DUKE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Gift of 
 
 Vno Joseph V-lBona 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 
 
 https://archive.org/details/biographicalessa01 maca 
 
Biographical Essays 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS BABBINGTON MACAULAY. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER. 
 1886 . 
 
ARQYLE PRESS, 
 Printing and Bookbinding, 
 84 A 9 C WOOSTER 8T.j N. Y. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Lord Bacon, $ 
 
 Warren Hastings, ... ^55 
 
 William Pitt, 
 
 291 
 
LORD BACON* 
 
 {Edinburgh Review, July, 1837.) 
 
 We return our hearty thanks to Mr. Montagu 
 for this truly valuable work. From the opin- 
 ions which he expresses as a biographer we 
 often dissent. But about his merit as a col- 
 lector of the materials out of which opinions 
 are formed, there can be no dispute ; and we 
 readily acknowledge that we are in a great 
 measure indebted to his minute and accurate 
 researches for the means of refuting what we 
 cannot but consider as his errors. 
 
 The labor which has been bestowed on this 
 volume has been a labor of love. The writer 
 is evidently enamoured of the subject. It fills 
 his heart. It constantly overflows from his 
 lips and his pen. Those who are acquainted 
 with the Courts in which Mr. Montagu prac- 
 tises with so much ability and success well 
 know how often he enlivens the discussion of 
 a point of law by citing some weighty apho- 
 risms, or some brilliant illustration, from the 
 De Augmentis or the Novum Organum. The 
 Life before us doubtless owes much of its 
 value to the honest and generous enthusiasm 
 of the writer. This feeling has stimulated his 
 activity, has sustained his perseverance, has 
 called forth all his ingenuity and eloquence : 
 but, on the other hand, we must frankly say 
 that it has, to a great extent, perverted his 
 judgment. 
 
 * The works of Francis Bacon , Lord Chancellor of 
 England. A new Edition. By Basil Montagu, Esq., 16 
 vojs, 8 y0i London; 1825-1834. 
 
6 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 We are by no means without sympathy for 
 Mr. Montagu even in what we consider as his 
 weakness. There is scarcely any delusion 
 which has a better claim to be indulgently 
 treated than that under the influence of which 
 a man ascribes every moral excellence to those 
 who have left imperishable monuments of their 
 genius. The causes of this error lie deep in 
 the inmost recesses of human nature. We are 
 all inclined to judge of others as we find them. 
 Our estimate of a character always depends 
 much on the manner in which that character 
 affects our own interests and passions. We 
 find 't difficult to think well of those by whom 
 we are thwarted or depressed ; and we are 
 ready to admit every excuse for the vices of 
 those who are useful or agreeable to us. This 
 is, we believe, one of those illusions to which 
 the whole human race is subject, and which ex- 
 perience and reflection can only partially re- 
 move. It is, in the phraseology of Bacon, one 
 of the itiola tribus. Hence it is that the 
 moral character of a man eminent in letters or 
 in the fine arts is treated, often by contempo- 
 raries, almost always by posterity, with extra- 
 ordinary tenderness. The world derives 
 pleasure and advantage from the performances 
 of such a man. The number of those who 
 suffer by his personal vices is small, even in 
 his own time when compared with the number 
 of those to whom his talents are a source of 
 gratification. In a few years all those whom 
 he has injured disappear. But his works re- 
 main, and are a source of delight to millions. 
 The genius of Sallust is still with us. But the 
 Numidians whom he plundered, and the un- 
 fortunate husbands who caught him in their 
 houses at unseasonable hours, are forgotten. 
 We suffer ourselves to be delighted by the 
 keenness of Clarendon’s observation, and by 
 the sober majesty of his style, till we forget 
 the oppressor and the bigot in the historian. 
 Falstaff and Tom Jones have survived the 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 7 
 
 gamekeepers whom Shakspeare cudgelled and 
 the landladies whom Fielding bilked. A great 
 writer is the friend and benefactor of his 
 readers ; and they cannot but judge of him 
 under the deluding influence of friendship and 
 gratitude. We all know how unwilling we are 
 to admit the truth of any disgraceful story 
 about a person whose society we like, and 
 from whom we have received favors ; how long 
 wo struggb against evidence, how fondly, when 
 the facts cannot be disputed, we cling to the 
 hope that there may be some explanation or 
 some extenuating circumstance with which we 
 are unacquainted. Just such is the feeling 
 which a man of liberal education naturally en- 
 tertains towards the great minds of former 
 ages. The debt which he owes to them is in- 
 calculable. They have guided him to truth. 
 They have filled his mind with noble and 
 graceful images. They have stood by him in 
 all vic.ssitudes, comforters in sorrow, nurses in 
 sickness, companions in solitude. These 
 friendships are exposed to no danger from the 
 occurrences by which other attachments are 
 weakened or dissolved. Time glides on ; for- 
 tune is inconstant ; tempers are soured: bonds 
 which seem indissoluble are daily sundered by 
 interest, by emulation, or by caprice. But no 
 such cause can affect the silent converse which 
 we hold with the highest of human intellects. 
 That placid intercourse is disturbed by no jeal- 
 ousies or resentments. These are the old 
 friends who are never seen with new faces, who 
 are the same in wealth and in poverty, in 
 glory and in obscurity. With the dead there 
 is no rivalry. In the dead there is no change. 
 Plato is never sullen. Cervantes is never pet- 
 ulant. Demosthenes never comes unseason- 
 ably. Dante never stays too long. No differ- 
 ence of political opinion can alienate Cicero. 
 No heresy can excite the horror of Bossuet. 
 
 Nothing, then, can be more natural than that 
 & person endowed with sensibility and imagi- 
 
8 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 nation should entertain a respectful and affec- 
 tionate feeling towards those great men with 
 whose minds he holds daily communion. Yet 
 nothing can be more certain than that such 
 men have not always deserved to be regarded 
 with respect or affection. Some writers, whose 
 works will continue to instruct and delight 
 mankind to the remotest ages, have been 
 placed in such situations that their actions and 
 motives are as well known to us as the actions 
 and motives of one human being can be known 
 to another ; and unhappily their conduct has 
 not always been such as an impartial judge can 
 contemplate with approbation. But the fanat- 
 icism of the devout worshipper of genius is 
 proof against all evidence and all argument. 
 The character of his idol is a matter of faith ; 
 and the province of faith is not to be invaded 
 by reason. He maintains his superstition with 
 a credulity as boundless, and a zeal as un- 
 scrupulous, as can be found in the most ardent 
 partisans of religious or political factions. The 
 most decisive proofs are rejected ; the plainest 
 rules of morality are explained away; exten- 
 sive and important portions of history are 
 completely distorted. The enthusiast mis- 
 represents facts with all the effrontery of an 
 advocate, and confounds right and wrong with 
 all the dexterity of a Jesuit ; and all this only 
 in order that some man who has been in his 
 grave during many ages may have a fairer 
 character than he deserves. 
 
 Middleton’s Life of Cicero is a striking 
 instance of the influence of this sort of par- 
 tiality. Never was there a character which it 
 was easier to read than that of Cicero. Never 
 was there a mind keener or more critical than 
 that of Middleton. Had the biographer 
 brought to the examination of his favorite 
 statesman’s conduct but a very small part of 
 the acuteness and severity which he displayed 
 when he was engaged in investigating the high 
 pretensions of Epiphanius and Justin Marfyr* 
 
LORD BA COLL. 
 
 9 
 
 he could not have failed to produce a most 
 valuable history of a most interesting portion of 
 time. But this most ingenious and learned 
 man, though 
 
 “ So wary held and wise 
 That, as ’twas said, he scarce received 
 For gospel what the church believed,’’ 
 
 had a superstition of his own. The great Icon- 
 oclast was himself an idolator. The great 
 Advocato del Diavolo, while he disputed, with 
 no small ability, the claims of Cyprian and 
 Athanasius to a place in the Calendar, was him- 
 self composing a lying legend in honor of St. 
 Tully. He was holding up as a model of every 
 virtue a man whose talents and acquirements, 
 indeed, can never be too highly extolled, r.nd 
 who was by no means destitute of amiable 
 qualities, but whose whole soul was under the 
 dominion of a girlish vanity and a craven fear. 
 Actions for which Cicero himself, the most 
 eloquent and skilful of advocates, could con- 
 trive no excuse, actions which in his confiden- 
 tial correspondence he mentioned with remorse 
 and shame, are represented by his biographer 
 as wise, virtuous, heroic. The whole history of 
 that great revolution which overthrew the 
 Roman aristocracy the whole state of parties, 
 the character of every public man, is elabo- 
 rately misrepresented, in order to make out 
 something which may look like a defence of 
 one most eloquent and accomplished trimmer. 
 
 The volume before us reminds us now and 
 then of the Life of Cicero. But there is this 
 marked difference. Dr. Middleton evidently 
 had an uneasy consciousness of the weakness 
 of his cause, and therefore resorted to the most 
 disingenuous shifts, to unpardonable distortions 
 and suppression of facts. Mr. Montagu’s faith 
 is sincere and implicit. He practises no 
 trickery. He conceals nothing. He puts the 
 facts before us in the full confidence that they 
 will produce on our minds the effect which they 
 
10 
 
 BIO GRA PHICA L ESS A VS. 
 
 have produced on his own. It is not till he 
 comes to reason from facts to motives that his 
 partiality shows itself ; and then he leaves 
 Middleton himself far behind. His word pro- 
 ceeds on the assumption that Bacon was an 
 eminently virtuous man. From the tree Mr. 
 Montagu judges of the fruit. Fie is forced to 
 relate many actions which, if any man but 
 Bacon had committed them, nobody would 
 have dreamed of defending, actions which are 
 readily and completely explained by supposing 
 Bacon to have been a man whose principles 
 were not strirt, and whose spirit was not high, 
 actions which can be explained in no other way 
 without resorting to some grotesque hypothesis 
 for which there is not a title of evidence. But 
 any hypothesis is, in Mr. Montagu’s opinion, 
 more probable than that his hero should ever 
 have done anything very wrong. 
 
 This mode of defending Bacon seems to us 
 by no means Baconian. To take a man’s char- 
 acter for granted, and then from his character 
 to infer the moral quality of all his actions, is 
 surely a process the very reverse of that which 
 is recommended in the Novum Organum. 
 Nothing, we are sure, could have led Mr. 
 Montagu to depart so far from his master’s 
 precepts, except zeal for his master’s honor. 
 We shall follow a different course. We shall 
 attempt, with the valuable assistance which Mr. 
 Montagu has afforded us, to frame such an 
 account of Bacon’s life as may enable our 
 readers correctly to estimate his character. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say that Francis 
 Bacon was the son of Sir Nicholas Bacon, who 
 held the great seal of England during the first 
 twenty years of the reign of Elizabeth. The 
 fame of the father has been thrown into the 
 shade by that of the son. But Sir Nicholas 
 was no ordinary man. He belonged to a set of 
 men whom it is easier to describe collectively 
 than separately, whose minds were formed by 
 one system of discipline, who belonged to one 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 ti 
 
 rank in society, to one university, to one party, 
 to one sect, to one administration, and who 
 resembled each other so much in talents, in 
 opinions, in habits, in fortunes, that one char- 
 acter, we had almost said one life, may, to a 
 considerable extent, serve for them all. 
 
 They were the first generation of statesmen 
 by profession that England produced. Before 
 their time the division of labor had, in this re- 
 spect, been very imperfect. Those who had 
 directed public affairs had been, with few ex- 
 ceptions, warriors or priests ; warriors whose 
 rude courage was neither guided by science 
 nor softened by humanity, priests whose 
 learning and abilities were habitually devoted 
 to the defence of tyranny and imposture. The 
 Hotspurs, the Nevilles, the Cliffords, rough, 
 illiterate, and unreflecting, brought to the 
 council-board the fierce and imperious disposi- 
 tion which they had acquired amidst the tumult 
 of predatory war, or in the gloomy repose of 
 the garrisoned and moated castle. On the 
 other side was the calm and subtle prelate, 
 versed in all that was then considered as 
 learning, trained in the Schools to manage 
 words, and in the confessional to manage 
 hearts, seldom superstitious, but skilful in 
 practising on the superstition of others, false, 
 as it was natural that a man should be whose 
 profession imposed on all who were not saints 
 the necessity of being hypocrites, selfish, as it 
 was natural that a man should be who could 
 form no domestic ties and cherish no hope of 
 legitimate posterity, more attached to his order 
 than to his country, and guiding the politics of 
 England with a constant side-glance at Rome. 
 
 But the increase of wealth, the progress of 
 knowledge, and the reformation of religion 
 produced a great change. The nobles ceased 
 to be military chieftains ; the priests ceased to 
 possess a monopoly of learning ; and a new 
 and remarkable species of politicians appeared. 
 
 These men came from neither of the classes 
 
12 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 which had, till then, almost exclusively fur- 
 nished ministers of state. They were all lay- 
 men ; yet they were all men of learning; and 
 they were all men of peace. They were not 
 members of the aristocracy. They inherited no 
 titles, no large domains, no armies of retainers, 
 no fortified castles. Yet they were not low 
 men, such as those whom princes, jealous of the 
 power of a nobility, have sometimes raised 
 from forges and cobblers’ stalls to the highest 
 situations. They were all gentlemen by birth. 
 They had all received a liberal education. It 
 is a remarkable fact that they were all mem- 
 bers of the same university. The two great 
 national seats of learning had even then ac- 
 quired the characters which they still retain. 
 In intellectual activity, and in readiness to ad- 
 mit improvements, the superiority was then, as 
 it has ever since been, on the side of the less 
 ancient and splendid institution. Cambridge 
 had the honor of educating those celebrated 
 Protestant Bishops whom Oxford had the 
 honor of burning ; and at Cambridge were 
 formed the minds of all those statesmen to 
 whom chiefly is to be attributed the secure es- 
 tablishment of the reformed religion in the 
 north of Europe. 
 
