the needs of a part-he was, perhaps, never equalled by any man. His industry in the exercise of this ability knew neither fatigue nor slumber. He, in consequence, had never to seek counsel from a party or the multitude. He was the first to mark the changes in the nation's character and interests as VOL. XVII.

they rose, and to perceive what they called for; therefore, he was frequently the first to give legitimate impulse to party and public opinion, and he was almost incapable of being bewildered or seduced by them whenever they took an erroneous direction. This ability and industry filled him with that dauntless and sublime courage, the want of which is a positive disqualification in a Parliamentary leader. He saw his way distinctly-he satisfied himself that his own opinions were true, and those of his opponents were false, by analysis and demonstration

and whether the nation was with him or against him, whether he was supported by a party or withstood by all, whatever storms and convulsions raged around him-he commenced and fought the battle as though he knew defeat to be impossible.

An Opposition leader rarely retains long any portion of patriotism. He fights for emolument and power rather than the good of the state; the triumphs and losses of the latter are, to a considerable extent, triumphs and losses to his opponents, and injuries and gains to himself; and, therefore, his hostility to the ministry very often becomes hostility to the benefit of his country likewise. Few things operate more perniciously on public interests than the lack of patriotism, or the anti-patriotism of an Opposition. Burke, notwithstanding every temptation to the contrary, was a true patriot-he was in feeling a sterling Englishman. He regarded his country, not as an instrument of profit and fame to himself, not as a thing to be valued or scorned in proportion as it gave or withheld from him money and dignity; but as an object of impassioned and chivalrous idolatry; as an object for which everything ought to be hazarded and sacrificed. This ardent patriotism bound him to fact, reason, merits, and expediency in debate, and made him loathe the vile and hateful means to which Fox and his successors so constantly resorted. His eloquence was irresistible; and yet, amidst its daring flights and astonishing triumphs, it never remembered that it could influence the baser feelings, or gain the populace. If he could not obtain followers among the knowing and the talented, he was content to stand alone-however feeble his party might be, he could only seek re

B

cruits among the honest and honourable-he could not utter the slang that the rabble loves, and he could neither follow nor head the rabble. No mobs for him. He never dreamed of transmuting ploughmen and weavers into statesmen. He saw in the multitude a thing to be protected and benefitted, to be instructed and guided, but not to be formed into a political faction, and exalted into a teacher and a mas

ter.

In all these points Fox ranked immeasurably below, and, in some of them, formed a perfect contrast to him. To repeat the common observation, that the former was not a practical statesman, is, in truth, to say he was no statesman at all. A man may possess much knowledge and experience; he may be a powerful writer or speaker; he may even be an able reasoner; and, still, defective powers of vision, and an erring judgment, may incapacitate him for being anything but a pest to his species. The leading quality of a great man is an understanding which can only err by accident, which sees, at the first glance, the right side of a question, and which bottoms all its labours on truth, reason, wisdom, and expediency. Fox was a powerful orator, he was even mighty in argumentation; but when we pass from his eloquence to that which called it forth, we find generally false principles, mistaken views, and erroneous calculations. Burke's mind naturally espoused the just side, and that of Fox naturally espoused the erroneous one, of every great and novel subject. The errors and transgressions of the former were but occasional deviations from his general course, and they were generally caused by his better judgment being overpowered by his colleagues; but the latter rarely deviated from error and transgression, except when he was compelled to it by wiser men. The French Revolution, and the consequences which it produced throughout Europe, comprehended every matter which could put a statesman's ability to the test, and the different views which they took of these, abundantly prove the truth of our distinctions.

So far was Fox from being qualified for a leader, that he could not himself walk without one. So long as Burke was at his side, and possessed influence over him, he was kept in the proper

path, but the moment they separated, he plunged himself and his party into ruin. In doing this, his opinions were all second-hand and borrowed. Emancipated from individual and party control, he could not think for himself, or advance a step without a guide; and in obedience to the general infirmity of his judgment, he became a humble follower of the refuse politicians and the populace. Until these spoke, he was speechless; until they chalked out a path, he was motionless; until they saw, he was blind; and their wretched vociferations formed the only truth and wisdom that he could find in the nation. He, no doubt, fed their folly and madness, and quickened their speed, but still they led, and he was but the follower.