 The statesmen of whom we speak passed 
 their youth surrounded by the incessant din of 
 theological controversy. Opinions were still in 
 a state of chaotic anarchy, intermingling, sepa- 
 rating, advancing, receding. Sometimes the 
 stubborn bigotry of the Conservatives seemed 
 likely to prevail. Then the impetuous onset of 
 the Reformers for a moment carried all before 
 it. Then again the resisting mass made a 
 desperate stand, arrested the movement, and 
 forced it slowly back. The vacillation which 
 at that time appeared in English legislation, 
 and which it has been the fashion to attribute 
 to the caprice and to the power of one or two 
 individuals,' was truly a national vacillation. It 
 was not only in the mind of Henry that the new 
 
LORD BACON'. 
 
 *3 
 
 theology obtained the ascendant one day, and 
 that the lessons of the nurse and of the priest 
 regained their influence on the morrow. It was 
 not only in the House of Tudor that the hus- 
 band was exasperated by the opposition of the 
 wife, that the son dissented from the opinions 
 of the father, that the brother persecuted the 
 sister, that one sister persecuted another. The 
 principles of Conservation and Reform carried 
 on their warfare in every part of society, in 
 every congregation, in every school of learning, 
 round the hearth of every private family, in the 
 recesses of every reflecting mind. 
 
 It was in the midst of this ferment that the 
 minds of the persons whom we are describing 
 were developed. They were born Reformers. 
 They belonged by nature to that order of men 
 who always form the front ranks in the great 
 intellectual progress. They were, therefore, 
 one and all, Protestants. In religious matters, 
 however, though there is no reason to doubt 
 that they were sincere, they were by no means 
 zealous. None of them chose to run the 
 smallest personal risk during the reign of Mary. 
 None of them favored the unhappy attempt of 
 Northumberland in favor of his daughter-in-law. 
 None of them shared in the desperate councils 
 of Wyatt. They contrived to have business on 
 the Continent; or, if they staid in England, 
 they heard mass and kept Lent with great de- 
 corum. When those dark and perilous years 
 had gone by, and when the crown had de- 
 scended to a new sovereign, they took the lead 
 in the reformation of the Church. But they 
 proceeded, not with the impetuosity of theolo- 
 gians, but with the calm determination of 
 statesmen. They acted, not like men who con- 
 sidered the Romish worship as a system too 
 offensive to God, and too destructive of souls 
 to be tolerated for an hour, but like men who 
 regarded the points in dispute among Chris- 
 tians as in themselves unimportant, and who 
 were not restrained by any scruple of con* 
 
*4 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 science from professing, as they had before 
 professed, the Catholic faith of Mary, the Prot- 
 estant faith of Edward, or any of the numerous 
 intermediate combinations which the caprice of 
 Henry and the servile policy of Cranmer had 
 formed out of the doctrines of both the hostile 
 parties. They took a deliberate view of the 
 state of their own country and of the Conti- 
 nent ; they satisfied themselves as to the lean- 
 ing of the public mind ; and they chose their 
 side. They placed themselves at the head of 
 the Protestants of Europe, and staked all their 
 fame and fortunes on the success of their 
 party. 
 
 It is needless to relate how dexterously, how 
 resolutely, how gloriously they directed the pol- 
 itics of England during the eventful years 
 which followed, how they succeeded in uniting 
 their friends and separating their enemies, how 
 they humbled the pride of Philip, how they 
 backed the unconquerable spirit of Coligni, 
 how they rescued Holland from tyranny, how 
 they founded the maritime greatness of their 
 country, how they outwitted the artful politi- 
 cians of Italy, and tamed the ferocious chief- 
 tains of Scotland. It is impossible to deny 
 that they committed many acts which would 
 justly bring on a statesman of our time cen- 
 sures of the most serious kind. But when we 
 consider the state of morality in their age, and 
 the unscrupulous character of the adversaries 
 against whom they had to contend, we are 
 forced to admit that it is not without reason 
 that their names are still held in veneration by 
 their countrymen. 
 
 There were, doubtless, many diversities in 
 their intellectual and moral character. But 
 there was a strong family likeness. The con- 
 stitution of their minds was remarkably sound. 
 No particular faculty was preeminently devel- 
 oped ; but manly health and vigor were equally 
 diffused through the whole. They were men 
 of letters. Their minds were by nature and by 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 *5 
 
 exercise well fashioned for speculative pur- 
 suits. It was by circumstances, rather than by 
 any strong bias of inclination, that they were 
 led to take a prominent part in active life. In 
 active life, however, no men could be more 
 perfectly free from the faults of mere theorists 
 and pedants. No men observed more accu- 
 rately the signs of the times. No men had a 
 greater practical acquaintance with human nat- 
 ure. Their policy was gen .rally characterized 
 rather by vigilance, by moderation, and by 
 firmness than by invention, or by the spirit of 
 enterprise. 
 
 They spoke and wrote in a manner worthy 
 of their excellent sense. Their eloquence was 
 less copious and less ingenious, but far purer 
 and more manly than that of the succeeding 
 generation. It was the eloquence of men who 
 had lived with the first translators of the Bible, 
 and with the authors of the Book of Common 
 Prayer. It was luminous, dignified, solid, and 
 very slightly tainted with at affectation which 
 deformed the style of the ablest men of the 
 next age. If, as sometimes chanced, these 
 politicians were under the necessity of taking 
 a part in the theological controversies on which 
 the dearest interests of kingdoms were then 
 staked, they acquitted themselves as if their 
 whole lives had been passed in the Schools and 
 the Convocation. 
 
 There was something in the temper of these 
 celebrated men which secured them against 
 the proverbial inconstancy both of the court 
 and of the multitude. No intrigue, no combi- 
 nation of rivals, could deprive them of the 
 confidence of their Sovereign. No parliament 
 attacked their influence. No mob coupled 
 their names with any odious grievance. Their 
 power ended only with their lives. In this re- 
 spect, their fate presents a most remarkable 
 contrast to that of the enterprising and brilliant 
 politicians of the preceding and of the succeed- 
 ing generation. Burleigh was minister during 
 
1 6 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 forty years. Sir Nicholas Bacon held the great 
 seal more than twenty years. Sir Walter Mild- 
 may was Chancellor of the Exchequer twenty- 
 three years. Sir Thomas Smith was Secretary 
 of State eighteen years; Sir Francis Walsing- 
 ham about as long. They all died in office, 
 and in the enjoyment of public respect and 
 royal favor. Far different had been the fate of 
 Wolsey, Cromwell, Norfolk, Somerset and 
 Northumberland. Far different also was the 
 fate of Essex, of Raleigh, and of the still more 
 illustrious man whose life we propose to con- 
 sider. 
 
 The explanation of this circumstance is per- 
 haps contained in the motto which Sir Nicholas 
 Bacon inscribed over the entrance of his hall 
 in Gorhambury, Mediocria firma. This maxim 
 was constantly borne in mind by himself and 
 his colleagues. They were more solicitous to 
 lay the foundations of their power deep than to 
 raise the structure to a conspicuous but inse- 
 cure height. None of them aspired to be sole 
 Minister. None of them provoked envy by an 
 ostentatious display of wealth and influence. 
 None of them affected to outshine the ancient 
 aristocracy of the kingdom. They were free 
 from that childish love of titles which charac- 
 terized the successful courtiers of the genera- 
 tion which preceded them, and of that which 
 followed them. Only one of those whom we 
 have named was made a peer ; and he was 
 content with the lowest degree of the peerage. 
 As to money, none of them could, in that age, 
 justly be considered as rapacious. Some of 
 them would, even in our time, deserve the 
 praise of eminent disinterestedness. Their 
 fidelity to the State was incorruptible. Their 
 private morals were without stain. Their house- 
 holds were sober and well-governed. 
 
 Among these statesmen Sir Nicholas Bacon 
 was generally considered as ranking next to 
 Burleigh. He was called by Camden “ Sacris 
 
LORD BACON, \ 
 
 *7 
 
 conciliis alteram columen ; ” and by George 
 Buchanan, 
 
 “ diu Britannici 
 Regni secundum columen.'’ 
 
 The second wife of Sir Nicholas and mother 
 of Francis Bacon was Anne, one of the daugh- 
 ters of Sir Anthony Cooke, a man of distin- 
 guished learning who had been tutor to Ed- 
 ward the Sixth. Sir Anthony had paid consid- 
 erable attention to the education of his daugh- 
 ters, and lived to see them all splendidly and 
 happily married. Their classical acquirements 
 made them conspicuous even among the women 
 of fashion of that age. Katherine, who be- 
 came Lady Killigrew, wrote Latin Hexameters 
 and Pentameters which would appear with 
 credit in the Muscz Etonenses. Mildred, the 
 wife of Lord Burleigh, was described by Roger 
 Ascham as the best Greek scholar among the 
 young women of England, Lady Jane Grey 
 always excepted. Anne, the mother of Fran- 
 eis Bacon, was distinguished both as a linguist 
 and as a theologian. She corresponded in 
 Greek with Bishop Jewel, and translated his 
 Apologia from the Latin so correctly that 
 neither he nor Archbishop Parker could suggest 
 a single alteration. She also translated a series 
 of sermons on fate and free-will from the Tus- 
 can of Bernardo Ochino. This fact is the more 
 curious, because Ochino was one of that small 
 and audacious band of Italian reformers anath- 
 ematized alike by Wittenberg, by Geneva, by 
 Zurich, and by Rome, from which the Socinian 
 sect deduces its origin. 
 
 Lady Bacon was doubtless a lady of highly 
 cultivated mind after the fashion of her age. 
 But we must not suffer ourselves to be deluded 
 into the belief that she and her sisters were 
 more accomplished women than many who 
 are now living. On this subject there is, we 
 think, much misapprehension. We have often 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 18 
 
 heard men who wish, as almost all men of 
 sense wish, that women should be highly ed- 
 ucated, speak with rapture of the English la- 
 dies of the sixteenth century, and lament that 
 they can find no modern damsel resembling 
 those fair pupils of Ascbam and Aylmer who 
 compared, over their embroidery, the styles of 
 Isocrates and Lysias, and who, while the horns 
 were sounding and the dogs in full cry, sat in 
 the lonely oriel, with eyes riveted to that im- 
 mortal page which tells how meekly and bravely 
 the first great martyr of intellectual liberty 
 took the cup from his weeping jailer. But 
 surely these complaints have very little foun- 
 dation. We would by no means disparage the 
 ladies of the sixteenth century or their pur- 
 suits. But we conceive that those who extol 
 them at the expense of the women of our time 
 forget one very obvious and very important 
 circumstance. In the time of Henry the Eighth 
 and Edward the Sixth, a person who did not 
 read Greek and Latin could read nothing, or 
 next to nothing. The Italian was the only 
 modern language which possessed anything 
 that could be called a literature. All the val- 
 uable books then extant in all the vernacular 
 dialects of Europe would hardly have filled a 
 single ahelf. England did not yet possess 
 Shakspeare’s plays and the Fairy Queen, nor 
 France Montaigne’s Essays, nor Spain Don 
 Quixote. In looking round a well-furnished 
 library, how many English or French books 
 can we find which were extant when Lady Jane 
 Grey and Queen Elizabeth received their edu- 
 cation ? Chaucer, Gower, Froissart, Comines, 
 Rabelais, nearly complete the list. It was 
 therefore absolutely necessary that a woman 
 should be uneducated or classically educated. 
 Indeed, without a knowledge of one of the an- 
 cient languages no person could then have any 
 clear notion of what was passing in the politi- 
 cal, the literary, or the religious world. The 
 Latin was in the sixteenth century all and more 
 
LORD BA COLL. 
 
 r 9 
 
 than all that the French was in the eighteenth. 
 It was the language of courts as well as of the 
 schools. It was the language of diplomacy ; it 
 was the language of theological and political 
 controversy. Being a fixed language, while 
 the living languages were in a state of fluctu- 
 ation, and being universally known to the 
 learned and the polite, it was employed by al- 
 most every writer who aspired to a wide and 
 durable reputation. A person who was igno- 
 rant of it was shut out from all acquaintance, 
 not merely with Cicero and Virgil, not merely 
 with heavy treatises on canon-law and school- 
 divinity, but with the most interesting memoirs, 
 state papers, and pamphlets of his own time, 
 nay even with the most admired poetry and 
 the most popular squibs which appeared on 
 the fleeting topics of the day, with Buchanan’s 
 complimentary verses, with Erasmus’s dia- 
 logues, with Hutten’s epistles. 
 
 This is no longer the case. All political and 
 religious controversy is now conducted in the 
 modern languages. The ancient tongues are 
 used only in comments on the ancient writers. 
 The great productions of Athenian and Roman 
 genius are indeed still what they were. But 
 though their positive value is unchanged, their 
 relative value, when compared with the whole 
 mass of mental wealth possessed by mankind, 
 has been constantly falling. They were the 
 intellectual all of our ancestors. They are but 
 a part of our treasures. Over what tragedy 
 could Lady Jane Grey have wept, over what 
 comedy could she have smiled, if the ancient 
 dramatists had not been in her library ? A 
 modern reader can make shift without CEdi- 
 pus and Medea, while he possesses Othello 
 and Hamlet. If he knows nothing of Pyrgo- 
 polvnices and Thraso, he is familiar with 
 Bobadil, and Bessus, and Pistol, and Parolles. 
 If he cannot enjoy the delicious irony of Plato, 
 he may find some compensation in that of 
 Pascal. If he is shut out from Nephelococcy- 
 
20 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 gia, he may take refuge in Lilliput. We are 
 guilty, we hope, of no irreverence towards those 
 great nations to which the human race owes 
 art, science, taste, civil and intellectual freedom, 
 when we say, that the stock bequeathed by 
 them to us has been so carefully improved that 
 the accumulated interest now exceeds the 
 principal. We believe that the books which 
 have been written in the languages of western 
 Europe, during the last two hundred and fifty 
 years, — translations from the ancient languages 
 of course included, — are of greater value than 
 all the books which at the beginning of that 
 period were extant in the world. With the 
 modern languages of Europe English women 
 are at least as well acquainted as English men. 
 When, therefore, we compare the acquirements 
 of Lady Jane Grey with those of an accom- 
 plished young woman of our own time, we have 
 no hesitation in awarding the superiority to the 
 latter. We hope that our readers will pardon 
 this digression. It is long; but it can hardly 
 be called unseasonable, if it tends to convince 
 them that they are mistaken in thinking that 
 the great-great-grandmothers of their great- 
 great-grandmothers were superior women to 
 their sisters and their wives. 
 
 Francis Bacon, the youngest son of Sir 
 Nicholas, was born at York House, his father’s 
 residence in the Strand, on the twenty-second 
 of January, 1561. The health of Francis was 
 very delicate ; and to this circumstance may 
 be partly attributed that gravity of carriage, 
 and that love of sedentary pursuits, which dis- 
 tinguished him from other boys. Everybody 
 knows how much his premature readiness of 
 wit and sobriety of deportment amused the 
 Queen, and how she used to call him her young 
 Lord Keeper. We are told that, while still a 
 mere child, he stole away from his playfellows 
 to a vault in St. James’s Fields, for the purpose 
 of investigating the cause of a singular echo 
 which he had observed there. It is certain 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 21 
 
 that, at only twelve, he busied himself with very 
 ingenious speculations on the art of legerde- 
 main ; a subject which, as Professor Dugald 
 Stewart has most justly observed, merits much 
 more attention from philosophers than it has 
 ever received. These are trifles. But the 
 eminence which Bacon afterwards attained 
 makes them interesting. 
 
 In the thirteenth year of his age he was en- 
 tered at Trinity College, Cambridge; That 
 celebrated school of learning enjoyed the pecu- 
 liar favor of the Lord Treasurer and the 
 Lord Keeper, and acknowledged the advan- 
 tages which it derived from their patronage 
 in a public letter which bears date just a 
 month after the admission of Francis Bacon. 
 The master was Whitgift, afterwards Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury, a narrow minded, 
 mean, and tyrannical priest, who gained 
 power by servility and adulation, and em- 
 ployed it in persecuting both those who 
 agreed with Calvin about Church Government, 
 and those who differed from Calvin touching 
 the doctrine of Reprobation. He was now in 
 a chrysalis state, putting off the worm and 
 putting on the dragon-fly, a kind of intermedi- 
 ate grub between sycophant and oppressor. 
 He was indemnifying himself for the court 
 which he found it expedient to pay to the 
 Mtnisters by exercising much petty tyranny 
 within his own college. It would be unjust, 
 however, to deny him the praise of having ren- 
 dered about this time one important service 
 to letters. He stood up manfully against those 
 who wished to make Trinity College a mere 
 appendage to Westminster School; and by 
 this act, the only good act, as far as we re- 
 member, of his long public life, he saved the 
 noblest place of education in England from 
 the degrading fate of King’s College and New 
 College. 
 
 It has often been said that Bacon, while still 
 at College, planned that great intellectual rev- 
 
23 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 olutioti with which his name is inseparable 
 connected. The evidence on this subject, how- 
 ever. is hardly sufficient to prove what is in 
 itself so improbable as that any definite 
 scheme of that kind should have been so early 
 formed, even by so powerful and active a mind. 
 But it is certain that, after a residence of three 
 years at Cambridge, Bacon departed, carrying 
 with him a profound contempt for the course of 
 study pursued there, a fixed conviction that the 
 system of academic education in England was 
 radically vicious, a just scorn for the trifles on 
 which the followers of Aristotle had w'asted 
 their powers, and no great reverence for Aris- 
 totle himself. 
 
 In his sixteenth year he visited Paris, and 
 resided there for some time, under the care of 
 Sir Amias Paulet, Elizabeth’s minister at the 
 French court, and one of the ablest and most 
 upright of the many valuable servants whom 
 she employed. France was at that time in a 
 deplorable state of agitation. The Hugue- 
 nots and the Catholics were mustering all their 
 force for the fiercest and most protracted of 
 their many struggles ; while the Prince, whose 
 duty it was to protect and to restrain both, had, by 
 his vices andfollies, degraded himself so deeply 
 that he had no authority over either. Bacon, 
 however, made a tour through several prov- 
 inces, and appears to have passed some time at 
 Poitiers. We have abundant proof that during 
 his stay on the Continent he did not neglect 
 literary and scientific pursuits. But his atten- 
 tion seems to have been chiefly directed to 
 statistics and diplomacy. It was at this time 
 that he wrote those Notes on the State of 
 Europe which are printed in his works. He 
 studied the principles of the art of deciphering 
 with great interest, and invented one cipher so 
 ingenious that, many years later, he thought it 
 deserving of a place in the De Angmentis. In 
 February, 1580, while engaged in these pur- 
 suits, he received intelligence of the almost 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 *3 
 
 sudden death of his father, and instantly re- 
 turned to England. 
 
 His prospects were greatly overcast by this 
 event. He was most desirous to obtain a pro- 
 vision which might enable him to devote him- 
 self to literature and politics. He applied to 
 the Government ; and it seems strange that he 
 should have applied in vain. His wishes were 
 moderate. His hereditary claims on the ad- 
 ministration were great. He had himself been 
 favorably noticed by the Queen. His uncle 
 was Prime Minister. His own talents were 
 such as any minister might have been eager to 
 enlist in the pubiic service. But his solicita- 
 tions were unsuccessful. The truth is that the 
 Cecils disliked him, and did all they could 
 decently do to keep him down. It has never 
 been alleged that Bacon had done anything to 
 merit this dislike ; nor is it at all probable that 
 a man whose temper was naturally mild, whose 
 manners were courteous, who, through life, 
 nursed his fortunes with the utmost care, and 
 who was fearful even to a fault of offending the 
 powerful, would have given any just cause of 
 displeasure to a kinsman who had the means 
 of rendering him essential service and of doing 
 him irreparable injury. The real explanation, 
 we believe, is this : Robert Cecil, the Treas- 
 urer’s second son, was younger by a few 
 months than Bacon. He had been educated 
 with the utmost care, had been initiated while 
 still a boy in the mysteries of diplomacy and 
 court-intrigue, and was just at this time about 
 to be produced on the stage of public life. 
 The wish nearest to Burleigh’s heart was that 
 his own greatness might descend to this favorite 
 child. But even Burleigh’s fatherly partiality 
 could hardly prevent him from perceiviig that 
 Robert, with all his abilities and acquirements, 
 was no match for his cousin Francis. This 
 seems to us the only rational explanation of 
 the Treasurer’s conduct. Mr. Montagu is 
 more charitable. He supposes that Burleigh 
 
*4 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 was influenced merely by affection for his 
 nephew, and was “ little disposed to encourage 
 him to rely on others rather than on himself, 
 and to venture on the quicksands of politics, 
 instead of the certain profession of the law.” 
 If such were Burleigh’s feelings, it seems 
 strange that he should have suffered his son to 
 venture on those quicksands from which he so 
 carefully preserved his nephew. But the truth is 
 that, if Burleigh had been so disposed, he might 
 easily have secured to Bacon a comfortable 
 provision which should have been exposed to no 
 risk. And it is certain that he showed as little 
 disposition to enable his nephew to live by a 
 profession as to enable him to live without a pro- 
 fession. That Bacon himself attributed the 
 conduct of his relatives to jealousy of his supe- 
 rior talents, we have not the smallest doubt. 
 In a letter written many years later to Villiers, 
 he expresses himself thus : “ Countenance, en- 
 courage, and advance able men in all kinds, 
 degrees, and professions. For in the time of 
 the Cecils, the father and the son, able men 
 were by design and of purpose suppressed.” 
 
 Whatever Burleigh’s motives might be, his 
 purpose was unalterable. The supplications 
 which Francis addressed to his uncle and aunt 
 were earnest, humble, and almost servile. He 
 was the most promising and accomplished young 
 man of his time. His father had been the bro- 
 ther-in-law, the most useful colleague, the near- 
 est friend of the Minister. But all this availed 
 poor Francis nothing. He was forced, much 
 against his will, to betake himself to the study 
 of the law. He was admitted at Gray’s Inn ; 
 and, during some years he labored there in 
 obscurity. 
 
 What the extent of his legal attainments 
 may have been is difficult to say. It was not 
 hard for a man of his powers to acquire that 
 very moderate portion of technical knowledge 
 which, when joined to quickness, tact, wit, in- 
 genuity, eloquence, and knowledge of the world, 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 2 S 
 
 is sufficient to raise an advocate to the highest 
 professional eminence. The general opinion 
 appears to have been that which was on one 
 occasion expressed by Elizabeth. “ Bacon,” 
 said she, “hath a great wit and much learning; 
 but in law showeth to the uttermost of his know- 
 ledge, and is not deep.” The Cecils, we suspect, 
 did their best to spread this opinion by whispers 
 and insinuations. Coke openly proclaimed it 
 with that rancorous insolence which was habitual 
 to him. No reports are more readily believed 
 than those which disparage genius, and soothe 
 the envy of conscious mediocrity. It must have 
 been inexpressively consoling to a stupid ser- 
 geant, the forerunner of him who, a hundred 
 and fifty years later, “ shook his head at Murray 
 as a wit,” to know that the most profound 
 thinker and the most accomplished orator of 
 the age was very imperfectly acquainted with the 
 law touching bastardeigne and mulier puisne, and 
 confounded the right of free fishery with that of 
 common of piscary. 
 
 It is certain that no man in that age, or in- 
 deed during the century and a half which fol- 
 lowed, v'as better acquainted than Bacon wuth 
 the philosophy of law. His technical know- 
 ledge was quite sufficient, with the help of his 
 admirable talents and of his insinuating address, 
 to procure clients. He rose very rapidly into 
 business, and soon entertained hopes of being 
 called within the bar. He applied to Lord 
 Burleigh for that purpose, but received a testy 
 refusal. Of the grounds of that refusal we can, 
 in some measure, judge by Bacon’s answer, 
 which is still extant. It seems that the old 
 Lord, whose temper, age and gout had by no 
 means altered for the better, and who loved to 
 mark his dislike of the showy quick-watted 
 young men of the rising generation, took this 
 opportunity to read Francis a very sharp lecture 
 on his vanity and want of respect for his bet- 
 ters. Francis returned a most submissive reply, 
 thanked the Treasurer for the admonition, and 
 
26 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA YS. 
 
 promised to profit by it. Strangers meanwhile 
 were less unjust to the young barrister than 
 his nearest kinsman had been. In his twenty- 
 sixth year he became a bencher of his Inn ; 
 and two years later he was appointed Lent 
 reader. At length in 1590. he obtained for the 
 first time some show of favor from the Court. 
 
 He was sworn in Queen’s Counsel extra- 
 ordinary. But this mark of honor was not 
 accompanied by any pecuniary emolument. He 
 continued, therefore, to solicit his powerful 
 relatives for some provision which might enable 
 him to live without drudging at his profession. 
 He bore, with a patience and serenity which, we 
 fear, bordered on meanness, the morose humors 
 of his uncle, and the sneering reflections which 
 his cousin cast on speculative men, lost in phil- 
 osophical dreams, and too wise to be capable of 
 transacting public business. At length the 
 Cecils were generous enough to procure for him 
 the reversion of the Registrarship of the Star 
 Chamber. This was a lucrative place; but, as 
 many years elapsed before it fell in, he was 
 still under the necessity of laboring for his daily 
 bread. In the Parliament which was called 
 in 1593 he sat as member for the county of 
 Middlesex, and soon attained eminence as a 
 debater. It is easy to perceive from the scanty 
 remains of his oratory that the same compact- 
 ness of expression and richness of fancy which 
 appear in his writings characterized his speeches; 
 and that his extensive acquaintance with liter- 
 ature and history enabled him to entertain his 
 audience with a vast variety of illustrations and 
 allusions which were generally happy and ap- 
 posite, but which were probably not less pleas- 
 ing to the taste of that age when they were 
 such as would now be thought childish or pe- 
 dantic. It is evident also that he was, as 
 indeed might have been expected, perfectly 
 free from those faults which are generally found 
 in an advocate who, after having risen to em- 
 inence at the bar, enters the House of Com- 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 27 
 
 mons ; that it was his habit to deal with every 
 great question, not in small detached portions, 
 but as a whole ; that he refined little, and that 
 his reasonings were those of a capacious rather 
 than a subtle mind. Ben Jonson, a most unex- 
 ceptional judge, has described Bacon’s elo- 
 quence in words, which, though often quoted, 
 will bear to be quoted again. “ There hap- 
 pened in my time one noble speaker who was 
 full of gravity in his speaking. His language 
 where he could spare or pass by a jest, was nobly 
 censorious. No man ever spoke more neatly, 
 more pressly, more weightily, or suffered less 
 emptiness, less idleness, in what he uttered. 
 
 No member of his speech but consisted of 
 his own graces. His hearers could not cough 
 or look aside from him without loss. He com- 
 manded where he spoke, and had his judges 
 angry and pleased at his devotion. No man 
 had their affections more in his power. The 
 fear of every man that heard him was lest he 
 should make an end.” From the mention 
 which is made of judges, it would seem that 
 Jonson had heard Bacon only at the Bar. In- 
 deed we imagine that the House of Commons 
 was then almost inacessible to strangers. It 
 is not probable that a man of Bacon’s nice 
 observation would speak in Parliament exactly 
 as he spoke in the Court of Queen’s Bench. 
 But the graces of manner and language must, 
 to a great extent, have been common between 
 the Queen’s Counsel and the Knight of the 
 Shire. 
 