With regard to patriotism, no man could be more thoroughly destitute of it than Fox. He never seemed to consider that his country existed for any purpose save to administer to the benefit of himself and his party; in truth, his whole career, after he shook off the influence of Burke, was little else than a blushless and desperate struggle, first, to put this benefit in direct opposition to his country's highest interests, and then to sacrifice them to it. While Burke fought for office like a patriot, Fox fought for it like an incendiary and an assassin. He patronised sedition-fanned rebellion-nourished public dangers-assaulted the constitution-shielded avowed traitors

allied himself with the nation's foreign enemies—and left nothing undone that could produce public injury, merely to obtain power for himself and his party. National interests and possessions-the constitution, liberty, weal, and even existence of Britain, were all nothing when they clashed with the selfishness and ambition of Fox and the Foxites. Allowing as largely as we please for the natural imbecility of his perception and judgment, we cannot look at his nauseous and revolting speeches to the dregs of the community-at the preposterous doctrines which he put forth, touching the constitution and liberty-and at the atrocious publications which he countenanced-without being convinced that a very large share oft ne worst parts of his conduct resulted from his unprincipled and insatiable covetousness and ambition as a public man.

Perhaps a considerable part of

Burke's superiority in ability and principle as a public man, arose from his great superiority in respect of purity of private life. The distinction which the "liberality" of the age draws between a man's private and his public conduct, is equally absurd and pernicious. What he is as a private individual, that he will be as a legislator or a minister; his public actions will even take their colour from his private ones. Burke's private virtues incapacitated him for public profligacy; his habitual reverence for the better regulations and feelings of society as a private gentleman, could not be laid aside when he assumed the character of the senator. Although no one could have wielded with more tremendous effect the common weapons of unprincipled demagogues, he disdained to touch them. He scorned to speak to any but the intelligent, the wise, the virtuous, and the honourable; and he scorned to address them in a manner unworthy of a gentleman and a statesman. He could only win stipend and office by winning the favour of those who dispense character and fame. This incited him to the incessant cultivation of his great powers, and the unwearied pursuit of knowledge and wisdom; it made him an upright and virtuous public man, as well as one unequalled in ability.

It cannot be necessary for us to enlarge on the tremendous influence which the leaders of the House of Commons possess in the state, when they are men of great powers. They not only guide, but they virtually hold despotic sway over the great mass of the community, as well as over their respective parties. A vast portion of the nation embraces an opinion, or supports a measure upon trust, and for no earthly reason but because these emanate from the Pitt or Fox of the day. Until the leader speaks, his party is silent; what he promulgates his party implicitly adopts; it passes from his party in the House to his party out of it; his newspapers eagerly embrace it, and, of course, the millions who read them eagerly embrace it likewise. Of the whole of those who hold it to be infallible, perhaps not one in ten has the least knowledge or comprehension of the subject; and, perhaps, of those who are capable of judging, ninetenths would have embraced the reverse, if the Parliamentary leader had

promulgated it. We have only to look at what Fox taught the Whigs, both in Parliament and out of it, to believe and support, to see how blindly and slavishly subservient parties are to their Parliamentary leaders, when these are men of great powers. In a free country like this, public feeling and opinion hold the sovereign authority; and those who guide this feeling and opinion, in effect exercise this authority. The character of the House for knowledge, wisdom, talent, and virtue; its general conduct, and the course which public affairs must take, depend, in a very great degree, on the individuals who form its different leaders. They give to it feeling, opinion, and action; they virtually form the House of Commons. The great body of the other members are but inert machines, or they can only speak and move, without a guide, to blunder and do mischief.

Liable as this influence is to be abused, it is nevertheless essential that it should be possessed by leaders of the House of Commons. The bulk of Parliament, and the bulk of the nation, are, and for ever will be, utterly incapable of judging properly of great state questions, and of walking without a political guide. If they do not follow the regularly appointed leaders of Parliament, they are pretty sure to follow other leaders of a far worse character. When the Pitts and the Foxes lose their influence, it generally passes to the Burdetts and the Hunts. If the regular leaders of the House of Commons do not possess this influence, they can do little for their country, either positively or negatively, however great may be their merit. The Opposition becomes divided, insubordinate, unmanageable,and worthless; or the Ministry is rendered feeble and inefficient; parties are so disunited and divided, that it is scarcely possible to form a Ministry of any kind; a narrow, timid, ignorant, vacillating, compromising, imbecile spirit takes the direction of public af fairs: the people are emancipated from that moral control to which they ought ever to be subject, and nothing is to be seen but discord, discontent, and distraction. The abuse of this influence on the part of the party leader, is less to be dreaded both by his party and the country, than his want of it.