 Bacon tried to play a very difficult game in 
 politics. He wished to be at once a favorite 
 at Court and popular with the multitude. If 
 any man could have succeeded in this attempt, 
 a man of talents so rare, of judgment so pre- 
 maturely ripe, of temper so calm, and of man- 
 ners so plausible, might have been expected to 
 succeed. Nor indeed did he wholly fail. Once 
 however, he indulged in a burst of patriotism 
 which cost him a long and bitter remorse, and 
 
28 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 which he never ventured to repeat. The Court 
 asked for large subsidies and for speedy 
 payment. The remains of Bacon’s speech 
 breathed all the spirit of the Long Parlia- 
 ment. “The gentlemen,” said he, “ must sell 
 their plate, and the farmers their brass pots, 
 ere this will be paid ; and for us, we are 
 here to search the wounds of the realm, and 
 not to skim them over. The dangers are these. 
 First, we shall breed discontent and endanger 
 her Majesty’s safety, which must consist more 
 in the love of the people than their wealth. 
 Secondly, this being granted in this sort, other 
 princes hereafter will look for the like ; so that 
 we shall put an evil precedent on ourselves 
 and our posterity; and in histories, it is to be 
 observed, of all nations the English are not to 
 be subject, base, or taxable.” The Queen and 
 her ministers resented this outbreak of public 
 spirit in the highest manner. Indeed, many 
 an honest member of the House of Commons 
 had, for a much smaller matter, been sent to 
 the Tower by the proud and hot-blooded Tudors. 
 The young patriot condescended to make the 
 most abject apologies. He adjured the Lord 
 Treasurer to show some favor to his poor ser- 
 vant and ally. He bemoaned himself to the 
 Lord Keeper, in a letter which may keep in 
 countenance the most unmanly of the epistles 
 which Cicero wrote during his banishment. 
 The lesson was not thrown away. Bacon never 
 offended in the same manner again. 
 
 He was now satisfied that he had little to 
 hope from the patronage of those powerful 
 kinsmen whom he had solicited during twelve 
 years with such meek pertinacity ; and he 
 began to look towards a different quarter. 
 Among the courtiers of Elizabeth had lately 
 appeared a new favorite, young, noble, wealthy, 
 accomplished, eloquent, brave, generous, aspir- 
 ing ; a favorite who had obtained from the 
 gray-headed Queen such marks of regard as 
 she had scarce vouchsafed to Leicester in the 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 29 
 
 season of the passions ; who was at once the 
 ornament of the palace and the idol of the 
 city ; who was the common patron of men of 
 letters and of men of the sword ; who was the 
 common refuge of the persecuted Catholic and 
 of the persecuted Puritan. The calm prudence 
 which had enabled Burleigh to shape his course 
 through so many dangers, and the vast expe- 
 rience which he had acquired in dealing with 
 two generations of colleagues and rivals, seemed 
 scarcely sufficient to support him in this new 
 competition ; and Robert Cecil sickened with 
 fear and envy as he contemplated the rising fame 
 and influence of Essex. 
 
 The history of the factions which towards 
 the close of the reign of Elizabeth, divided her 
 court and her council, though pregnant with 
 instruction, is by no means interesting or pleas- 
 ing. Both parties employed the means which 
 are familiar to unscrupulous statesmen ; and 
 neither had, or even pretended to have, any 
 important end in view. The public mind was 
 then reposing from one great effort, and col- 
 lecting strength for another. That impetuous 
 and appalling rush with which the human intel- 
 lect had moved forward in the career of truth 
 and liberty, during the fifty years which fol- 
 lowed the separation of Luther from the com- 
 munion of the Church of Rome, was now over. 
 The boundary between Protestantism and Pop- 
 ery had been fixed very nearly where it still 
 remains. England, Scotland, the Northern 
 kingdoms were on one side ; Ireland, Spain, 
 Portugal, Italy, on the other. The line of de- 
 markation ran, as it still runs, through the 
 midst of the Netherlands, of Germany, and of 
 Switzerland, dividing province from province, 
 electorate from electorate, and canton from 
 canton. France might be considered as a de- 
 bateable land, in which the contest was still 
 undecided. Since that time, the two religions 
 have done little more than maintain their 
 ground, A ' few occasional incursions have 
 
3 ° 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 been made. But the general frontier remains 
 the same. During two hundred and fifty years 
 no great society has risen up like one man, 
 and emancipated itself by one mighty effort 
 from the superstition of ages. This spectacle 
 was common in the sixteenth century. Why 
 has it ceased to be so ? Why has it ceased to 
 be so? Why has so violent a movement been 
 followed bv so long a repose ? The doctrines 
 of the Reformers are not less agreeable to 
 reason or to revolution now than formerly. 
 The public mind is assuredly not less enlight- 
 ened now than formerly. Why is it that Pro- 
 testantism, after carrying everything before it 
 in a time of comparatively little knowledge 
 and little freedom, should make no perceptible 
 progress in a reasoning and tolerant age ; that 
 the Luthers, the Calvins, the Knoxes, the 
 Zwingles, should have left no successors ; that 
 that during two centuries and a half fewer con- 
 verts should have been brought over from the 
 Church of Rome than at tire time of the Re- 
 formation were sometimes gained in a year? 
 This has always appeared to us one of the 
 most curious and interesting problems in his- 
 tory. On some future occasion we may per- 
 haps attempt to solve it. At present it is 
 enough to say that at the close of Elizabeth’s 
 reign, the Protestant party to borrow the lan- 
 guage of the Apocalypse, had left its first love 
 and had ceased to do its first works. 
 
 The great struggle of the sixteenth century 
 was over. The great struggle of the seven- 
 teenth century had not commenced. The con- 
 fessors of Mary’s reign were dead. The 
 members of the Long Parliament were still 
 in their cradles. The Papists had been de- 
 prived of all power in the state. The Puritans 
 had not yet attained any formidable extent of 
 power. True it is that a student, well ac- 
 quainted with the history of the next genera- 
 tion, can easily discern in the proceedings of 
 the Parliaments of Elizabeth the germ of great 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 3 1 
 
 and ever memorable events. But to the eye 
 of a contemporary nothing of this appeared. 
 The two sections of ambitious men who were 
 struggling for power differed from each other 
 on no important public question. Both be- 
 longed to the Established Church. Both pro- 
 fessed boundless loyalty to the Queen. Both 
 approved the war with Spain. There is not, 
 so far as we are aware, any reason to believe 
 that they entertained different views concern- 
 ing the succession of the Crown. Certainly 
 neither faction had any great measure of re- 
 form in view. Neither attempted to redress 
 any public grievance. The most odious and 
 pernicious grievance under which the nation 
 then suffered was a source of profit to both, and 
 was defended by both with equal zeal. Ra- 
 leigh held a monopoly of cards, Essex a 
 monopoly of sweet wines. In fact, the only 
 ground of quarrel between the parties was that 
 they could not agree as to their respective 
 shares of power and patronage. 
 
 Nothing in the political conduct of Essex 
 entitles him to esteem ; and the pity with 
 which we regard his early and terrible end is 
 diminished by the consideration, that he put 
 to hazard the lives and fortunes of his most 
 attached friends, and endeavored to throw the 
 whole country into confusion, for objects purely 
 personal. Still, it is impossible not to be 
 deeply interested for a man so brave, high- 
 spirited and generous ; for a man who, while 
 he conducted himself towards his sovereign 
 with a boldness such as was then found in no 
 other subject, conducted himself towards his 
 dependents with a delicacy such as has rarely 
 been found in any other patron. Unlike 
 the vulgar herd of benefactors, he desired to 
 inspire, not gratitude, but affection. He 
 tried to make those whom he befriended feel 
 towards him as towards an equal. His mind, 
 ardent, susceptible, naturally disposed to ad- 
 miration of all that is great and beautiful, was 
 
32 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 fascinated by the genius and accomplishments 
 of Bacon. A close friendship was soon formed 
 between them, a friendship destined to have a 
 dark, a mournful, a shameful end. 
 
 In 1594 the office of Attorney-General be- 
 came vacant, and Bacon hoped to obtain it. 
 Essex made his friend’s cause his own, sued, 
 expostulated, promised, threatened, but all in 
 vain. It is probable that the dislike felt by 
 the Cecils for Bacon had been increased by 
 the connection which he had lately formed with 
 the Earl. Robert was then on the point of 
 being made Secretary of State. He happened 
 one day to be in the same coach with Essex, 
 and a remarkable conversation took place be- 
 tween them. “ My Lord,” said Sir Robert, 
 “ the Queen has determined to appoint an 
 Attorney-General without more delay. I pray 
 your Lordship to let me know whom you will 
 favor.” “ I wonder at your question,” replied 
 the Earl. “You cannot but know that reso- 
 lutely, against all the world, I stand for your 
 cousin, Francis Bacon.” “Good Lord!” 
 cried Cecil, unable to bridle his temper, “ I 
 wonder your Lordship should spend your 
 strength on so unlikely a matter. Can you 
 name one precedent of so raw a youth pro- 
 moted to so great a place ? ” This objection 
 came with a singularly bad grace from a man 
 who, though younger than Bacon, was in daily 
 expection of being made Secretary of State. 
 The blot was too obvious to be missed by 
 Essex, who seldom forbore to speak his mind. 
 “ I have made no search,” said he, “ for pre- 
 cedents of young men who have filled the 
 office of Attorney-General. But I could name 
 to you, Sir Robert, a man younger than 
 Francis, less learned, and equally inexperi- 
 enced, who is suing and striving with all his 
 might for an office of far greater weight.” Sir 
 Robert had nothing to say but that he thought 
 his own abilities equal to the place which he 
 hoped fo obtain, and that his father’s long 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 33 
 
 services deserved such a mark of gratitude from 
 the Queen ; as if his abilities were comparable 
 to his cousin’s, or as if Sir Nicholas Bacon had 
 done no service to the State. Cecil then hint- 
 ed that, if Bacon would be satisfied with the 
 Solicitorship, that might be of easier digestion 
 to the Queen. “ Digest me no digestions,” 
 said the generous and ardent Earl. “ The 
 Attorneyship for Francis is that I must have ; 
 and in that I will spend all my power, might, 
 authority, and amity, and with tooth and nail 
 procure the same for him against whomsoever ; 
 and whosoever getteth this office out of my 
 hands for any other, before he have it, it shall 
 cost him the coming by. And this be you as- 
 sured of, Sir Robert, for now I fully declare 
 myself ; and for my own part, Sir Robert, I 
 think strange both of my Lord Treasurer and 
 you, that can have the mind to seek the prefer- 
 ence of a stranger before so near a kinsman ; 
 for if you weigh in a balance the parts every 
 way of his competitor and him, only excepting 
 five poor years of admitting to a house of 
 court before Francis, you shall find in all 
 other respects whatsoever no comparison be- 
 tween them.” 
 
 When the office of Attorney-General was 
 filled up, the Earl pressed the Queen to make 
 Bacon Solicitor-General and, on this occasion, 
 the old Lord Treasurer professed himself not 
 unfavorable to his nephew’s pretensions. But, 
 after a contest which lasted more than a year 
 and a half, and in which Essex, to use his own 
 words, “ spent all his power, might, authority, 
 and amity,” the place was given to another. 
 Essex felt this disappointment keenly, but 
 found consolation in the most munificent and 
 delicate liberality. He presented Bacon with 
 an estate worth near two thousand pounds, 
 situated at Twickenham ; and this, as Bacon 
 owned many years after, “ with so kind ani 
 noble circumstances as the manner was worth 
 more than the matter.” 
 
34 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESS A VS. 
 
 It was soon after these events that Bacon 
 first appeared before the public as a writer. 
 Early in 1597 he published a small volume of 
 Essays, which was afterwards enlarged by suc- 
 cessive additions to many times its original 
 bulk. This little work was, as it well deserved 
 to be, exceedingly popular. It was reprinted 
 in a few months, it was translated into Latin, 
 French, and Italian ; and it seems to have at 
 once established the literary reputation of its 
 author. But though Bacon’s reputation rose, 
 his fortunes were still depressed. He was in 
 great pecuniary difficulties ; and on one occa- 
 sion, was arrested in the street at the suit of a 
 goldsmith for a debt of three hundred pounds, 
 and was carried to a spunging-house in Cole- 
 man Street. 
 
 The kindness of Essex was in the mean time 
 indefatigable. In 1596110 sailed on his memo- 
 rable expedition to the coast of Spain. At the 
 very moment of his embarkation, he wrote to 
 several of his friends, commending to them, 
 during his own absence, the interests of Bacon. 
 He returned, after performing the most brilliant 
 military exploit that was achieved on the Con- 
 tinent by English arms during the long interval 
 which elapsed between the battle of Agincourt 
 and that of Blenheim. His valor, his talents, 
 his humane and generous disposition, had 
 made him the idol of his countrymen, and had 
 extorted praise from the enemies whom he had 
 conquered.* He had always been proud and 
 headstrong; and his spendid success seems to 
 have rendered his faults more offensive than 
 ever. But to his friend Francis he was still 
 the same. Bacon had some thoughts of mak- 
 ing his fortune by marriage, and had begun to 
 pay court to a widow of the name of Hatton. 
 The eccentric manners and violent temper of 
 this woman made her a disgrace and a torment 
 to her connections. But Bacon was not aware 
 
 * See Cervantes’s Novela de la Espahola Iuglesa. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 35 
 
 of her faults, or was disposed to overlook them 
 for the sake of her ample fortune. Essex 
 pleaded his friend’s cause with his usual ardor. 
 The letters which the Earl addressed to Lady 
 Hatton and to her mother are still extant, and 
 are highly honorable to him. “ If,” he wrote, 
 “she were my sister or my daughter, I protest 
 I would as confidently resolve to further it as 
 I now persuade you ; ” and again, “ if my faith 
 be anything, I protest, if I had one as near me 
 as she is to you, I had rather match her with 
 him, than with men of far greater titles.” The 
 suit, happily for Bacon, was unsuccessful. The 
 lady indeed was kind to him in more ways 
 than one. She rejected him ; and she ac- 
 cepted his enemy. She married that narrow- 
 minded, bad hearted pedant, Sir Edward Coke, 
 and did her best to make him as miserable as 
 he deserved to be. 
 
 The fortunes of Essex had now reached their 
 height, and began to decline. He possessed 
 indeed all the qualities which raise men to 
 greatness rapidly. But he had neither the vir- 
 tues nor the vices which enable men to retain 
 greatness long. His frankness, his keen sen- 
 sibility to insult and injustice were by no means 
 agreeable to a sovereign naturally impatient of 
 opposition, and accustomed, during forty-years, 
 to the most extravagant flattery and the most 
 abject submission. The daring and contempt- 
 uous manner in which he bade defiance to his 
 enemies excited their deadly hatred. His ad- 
 ministration in Ireland was unfortunate, and in 
 many respects highly blamable. Though his 
 brilliant courage and his impetuous activity fit- 
 ted him admirably for such enterprises as that 
 of Cadiz, he did not possess the caution, pa- 
 tience, and resolution necessary for the conduct 
 of a protracted war, in which difficulties were to 
 be gradually surmounted, in which much discom- 
 fort was to be endured and in which few splen- 
 did exploits could be achieved. For the civil 
 duties of his high place he was still less quali- 
 
BJOCKAPHJCAL ESSAYS. 
 
 3 6 
 
 fled. Though eloquent and accomplished, he 
 was in no sense a statesman. The multitude 
 indeed still continued to regard even his faults 
 with fondness. But the Court had ceased to 
 give him credit, even for the merit which he 
 really possessed. The person on whom, dur- 
 ing the decline of his influence, he chiefly de- 
 pended, to whom he confided his perplexities, 
 whose advice he solicited, whose intercession 
 he employed, was his friend Bacon. The lam- 
 entable truth must be told. This friend, so 
 loved, so trusted, bore a principal part in ruin- 
 ing the Earl’s fortunes, in shedding his blood, 
 and in blackening his memory. 
 
 But let us be just to Bacon. We believe 
 that, to the last, he had no wish to injure Essex. 
 Nav, we believe that he sincerely exerted him- 
 self to serve Essex, as long as he thought he 
 could serve Essex without injuring himself. 
 The advice which he gave to his noble bene- 
 factor was generally most judicious. He did 
 all in his power to dissuade the Earl from ac- 
 cepting the Government of Ireland. “ For,” 
 says he, “ I did as plainly see his overthrow 
 chained as it were by destiny to that journey, 
 as it is possible for a man to ground a judg- 
 ment upon future contingents.” The predic- 
 tion was accomplished. Essex returned in 
 disgrace. Bacon attempted to mediate be- 
 tween his friend and the Queen ; and, we be- 
 lieve, honestly employed all his address for 
 that purpose. But the task which he had un- 
 dertaken was too difficult, delicate, and perilous 
 even for so wary and dexterous an agent. He 
 had to manage two spirits equally proud, re- 
 sentful, and ungovernable. At Essex House 
 he had to calm the rage of a young hero in- 
 censed by multiplied wrongs and humiliations, 
 and then to pass to Whitehall for the purpose 
 of soothing the peevishness of a sovereign, 
 whose temper, never very gentle, had been 
 rendered morbidly irritable by age, by declin- 
 ing health, and by the long habit of listening 
 
LORD BA COLL. 
 
 37 
 
 to flattery and exacting implicit obedience. It 
 is hard to serve two masters. Situated as 
 Bacon was, it was scarcely possible for him to 
 shape his course so as not to give one or both 
 of his employers reason to complain. For a 
 time he acted as fairly as, in circumstances so 
 embarrassing, could reasonably be expected. 
 At length he found that, while he was trying to 
 prop the fortunes of another, he was in danger 
 of shaking his own. He had disobliged both the 
 parties whom he wished to reconcile. Essex 
 thought him wanting in duty as a friend : Eliza- 
 beth thought him wanting in duty as a subject. 
 The Earl looked on him as a spy of the Queen : 
 the Queen as a creature of the Earl. The recon- 
 cilation which he had labored to effect appeared 
 utterly hopeless. A thousand signs, legible to 
 eyes far less keen than his, announced that the 
 fall of his patron was at hand. He shaped his 
 course accordingly. When Essex was brought 
 before the council to answer for his conduct in 
 Ireland, Bacon, after a faint attempt to excuse 
 himself from taking part against his friend, 
 submitted himself to the Queen’s pleasure, and 
 appeared at the bar in support of the charges. 
 But a darker scene was behind. The unhappy 
 young nobleman, made reckless by despair, 
 ventured on a rash and criminal enterprise, 
 which rendered him liable to the highest pen- 
 alities of the law. What course was Bacon to 
 take ? This was one of those conjectures 
 which show what men are. To a high-minded 
 man, wealth, power, court-favor, even personal 
 safety, would have appeared of no account, 
 when opposed to friendship, gratitude, and 
 honor. Such a man would have stood by the 
 side of Essex at the trial, would have “spent 
 all his power, might, authority, and amity ” 
 in soliciting a mitigation, of the sentence, would 
 have been a daily visitor at the cell, would 
 have received the last injunctions and the last 
 embrace on the scaffold, would have employed 
 all the powers of his intellect to guard from 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 3 « 
 
 fnsult the fame of his generous though erring 
 friend. An ordinary man would neither have 
 incurred the danger of succoring Essex, nor 
 the disgrace of assailing him. Bacon did not 
 even preserve neutrality. He appeared as 
 counsel for the prosecution. In that situation 
 he did not confine himself to what would have 
 been amply sufficient to procure a verdict. He 
 employed all his wit, his rhetoric, and his 
 learning, not to insure a conviction, — but the 
 circumstances were such that a conviction was in- 
 evitable, — but to deprive the unhappy prisoner 
 of all those excuses which, though legally of no 
 value, yet tended to diminish the moral guilt 
 of the crime, and which, therefore, though they 
 could not justify the peers in pronouncing an 
 acquittal, might incline the Queen to grant a 
 pardon. The Earl urged as a palliation of his 
 frantic acts that he was surrounded by power- 
 ful and inveterate enemies, that they had ruined 
 his fortunes, that they sought his life, and that 
 their persecutions had driven him to despair. 
 This was true; and Bacon well knew it to be 
 true. But he affected to treat it as an idle pre- 
 tence. He compared Essex to Pisistratus who, 
 by pretending to be in imminent danger of 
 assassination, and by exhibiting self-inflicted 
 wounds, succeeded in establishing tyranny at 
 Athens. This was too much for the prisoner 
 to bear. He interrupted his ungrateful friend 
 by calling on him to quit the part of an advo- 
 cate, to come forward ns a witness, and to 
 tell the Lords whether, in old times, lie Francis 
 Bacon, had not under his own hand, repeatedly 
 asserted the truth of what he now represented 
 as idle pretexts. It is painful to go on with 
 this lamentable story. Bacon returned a 
 shuffling answer to the Earl’s question, and, as 
 if the allusion to Pisistratus were not sufficient- 
 ly offensive, made another allusion still more 
 unjustifiable. He compared Essex to Henry 
 Duke of Guise, and the rash attempt in the 
 city to the day of the barricades at Paris, Why 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 39 
 
 Bacon had recourse to such a topic it is diffi- 
 cult to say. It was quite unnecessary for the 
 purpose of obtaining a'verdict. It was certain 
 to produce a strong impression on the mind of 
 the haughty and jealous princess on whose 
 pleasure the Earl’s fate depended. The faint- 
 est allusion to the degrading tutelage in which 
 the last Valois had been held by the House of 
 Lorraine was sufficient to harden her heart 
 against a man who in rank, in military reputa- 
 tion, in popularity among the citizens of the 
 capital, bore some resemblance to the captain 
 of the League. 
 
 Essex was convicted. Bacon made no effort 
 to save him, though the Queen’s feelings were 
 such that he might have pleaded his benefac- 
 tor’s cause, possibly with success, certainly 
 without any serious danger to himself. The 
 unhappy nobleman was executed. His fate 
 excited strong perhaps unreasonable feelings 
 of compassion and indignation. The Queen 
 was received by the citizens of London with 
 gloomy looks and faint acclamations. She 
 thought it expedient to publish a vindication 
 of her late proceedings. The faithless friend 
 who had assisted in taking the Earl’s life was 
 now employed to murder the Earl’s fame. The 
 Queen had seen some of Bacon’s writings, and 
 had been pleased with them. He was accord- 
 ingly selected to write “A Declaration of the 
 Practices and Treasons attempted and com- 
 mitted by Robert Earl of Essex,” which was 
 printed by authority. In the succeeding reign, 
 Bacon had not a word to say in defence of 
 this performance, a performance abounding in 
 expressions which no generous enemy would 
 have employed respecting a man who had so 
 dearly expiated his offences. His only excuse 
 was, that he wrote it by command, that he con- 
 sidered himself as a mere secretary, that he 
 had particular instructions as to the way in 
 which he was to treat every part of the subject, 
 
4 ° 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 and that, in fact, he had furnished only the 
 arrangement and the style. 
 
 We regret to say that' the whole conduct of 
 Bacon through the course of these ttansactions 
 appears to Mr. Montagu not merely excusable, 
 but deserving of high admiration. The integ- 
 rity and benevolence of this gentleman are so 
 well known that our readers will probably be at 
 a loss to conceive by what steps he can have 
 arrived at so extraordinary a conclusion ; and 
 we are half afraid that they will suspect us of 
 practising some artifice upon them when we re- 
 port the principal arguments which he em- 
 ploys. 
 
 In order to get rid of the charge of ingrati- 
 tude, Mr. Montagu attempts to show that 
 Bacon lay under greater obligations to the 
 Queen than to Essex. What these obligations 
 were it is not easy to discover. The situa- 
 tion of Queen’s Counsel, and a remote re- 
 version, were surely favors very far below 
 Bacon’s personal and hereditary claims. They 
 were favors which had net cost the Queen a 
 groat, nor had they put a groat into Eacon’s 
 purse. It was necessary to rest Elizabeth’s 
 claims to gratitude on some other ground ; and 
 this Mr. Montagu felt. “What pethaps was 
 her greatest kindness,” says he, “instead of 
 having hastily advanced Bacon, she had, with 
 a continuance of her friendship, made him 
 bear the yoke in his youth. Such were his 
 obligations to Elizabeth.” Such indeed they 
 were. Being the son of one of her oldest and 
 most faithful ministers, being himself the ablest 
 and most accomplished young man of his time, 
 he had been condemned by her to drudgery, to 
 obscurity, to poverty. She had depreciated 
 his acquirements. She had checked him in 
 the most imperious manner, when in Parlia- 
 ment he ventured to act an independent part. 
 She had refused to him the professional ad- 
 vancement to which he had a just claim. To 
 her it was owing that, while younger men, not 
 
LOBD BACON. 
 
 41 
 
 superior to him in extraction, and far inferior 
 to him in every kind of personal merit, were 
 filling the highest offices of the state, adding 
 manor to manor, rearing palace after palace, 
 he was lying at a spunging-house for a debt of 
 three hundred pounds. Assuredly if Bacon 
 owed gratitude to Elizabeth he owed none to 
 Essex. If the Queen really was his best friend, 
 the Earl was his worst enemy. We wonder 
 that Mr. Montagu did not press this argument 
 a little further. He might have maintained 
 that Bacon was excusable in revenging him- 
 self on a man who had attempted to rescue his 
 youth from the salutary yoke imposed on it by 
 the Queen, who had wished to advance him 
 hastily, who, not content with attempting to 
 inflict the Attorney-Generalship upon him, had 
 been so cruel as to present him with a landed 
 estate. 
 
 Again, we can hardly think Mr. Montagu 
 serious when he tells us that Bacon was bound 
 for the sake of the public not to destroy his 
 own hopes of advancement and that he took 
 part against Essex from a wish to obtain 
 power which might enable him to be useful to 
 his country. We really do not know how to 
 refute such arguments except by stating them. 
 Nothing is impossible which does not involve 
 a contradiction. It is barely possible that 
 Bacon’s motives for acting as he did on this 
 occasion may have been gratitude to the Queen 
 for keeping him poor, and a desire to benefit 
 his fellow-creatures in some high situation. And 
 there is a possibility that Bonner may have 
 been a good Protestant who, being convinced 
 that the blood of martyrs is the seed of the 
 Church, heroically went through all the drud- 
 gery and infamy of persecution, in order that 
 he might inspire the English people with an 
 intense and lasting hatred of Popery. There 
 is a possibility that Jeffreys may have been an 
 ardent lover of liberty, and that he may have 
 beheaded Algernon Sydney, and burned 
 
42 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 Elizabeth Gaunt, only in order to produce a 
 reaction which might lead to the limitation of 
 the prerogative. There is a possibility that 
 Thurtell may have killed Weare only in order 
 to give the youth of England an impressive 
 warning against gaming and bad company. 
 There is a possibility that Fauntleroy may 
 have forged powers of attorney, only in order 
 that his fate might turn the attention of the 
 public to the defects of the penal law. These 
 things, we say, are possible. But they are so 
 extravagantly improbable that a man who 
 should act on such suppositions would be fit 
 only for Saint Luke's. And we do not see 
 why suppositions on which no rational man 
 would act in ordinary life should be admitted 
 into history. 
 
 Mr. Montagu’s notion that Bacon desired 
 power only in order to do good to mankind 
 appears somewhat strange to us, when we con- 
 sider how Bacon afterwards used power, and 
 how he lost it. Surely the service which he 
 rendered to mankind by taking Lady Wharton’s 
 broad pieces and Sir John Kennedy’s cabinet 
 was not of such vast importance as to sanctify 
 all the means which might conduce to that end. 
 If the case were fairly stated, it would, we 
 much fear, stand thus: Bacon was a servile 
 advocate that he might be a corrupt judge. 
 
 Mr. Montagu maintains that none but the 
 ignorant and unreflecting can think Bacon 
 censurable for anything that he did as counsel 
 for the Crown, and that no advocate can jus- 
 tifiably use any discretion as to the party for 
 whom he appears. We will not at present 
 inquire whether the doctrine which is held on 
 this subject by English lawyers be or be not 
 agreeable to reason and morality ; whether it be 
 right that a man should, with a wig on his head, 
 and a band round his neck, do for a guinea 
 what, without those appendages, he would 
 think it wicked and infamous to do for an 
 empire ; whether it be right that, not merely 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 43 
 
 believing but knowing a statement to be true, 
 he should do all that can be done by sophistry, 
 by rhetoric, by solemn asseveration, by in- 
 dignant exclamation, by gesture, by play of 
 features, by terrifying one honest witness, by 
 perplexing another, to cause a jury to think 
 that statement false. It is not necessary on 
 the present occasion to decide these questions. 
 The professional rules, be they good or bad, 
 are rules to which many wise and virtuous men 
 have conformed, and are daily conforming. 
 If, therefore, Bacon did no more than these 
 rules required of him, we shall readily admit 
 that he was blameless, or, at least, excusable. 
 But we conceive that his conduct was not 
 justifiable, according to any professional rules 
 that now exist, or that ever existed in England. 
 It has always been held that, in criminal cases 
 in which the prisoner was denied the help of 
 counsel, and, above all, in capital cases, advo- 
 cates were both entitled and bound to exercise 
 a discretion. It is true that, after the Revolu- 
 tion, when the Parliament began to make in- 
 quisition for the innocent blood which had 
 been shed by the last Stuarts, a feeble attempt 
 was made to defend the lawyers who had been 
 accomplices in the murder of Sir Thomas 
 Armstrong, on the ground that they had only 
 acted professionally. The wretched sophism 
 was silenced by the execrations of the House 
 of Commons. “Things will never be well 
 done,” said Mr. Foley, “ till some of that pro- 
 fession be made examples.” “ We have a 
 new sort of monsters in the world,” said the 
 younger Hampden, “haranguing a man to 
 death. These I call blood-hounds. Sawver 
 is very criminal and guilty of this murder.” 
 “ I speak to discharge my conscience,” said 
 Mr. Garroway. “ I will not have the blood 
 of this man at my door. Sawyer demanded 
 jndgment against him and execution. I 
 believe him guiltv of the death of this man. 
 Do what you will with him.” “ If the pro- 
 
44 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 fession of the law,” said the elder Hampden, 
 “ gives a man authority to murder at this rate, 
 it is the interest of all men to rise and ex- 
 terminate that profession.” Nor was thi3 
 language held only by unlearned country 
 gentlemen. Sir William Williams, one of the 
 ablest and most unscrupulous lawyers of the 
 age, took the same view of the case. He had 
 not hesitated, he said, to take part in the pro- 
 secution of the Bishops, because they were 
 allowed counsel. But he maintained that, 
 where the prisoner was not allowed counsel, 
 the Counsel for the Crown was bound to ex- 
 ercise a discretion, and that every lawyer who 
 neglected this distinction was a betrayer of 
 the law. But it is unnecessary to cite authority. 
 It is known to everybody who has ever looked 
 into a court of quarter-sessions that lawyers do 
 exercise a discretion in criminal cases ; and it 
 is plain to every man of common sense that, if 
 they did not exercise such a discretion, they 
 would be a more hateful body of men than 
 those bravoes who used to hire out their stilet- 
 toes in Italy. 
 
 Bacon appeared against a man who was 
 indeed guilty of a great offence, but who had 
 been his benefactor and friend. He did more 
 than this. Nay, he did more than a person 
 who had never seen Essex would have been 
 justified in doing. He employed all the art 
 of an advocate in order to make the prisoner’s 
 conduct appear more inexcusable and more 
 dangerous to the state than it really had been. 
 All that professional duty could, in any case, 
 have required of him would have been to con- 
 duct the cause so as to insure a conviction. 
 But from the nature of the circumstances there 
 could not be the smallest doubt that the Earl 
 w'ould be found guilty. The character of the 
 crime was unequivocal. It had been com- 
 mitted recently, in broad daylight, in the streets 
 of the capital, in the presence of thousands. 
 If ever there was an occasion on which an 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 45 
 
 advocate had no temptation to resort to ex- 
 traneous topics, for the purpose of blinding the 
 judgment and inflaming the passions of a 
 tribunal, this was that occasion. Why then 
 resort to arguments which, while they could 
 add nothing to the strength of the case, con- 
 sidered in a legal point of Tiew, tended to 
 aggravate the moral guilt of the fatal enterprise, 
 and to excite fear and resentment in that quar- 
 ter from which alone the Earl could now ex- 
 pect mercy ? Why remind the audience of the 
 arts of the ancient tyrants ? Why deny, what 
 everybody knew to be the truth, that a power- 
 ful faction at court had long sought to effect 
 the ruin of the prisoner ? Why, above all, 
 institute a parallel between the unhappy cul- 
 prit and the most wicked and most successful 
 rebel of the age ? Was it absolutely impos- 
 sible to do all that professional duty required 
 without reminding a jealous sovereign of the 
 League, of the barricades, and of all the 
 humiliations which a too powerful subject had 
 heaped on Henry the Third ? 
 
 But if we admit the plea which Mr. Montagu 
 urges in defence of what Bacon did as an 
 advocate, what shall we say of the Declara- 
 tion of the Treasons of Robert Earl of Essex ” ? 
 Here at least there was no pretence of pro- 
 fessional obligation. Even those who may 
 think it the duty of a lawyer to hang, draw, 
 and quarter his benefactors, for a proper con- 
 sideration, will hardly say that it is his duty to 
 write abusive pamphlets against them, after 
 they are in their graves. Bacon excused him- 
 self by saying that he was not answerable for 
 the matter of the book, and that he furnished 
 only the language. But why did he endow 
 such purposes with words ? Could no hack 
 writer, without virtue or shame, be found to 
 exaggerate the errors, already so dearly ex- 
 piated, of a gentle and noble spirit? Every 
 age produces those links between the man and 
 the baboon. Every age is fertile of Old- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 46 
 
 mixons, of Kenricks, and of Antony Pasquins. 
 But was it for Bacon so to prostitute his intel- 
 lect ? Could he not feel that, while he rounded 
 and pointed some period dictated by the envy 
 of Cecil, or gave a plausible form to some 
 slander invited by the dastardly malignity of 
 Cobham, he wa§ not sinning merely against 
 his friend’s honor and his own ? Could he 
 not feel that letters, eloquence, philosophy, 
 were all degraded in his degradation? 
 
 The real explanation of all this is perfectly 
 obvious ; and nothing but a partiality amount- 
 ing to a ruling passion could cause anybody to 
 miss it. The moral qualities of Bacon were 
 not of a high order. We do not say that he 
 was a bad man. lie was not inhuman or 
 tyrannical. He bore with meekness his high 
 civil honors, and the far higher honors gained 
 bv his intellect. He was very seldom, if ever, 
 provoked into treating any person with malig- 
 nity and insolence. No man more readily 
 held up the left cheek to those who had smitten 
 the right. No man was more expert at the 
 soft answer which turneth away wrath. He 
 was never charged, by any accuser entitled to 
 the smallest credit, with licentious habits. His 
 even temper, his flowing courtesy, the general 
 respectability of his demeanor, made a favora- 
 ble impression on those who saw him in situa- 
 tions which do not severely try the principles. 
 His faults were — we write it with pain — cold- 
 ness of heart and meanness of spirit. He 
 seems to have been incapable of feeling strong 
 affection, of facing great dangers, of making 
 great sacrifices. His desires were set on things 
 below. Wealth, precedence, titles, patronage, 
 the mace, the seals, the coronet, large houses, 
 fair gardens, rich manors, massive services of 
 plate, gay hangings, curious cabinets, had as 
 great attractions for him as for any of the 
 courtiers who dropped on their knees in the 
 dirt when Elizabeth passed by, and then hasten- 
 ed home to write to the King of Scots that her 
 
LORD BA COLL. 
 
 47 
 
 Grace seemed to be breaking fast. For these 
 objects he had stooped to everything and en- 
 dured everything. For these lie had sued in 
 the humblest manner, and, when unjustly and 
 ungraciously repulsed, had thanked those who 
 had repulsed him, and had begun to sue again. 
 For these objects, as soon as he found that the 
 smallest show of independence in Parliament 
 was offensive to the Queen, he had abased 
 himself to the dust before her, and implored 
 forgiveness in terms better suited to a con- 
 victed thief than to a knight of the shire. For 
 these he joined, and for these he forsook, Lord 
 Essex. He continued to plead his patron’s 
 cause with the Queen as long as he thought 
 that by pleading that cause he might serve 
 himself. Nay, he went further ; for his feel- 
 ings, though not warm, were kind : he pleaded 
 that cause as long as he thought that he could 
 plead it without injury to himself. But when 
 it became evident that Essex was going head- 
 long to his ruin, Bacon began to tremble for 
 his own fortunes. What he had to fear would 
 not indeed have been very alarming to a man 
 of lofty character. It was not death. It was 
 not imprisonment. It was the loss of court 
 favor. It was the being left behind by others 
 in the career of ambition. It was the having 
 leisure to finish the Instauratio Magna. The 
 Queen looked coldly on him. The courtiers 
 began to consider him as a marked man. He 
 determined to change his line of conduct, and 
 to proceed in a new course with so much vigor 
 as to make up for lost time. When once he 
 had determined to act against his friend, know- 
 ing himself to be suspected, he acted with 
 more zeal than would have been necessary or 
 justifiable if he had been employed against a 
 stranger. He exerted his professional talents 
 to shed the Earl's blood, and his literary talents 
 to blacken the Earl’s memory. 
 
 It is certain that his conduct excited at the 
 time great and general disapprobation. While 
 
4 * 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 Elizabeth lived, indeed, this disapprobation, 
 though deeply felt, was not loudly expressed. 
 But a great change was at hand. The health 
 of the Queen had long been decaying ; and the 
 operation of age and disease was now assisted 
 by acute mental suffering. The pitiable mel- 
 ancholy of her last days has generally been 
 ascribed to her fond regret for Essex. But we 
 are disposed to attribute her dejection partly 
 to physical causes, and partly to the conduct 
 of her courtiers and ministers. They did all in 
 their power to conceal from her the intrigues 
 which they were carrying on at the Court of 
 Scotland. But her keen sagacity was not to 
 be so deceived. She did not know the whole. 
 But she knew she was surrounded by men 
 who were impatient for that new world which 
 was to begin at her death, who had never been 
 attached to her by affection, and who were now 
 but very slightly attached to her by interest. 
 Prostration and flattery could not conceal from 
 her the cruel truth, that those whom she had 
 trusted and promoted had never loved her, and 
 were fast ceasing to fear her. Unable to 
 avenge herself, and too proud to complain, she 
 suffered sorrow and resentment to prey on her 
 heart, till, after a long career of power, pros- 
 perity, and glory, she died sick and weary of 
 the world. 
 
 James mounted the throne ; and Bacon em- 
 ployed all his address to obtain for himself a 
 share of the favor of his new master. This 
 was no difficult task. The faults of James, 
 both as a man and as a prince, were numerous ; 
 but insensibility to the claims of genius and 
 learning was not among them. He was indeed 
 made up of two men, a witty, well-read scholar, 
 who wrote, disputed and harangued, and a 
 nervous, drivelling idiot, who acted. If he had 
 been a Canon of Christ Church, or a Prebend- 
 ary of Westminster, it is not improbable that 
 he would have left a highly respectable name 
 to posterity ; that he would have distinguished 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 49 
 
 himself among the translators of the Bible, and 
 among the Divines who attended the Synod 
 of Dort; and that he would have been regarded 
 bv the literary world as no contemptible rival 
 of Vossius and Casaubon. But fortune placed 
 him in a situation in which his weaknesses 
 covered him with disgrace, and in which his 
 accomplishments brought him no honor. In a 
 college, much eccentricity and childishness 
 would have been readily pardoned in so learned 
 a man. But all that learning could do for him 
 on the throne was to make people think him 
 a pedant as well as a fool . 
 
 Bacon was favorably received at Court ; and 
 soon found that his chance of promotion was 
 not diminished by the death of the Queen. He 
 was solicitous to be knighted, for two reasons 
 which are somewhat amusing. The King had 
 already dubbed half London, and Bacon found 
 himself the only untitled person in his mess at 
 Gray’s Inn. This was not very agreeable to 
 him. He had also, to quote his own words, 
 “ found an Alderman’s daughter, a handsome 
 maiden, to his liking.” On both these grounds, 
 he begged his cousin Robert Cecil, “ if it 
 might please his good Lordship,” to use his in- 
 terest in his behalf. The application was 
 successful. Bacon was one of three hundred 
 gentlemen who, on the coronation-day, received 
 the honor, if it is to be so called, of knight- 
 hood. The handsome maiden, a daughter of 
 Alderman Brrnham, soon after consented to 
 become Sir Francis’s lady. 
 
 The death of Elizabeth, though on the whole 
 it improved Bacon’s prospects, was in one re- 
 spect an unfortunate event for him. The new 
 King had always felt kindly towards Lord 
 Essex, and, as soon as the came to the throne, 
 began to show favor to he house of Devereux, 
 and to those who had stood by that house in its 
 adversity. Everybody was now at liberty to 
 speak out respecting those lamentable events 
 in which Bacon had borne so large a share. 
 
5 ° 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA YS. 
 
 Elizabeth was scarcely cold when the public 
 feeling began to manifest itself by marks of 
 respect towards Lord Southampton. That 
 accomplished nobleman, who will be remem- 
 bered to the latest ages as the generous and 
 discerning patron of Shakspeare, was held in 
 honor by his contemporaries chiefly on account 
 of the devoted affection which he had borne to 
 Essex. He had been tried and convicted 
 together with his friend ; but the Queen had 
 spared his life, and, at the time of her death, 
 he was still a prisoner. A crowd of visitors 
 hastened to the Tower to congratulate him on 
 his approaching deliverance. With that crowd 
 Bacon could not venture to mingle. The mul- 
 titude loudly condemned him ; and his con- 
 science told him that the multitude had but too 
 much reason.' He excused himself to South- 
 ampton by letter in terms which, if he had, as 
 Mr. Montagu conceives, done only what as a sub- 
 ject and an advocate he was bound to do, must 
 be considered as shamefully servile. He owns 
 his fear that his attendance would give offence, 
 aad that his professions of regard would obtain 
 no credit. “ Yet,” savs he, 11 it is as true as a 
 thing that God knoweth, that this great change 
 hath wrought in me no other change towards 
 your Lordship than this, that I may safely be 
 that to you now which I was truly before.” 
 
 How Southampton received these apologies 
 we are not informed. But it is certain that 
 the general opinion was pronounced against 
 Bacon in a manner not to be misunderstood. 
 Soon after his marriage he put forth a defence 
 of his conduct, in the form of a letter to the 
 Earl of Devon. This tract seems to us to prove 
 only the exceeding badness of a cause for 
 which such talents could do so little. 
 
 It is not probable that Bacon’s Defence had 
 much effect on his contemporaries. But the 
 unfavorable impression which his conduct had 
 made appears to have been graduallv effaced. 
 Indeed it must be some veiy peculiar cause 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 S 1 
 
 that can make a man like him long unpopular. 
 His talents secured him from contempt, his 
 temper and his manners from hatred. There 
 is scarcely any story so black that it may not 
 be got over by a man of great abilities, whose 
 abilities are united with caution, good-humor, 
 patience, and affability, who pays daily sacri- 
 fi;e to Nemesis, who is a delightful companion, 
 a serviceable though not an ardent friend, and 
 a dangerous yet a placable enemy. Waller in 
 the next generation was an eminent instance 
 of this. Indeed Waller had much more than 
 may at first sight appear in common with Bacon. 
 To the higher intellectual qualities of the great 
 English philosopher, to the genius which has 
 made an immortal epoch in the history of 
 science, Waller had indeedno pretensions. But 
 the mind of Waller, as far as it extended, coin- 
 cided with that of Bacon, and might, so to 
 speak, have been cut out of that of Bacon. In 
 the qualities which make a man an object of in- 
 terest and veneration to posterity, they cannot 
 be compared together. But in the qualities by 
 which chiefly a man is known to his contempo- 
 raries there was a striking similarity between 
 them. Considered as men of the world, as 
 courtiers, as politicians, as associates, as allies, 
 as enemies, they had nearly the same merits, 
 and the same defects. They were not malig- 
 nant. They were not tyrannical. But they 
 wanted warmth of affection and elevation of 
 sentiment. There were many things which 
 they loved better than virtue, and which they 
 feared more than guilt. Yet, even after they 
 had stooped to acts of which it is impossible 
 to read the account in the most partial narra- 
 tives without strong disapprobation and con- 
 tempt, the public still continued to regard them 
 with a feeling not easily to be distinguished 
 from esteem. The hyperbole of Juliet seemed 
 to be verified with respect to them. “Upon 
 their brows shame was ashamed to sit.” Every- 
 body seemed as desirous to throw a veil over 
 
52 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 their misconduct as if it had been his own. 
 Clarendon, who felt, and who had reason to 
 feel, strong personal dislike towards Waller ; 
 speaks of him thus : “ There needs no more to 
 be said to extol the excellence and power of 
 his wit and pleasantness of his conversation, 
 than that it was of magnitude enough to cover 
 a world of very great faults, that is, so to cover 
 them that they were not taken notice of to his 
 reproach, viz. a narrowness in his nature to the 
 lowest degree, an abjectness and want of 
 courage to support him in any virtuous under- 
 taking, an insinuation and servile flattery to 
 the height the vainest and most imperious 
 nature could be contented with.* * * It had 
 power to reconcile him to those whom he had 
 most offended and provoked, and continued to 
 his age with that rare felicity, that his company 
 was acceptable where his spirit was odious, 
 and he was at least pitied where he was most 
 detested.” Much of this, with some softening, 
 might, we fear, be applied to Bacon. The in- 
 fluence of Waller’s talents, manners and accom- 
 plishments, died with him ; and the world has 
 pronounced an unbiassed sentence on his char- 
 acter. A few flowing lines are not bribe suffi- 
 cient to pervert the judgment of posterity. 
 But the influence of Bacon is felt and will long 
 be felt over the whole civilized world. Lenient- 
 ly as he was treated by his contemporaries, pos- 
 terity has treated him more leniently still. Turn 
 where we may, the trophies of that mighty in- 
 tellect are full in view'. We are judging Man- 
 lius in sight of the Capitol. 
 
 Under the reign of James, Bacon grew rapid- 
 ly in fortune and favor. In 1604 he was ap- 
 pointed King’s Counsel, with a fee of forty 
 pounds a year ; and a pension of sixty pounds 
 a year was settled upon him. In 1607 he be- 
 came Solicitor-General, in 1612 Attorney-Gen- 
 eral. He continued to distinguish himself in 
 Parliament, particularly by his exertions in 
 favor of one excellent measure on which the 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 S 3 
 
 King’s heart was set, the union of England and 
 Scotland. It was not difficult for such an in- 
 tellect to discover many irresistible arguments 
 in favor of such a scheme. He conducted the 
 great case of the Post Nati in the Exchequer 
 Chamber; and the decision of the judges, a 
 decision the legality of which may be ques- 
 tioned, but the beneficial effect of which must 
 be acknowledged, was in a great measure at- 
 tributed to his dexterous management. While 
 actively engaged in the House of Commons 
 and in the courts of law, he still found leisure 
 for letters and philosophy. The noble treat- 
 ies on the “Advancement of Learning,” which 
 at a later period was expanded into the De Aug- 
 mentis, appeared in 1605. The “Wisdom of 
 the Ancients,” a work which, if it had pro- 
 ceeded from any other writer, would have been 
 considered as a masterpiece of wit and learning, 
 but which adds little to lhe„fame of Bacon, was 
 printed in 1609. In the meantime the Novum 
 Organum was slowly proceeding. Several dis- 
 tinguished men of learning had been permitted 
 to see sketches or detached portions of that 
 extraordinary book; and, though they were not 
 generally disposed to admit the soundness of 
 the author’s views, they spoke with the greatest 
 admiration of his genius. Sir Thomas Bodlev, 
 the founder of one of the most magnificent of 
 English libraries, was among those stubborn 
 Conservatives who considered the hopes with 
 which Bacon looked forward to the future des- 
 tinies of the human race as utterly chimerical, 
 and who regarded with distrust and aversion 
 the innovating spirit of the new schismatics in 
 philosophy. Yet even Bodley, after perusing 
 the Cogitata et Visa , one of the most precious 
 of those scattered leaves out of which the great 
 oracular volume was afterwards made up, ac- 
 knowledges that in “ those very points, and in 
 all proposals and plots in that book, Bacon 
 showed himself a master-workman ; ” and that 
 “ it could not be gainsaid but all the treaties 
 
54 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 ever did abound with choice conceits of the 
 present state of learning, and with worthy 
 contemplation of the means to procure it.” 
 In 1612, a new edition of the “ Essays” ap- 
 peared, with additions surpassing the original 
 collection both in bulk and quality. Nor did 
 these pursuits distract Bacon’s attention from 
 a work the most arduous, the most glorious, 
 and the most useful that even his mighty pow- 
 ers could have achieved, “ the reducing and 
 compiling,” to use his own phrase, “ of the laws 
 of England.” 
 
 Unhappily he was at that time employed in 
 perverting those laws to the vilest purposes of 
 tyranny. When Oliver St. John was brought 
 before the Star Chamber for maintaining 
 that the King had no right to levy Benevo- 
 lences, and was for his manly and constitutional 
 conduct sentenced to imprisonment during the 
 royal pleasure and Jo a fine of five thousand 
 pounds, Bacon appeared as counsel for the pro- 
 secution. About the same time he was deeply 
 engaged in a still more disgraceful transaction. 
 An aged clergyman, of the name of Peacham, 
 was accused of treason on account of some 
 passages of a sermon which was found in his 
 study. The sermon, whether written by him 
 or not, had never been preached. It did not 
 appear that he had any intention of preaching 
 it. The most servile lawyers of those servile 
 times were forced to admit that there were 
 great difficulties both as to the facts and as to 
 the law. Bacon was employed to remove those 
 difficulties. He was employed to settle the 
 question of law by tampering with the judges, 
 and the question of fact by torturing the pris- 
 oner. 
 
 Three judges of the Court of King’s Bench 
 were tractable. But Coke was made of differ- 
 ent stuff. Pedant, bigot, and brute as he was, 
 he had qualities which bore a strong, though a 
 very disagreeable resemblance to some of the 
 highest virtues which a public man can possess. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 55 
 
 He was an exception to a maxim which we 
 believe to be generally true, that those who 
 trample on the helpless are disposed to cringe 
 to the powerful. He behaved with gross rude- 
 ness to his juniors at the bar, and with exe- 
 crable cruelty to prisoners on trial for their 
 lives. But he stood up manfully against the 
 King’s favorites. No man of that age appeared 
 to so little advantags when he was opposed to 
 an inferior, and was in the wrong. But, on the 
 other hand, it is but fair to admit that no man 
 of that age made so creditable a figure when he 
 was opposed to a superior, and happened to be 
 in the right. On such occasions, his half-sup- 
 pressed insolence and his impracticable obsti- 
 nacy had a respectable and interesting appear- 
 ance, when compared with the abject servility 
 of the bar and of the bench. On the present 
 occasion he was stubborn and surly. He 
 declared that it was a new and a highly im- 
 proper practice in the judges to confer with a 
 law-officer of the crown about capital cases 
 which they were afterwards to try ; and for 
 some time he resolutely kept aloof. But Bacon 
 was equally artful and persevering. “ I am not 
 wholly out of hope,” said he in a letter to the 
 King, “ that my Lord Coke himself, when I 
 have in some dark manner put him in doubt 
 that he shall be left alone, will not be singular.” 
 After some time Bacon's dexterity was success- 
 ful ; and Coke, sullenly and reluctantly, follow- 
 ed the example of his brethren. But in order 
 to convict Peacham it was necessary to find 
 facts as well as law. Accordingly, this wretched 
 old man was put to the rack, and, while under- 
 going the horrible infliction, was examined by 
 Bacon, but in vain. No confession could be 
 wrung out of him ; and Bacon wrote to the 
 King, complaining that Peacham had a dumb 
 devil. At length the trial came on. A con- 
 viction was obtained; but the charges were so 
 obviously ft tile, that the government could not, 
 for very shame, carry the sentence into execu- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 S' 6 
 
 tion ; and Peacham was suffered to languish 
 away the short remainder of his life in a prison. 
 
 All this frightful story Mr. Montagu relates 
 fairly. He neither conceals nor distorts and 
 material fact. Put he can see nothing deserv- 
 ing of condemnation in Bacon’s conduct. He 
 tells us most truly that we ought not to try the 
 men of one age by the standard of another; 
 that Sir Matthew Hale is not to be pronounced 
 a bad man because he left a woman to be exe- 
 cuted for witchcraft ; that posterity will not be 
 justified in censuring judges of our time, for 
 selling offices in their courts, according to the 
 established practice, bad as that practice was ; 
 and that Bacon is entitled to similar indulgence. 
 “To persecute the lover of truth,” says Mr. 
 Montagu, “ for opposing established customs, 
 and to censure him in after ages for not havirg 
 been more strenuous in opposition are errors 
 which will never cease until the pleasure of 
 self-elevation from the depression of superiority 
 is no more.” 
 
 We have no dispute with Mr. Montagu about 
 the general proposition. We assent to every 
 word of it. But does it apply to the present 
 case ? Is it true that in the time of James the 
 First it was the established practice for the law- 
 officers of the Crown, to hold private consulta- 
 tions with the judges, touching Capital cases 
 which those judges were afterwards to try? 
 Certainly not. In the very page in which Mr. 
 Montagu asserts that “ influencing a judge out 
 of court seems at that period scarcely to have 
 been considered as improper,” he gives the 
 very words of Sir Edward Coke on the subject. 
 “ I will not thus declare what may be my judg- 
 ment by these auricular confessions of new 
 and pernicious tendency, and not according to 
 the customs of the realm." Is it possible to im- 
 agine that Coke, who had himself been 
 Attorney-General during thirteen years, who 
 had conducted a far greater number of import- 
 ant state-prosecutions than any other lawyer 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 57 
 
 named in English history, and who had passed 
 with scarcely any interval from the Attorney- 
 Generalship to the first seat in the first crim- 
 inal court in the realm, could have been startled 
 at an invitation to confer with the crown- 
 lawyers, and could have pronounced the prac- 
 tice new, if it had really been an established 
 usage ? We well know that, where property 
 only was at stake, it was then a common, 
 though a most culpable practice, in the judges, 
 to listen to private solicitations. But the prac- 
 tice of tampering with judges in order to pro- 
 cure capital convictions we belive to have been 
 new, first, because Coke, who understood those 
 matters better than any man of his time, 
 asserted it to be new ; and secondly, because 
 neither Bacon nor Mr. Montagu has shown a 
 single precedent. 
 
 How then stands the case ? Even thus : 
 Bacon was not conforming to an usage then 
 generally admitted to be proper. He was not 
 even the last lingering adherent of an old 
 abuse. It would have been sufficiently disgrace- 
 ful to such a man to be in this last situation. 
 Yet this last situation would have been honor- 
 able compared with that in which he stood. 
 He was guilty of attempting to introduce into 
 the courts of law an odious abuse for which no 
 precedent could be found. Intellectually, he 
 was better fitted than any man that England 
 has ever produced for the work of improving 
 her institutions. But unhappily, we see that 
 he did not scruple to exert his great powers 
 for the purpose of introducing into those insti- 
 tutions new corruptions of the foulest kind. 
 
 The same, or nearly the same, may be said 
 of the torturing of Peacham. If it be true that 
 in the time of James the First the propriety of 
 torturing prisoners was generally allowed, we 
 should admit this as an excuse, though we 
 should admit it less readily in the case of such 
 a man as Bacon than in the case of an ordinary 
 lawyer or politician. But the fact is, that the 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 58 
 
 practice of torturing prisoners was then gener- 
 ally acknowledged by lawyers to be illegal, 
 and was execrated by the public as barbarous. 
 More than thirty years before Peacham's trial, 
 that practice was so loudly condemned by the 
 voice of the nation that Lord Burleigh found 
 it necessary to publish an apology for having 
 occasionally resorted to it. But though the dan- 
 gers which then threatened the government were 
 of a very different kind from those which were 
 to be apprehended from any thing that Peacham 
 could write, though the life of the Queen and 
 the dearest interests of the state were in jeop- 
 ardy, though the circumstances were such that 
 all ordinary laws might seem to be superseded 
 by that highest law, the public safety, the apol- 
 ogy did not satisfy the country: and the Queen 
 found it expedient to issue an order positively 
 forbidding the torturing of state-prisoners on 
 any pretence whatever. From that time, the 
 practice of torturing, which had always been 
 unpopular, which had always been illegal, had 
 also been unusual. It is well known that in 
 1628, only fourteen years after the time when 
 Bacon went to the Tower to listen to the yells 
 of Peacham, the judges decided that Felton, a 
 criminal who neither deserved nor was likely 
 to obtain any extraordinary indulgence, could 
 not lawfully be put to the question. We there- 
 fore say that Bacon stands in a verv different 
 situation from that in which Mr. Montagu tries 
 to place him. Bacon was here distinctly behind 
 Lis age. He was one of the last of the tools of 
 power who persisted in a practice the most 
 barbarous and the most absurd that has ever 
 disgraced jurisprudence, in a practice of which 
 in the preceding generation, Elizabeth and her 
 ministers had been ashamed, in a practice 
 which, a few years later, no sycophant in all the 
 Inns of Court had the heart or the forehead 
 to defend. # 
 
 * Since this review was written, Mr. Jardine have 
 published a very learned and ingenious Reading on the 
 
LORD BA CUN. 
 
 59 
 
 Bacon far behind his age ! Bacon far be- 
 hind Sir Edward Coke ! Bacon clinging to ex- 
 ploded abuses ! Bacon withstanding the pro- 
 gress of improvement ! Bacon struggling to 
 push back the human mind ! The words seem 
 strange. They sound like a contradiction in 
 terms. Yet the fact is even so : and the ex- 
 planation may be readily found by any person 
 who is not blinded by prejudice. Mr. Montagu 
 cannot believe that so extraordinary a man as 
 Bacon could be guilty of a bad action ; as If 
 history were not made up of the bad actions 
 of extraordinary men, as if all the most noted 
 destroyers and deceivers of our species, all the 
 founders of arbitrary governments and false 
 religions, had not' been extraordinary men, as 
 if nine tenths of the calamities which have be- 
 fallen the human race had any other origin than 
 the union of high intelligence with low desires. 
 Bacon knew this well. He has told us that 
 there are persons “ scientia ranquam angeli 
 alati, cupiditatibus vero tanquam serpentes qui 
 humi reptant ; ” * and it did not require his 
 admirable sagacity and his extensive converse 
 with mankind to make the discovery. Indeed, 
 he had only to look within. The difference 
 between the soaring angel and the creeping 
 snake was but a type of the difference between 
 Bacon the philosopher and Bacon the Attornev- 
 General, Bacon seeking for truth, and Bacon 
 seeking for the Seals. Those who survey only 
 
 use of torture in England. It has not however, been 
 thought necessary to make any change in the observa- 
 tions on Peacham’s case. 
 
 It is impossible to discuss within the limits of a note, 
 the extensive question raised by Mr. Jardine. It is 
 sufficient here to say that every argument by which he 
 attempts to show that the use of the rack was anciently 
 a lawful exertion of royal perogative may be urged with 
 equal force, nay with far greater force, to prove the 
 lawfulness of benevolences, of ship-monev, of Mompes- 
 son’s patent of Eliot’s imprisonment, of every abuse, 
 without exception, which is condemned by the petition 
 of Right and the Declaration of Right. 
 
 * De Augmeutis , Lib. v. Cap. I. 
 
6o 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 one half of his character may speak of him 
 with unmixed admiration, or with unmixed con- 
 tempt. But those only judge of him correctly 
 who take in at one view Bacon in speculation 
 and Bacon in action. They will have no 
 difficulty in comprehending how one and 
 the same man should have been far be- 
 fore his age and far behind it, in one line the 
 boldest and most useful of innovators, in an- 
 other line the most obstinate champion of the 
 foulest abuses. In his library, all his rare 
 powers were under the guidance of an honest 
 ambition, of an enlarged philanthropy, of a 
 sincere love of truth. There, no temptation 
 drew him away from the right course. Thomas 
 Aquinas could pay no fees, Duns Scotus could 
 confer no peerages. The Master of the Sen- 
 tences had no rich reversions in his gift. Far 
 different was the situation of the great philoso- 
 pher when he came forth from his study and 
 his laboratory to mingle with the crowd which 
 filled the galleries of Whitehall. In all that 
 crowd there was no man equally qualified to 
 render great and lasting services to mankind. 
 But in all that crowd there was not a heart 
 more set on things which no man ought to 
 suffer to be necessary to his happiness, on 
 things which can often be obtained only by the 
 sacrifice of integrity and honor. To be the 
 leader of the human race in the career of im- 
 provement, to found on the ruins of ancient in- 
 tellectual dynasties a more prosperous and a 
 more enduring empire, to be revered by the 
 latest generations as the most illustrious among 
 the benefactors of mankind, all this was within 
 his reach. But all this availed him nothing 
 while some quibbling special pleader was pro- 
 moted before him to the bench, while some 
 heavy country gentleman took precedence of 
 him by virtue of a purchased coronet, while 
 some pandar, happy in a fair wife, could ob- 
 tain a more cordial salute from Buckingham, 
 while some buffoon, versed in all the latest 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 61 
 
 scandal of the court, could draw a louder laugh 
 from James. 
 
 During a long course of years, Bacon’s un- 
 worthy ambition was crowned with success. 
 His sagacity early enabled him to perceive who 
 was likely to become the most powerful man 
 in the kingdom. He probably knew the King's 
 mind before it was known to the King himself, 
 and attached himself to Villiers, while the less 
 discerning crowd of courtiers still continued to 
 fawn on Somerset. The influence of the 
 younger favorite became greater daily. The 
 contest between the rivals might, however, 
 have lasted long, but for that frightful crime 
 which, in spite of all that could be effected by 
 the research and ingenuity of historians, is still 
 covered with so mysterious an obscurity. The 
 descent of Somerset had been a gradual and 
 almost imperceptible lapse. It now became a 
 headlong fall ; and Villiers, left without a com- 
 petitor, rapidly rose to a height of power such 
 as no subject since Wolsev had attained. 
 
 There were many points of resemblance be- 
 tween the two celebrated courtiers who, at dif- 
 ferent times, extended their patronage to 
 Bacon. It is difficult to say whether Essex or 
 Villiers was more eminently distinguished by 
 those graces of person and manner which have 
 always been rated in courts at much more than 
 their real value. Both were constitutionally 
 brave ; and both, like most men who are con- 
 stitutionally brave, were open and unreserved. 
 Both were rash and headstrong. Both were 
 destitute of the abilities and of the information 
 which are necessary to statesmen. Yet both, 
 trusting to the accomplishment which had 
 made them conspicuous in tilt-yards and ball- 
 rooms, aspired to rule the state. Both owed 
 their elevation to the personal attachment of 
 the sovereign ; and in both cases this attach- 
 ment was of so eccentric a kind, that it per- 
 plexed observers, that it still continues to perplex 
 historians, and that it gave rise to much scandal 
 
62 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 which we are inclined to think unfounded. 
 Each of them treated the sovereign whose 
 favor lie enjoyed with a rudeness which ap- 
 proached to insolence. This petulance ruined 
 Essex, who had to deal with a spirit naturally 
 as proud as his own, and accustomed, during 
 near half a century, to the most respectful ob- 
 servance. Tut there was a wide difference be- 
 tween the haughty daughter of Henry and her 
 successor. James was timid from the cradle. 
 His nerves, naturally weak, had not been forti- 
 fied by reflection or by habit. His life, till he 
 came to England, had been a series of mortifi- 
 cations and humiliations. With all his high 
 notions of the origin and extent of his preroga- 
 tives, he was never his own master for a day. 
 In spite of his kingly title, in spite of his despo- 
 tic theories, he was to the last a slave at heart. 
 Villiers treated him like one ; and this course, 
 though adopted, we believe, merely from tem- 
 per, succeeded as well as if it had been a sys- 
 tem of policy formed after mature deliberaiion. 
 
 In generosity, in sensibility, in capacity for 
 friendship, Essex far surpassed Buckingham. 
 Indeed, Buckingham can scarcely be said to 
 have had any friend, with the exception of 
 the two princes over whom successively he 
 exercised so wonderful an influence. Essex 
 was to the last adored by the people. Bucking- 
 ham was always a most unpopular man, except 
 perhaps for a very short time after his return 
 from the childish visit to Spain. Essex fell a 
 victim to the rigor of the government amidst 
 the lamentations of the people. Buckingham, 
 execrated by the people, and solemnly declared 
 a public enemy bv the representative of the 
 people, fell by the hand of one of the people, 
 and was lamented by none but his master. 
 
 The way in which the two favorites acted to- 
 wards Bacon was highly characteristic, and may 
 serve to illustrate the old and true saying, that 
 a man is generally more inclined to feel kindly 
 towards one on whom he has conferred favors. 
 
LORD BA COAT. 
 
 63 
 
 than towards one from whom he has received 
 them. Essex loaded Bacon with benefits, and 
 never thought that he had done enough. It 
 seems never to have crossed the mind of the 
 powerful and wealthy noble that the poor barris- 
 terwhom he treated with such munificent kind 
 ness was not his equal. It was, we have no doubt, 
 with perfect sincerity that the Earl declared 
 that he would willingly give his sister or 
 daughter in marriage to iris friend. He was in 
 general more than sufficiently sensible of his 
 own merits ; but he did not seem to know that 
 he had ever deserved well of Bacon. On that 
 cruel day when they saw each other for the last 
 time at the bar of the Lords, Essex taxed his 
 perfidious friend with unkindness and in- 
 sincerity, but never with ingratitude. Even in 
 such a moment, more bitter than the bitterness 
 of death, that noble heart was too great to vent 
 itself in such a reproach. 
 
 Villiers, on the other hand, owed much to 
 Bacon. When their acquaintance began, Sir 
 Francis was a man of mature age, of high sta- 
 tion, and of established fame as a politician, an 
 advocate, and a writer. Villiers was little more 
 than a boy, a younger son of a house then of 
 no great note. He was but just entering on 
 the career of court favor; and none but the 
 most discerning observers could as yet per- 
 ceive that he was likely to distance all his com- 
 petitors. The countenance and advice of a 
 man so highly distinguished as the Attornev- 
 General must have been an object of the high- 
 est importance to the young adventurer. But 
 though Villiers was the obliged party, he was 
 far less warmly attached to Bacon, and far less 
 delicate in his conduct towards Bacon, than 
 Essex had been. 
 
 To do the new favorite justice, he early 
 exerted his influence in behalf of his illustrious 
 friend. In 1616, Sir Francis was sworn of the 
 Privy Council, and in March, 16x7, on the re- 
 
64 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESS A VS. 
 
 tirement of Lord Brackley, was appointed 
 Keeper of the Great Seal. 
 
 On the seventh of May, the first day of term, 
 he rode in state to Westminster Hall, with the 
 Lord Treasurer on his right hand, the Lord 
 Privy Seal on his left, a long procession of 
 students and ushers before him, and a ciowd 
 of peers, privy-councillors, and judges follow- 
 ing in his train. Having entered his court, he 
 addressed the splendid auditory in a grave and 
 dignified speech, which proves how well he 
 understood those judicial duties which he after- 
 wards performed so ill. Even at that moment, 
 the proudest moment of his life in the estima- 
 tion of the vulgar, and it may be, even in his 
 own, he cast back a look of lingering affection 
 towards those noble pursuits from which, as it 
 seemed, he was about to be estranged. “ The 
 depth of the three long vacations,” said he, 
 “ 1 would reserve in some measure free from 
 business of estate, and for studies, arts, and 
 sciences, to which of my own nature I am most 
 inclined.” 
 
 The years during which Bacon held the 
 Great Seal were among the darkest and most 
 shameful in English history. Everything at 
 home and abroad was mismanaged. First 
 came the execution of Raleigh, an act which, 
 if done in a proper manner, might have been 
 defensible, but which, under all the circum- 
 stances, must be considered as a dastardly 
 murder. Worse was behind, the war of Bo- 
 hemia, the successes of Tilly and Spinola, the 
 Palatinate conquered, the King’s son-in-law an 
 exile, the house of Austria dominant on the 
 Continent, the Protestant religion and the 
 liberties of the Germanic body trodden under 
 foot. Meanwhile, the wavering and cowardly 
 policy of England furnished matter of ridicule 
 to all the nations of Europe. The love of 
 peace which James professed would, even when 
 indulged to an impolitic excess, have been 
 respectable, if it had proceeded from tender 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 6 5 
 
 ness for his people. But the truth is that, 
 while he had nothing to spare for the defence 
 of the natural allies of England, he resorted 
 without scruple to the most illegal and oppres- 
 sive devices, for the purpose of enabling Buck- 
 ingham and Buckingham’s relations to outshine 
 the ancient aristocracy of the realm. Benevo- 
 lences were exacted. Patents of monopoly 
 were multiplied. All the resources which 
 could have been employed to replenish a beg- 
 gared Exchequer, at the close of a ruinous 
 war, were put in motion during this season of 
 ignominious peace. 
 
 The vices of the administration must be 
 chiefly ascribed to the weakness of the King 
 and to the levity and violence of the favorite. 
 But it is impossible to acquit the Lord Keeper 
 of all share in the guilt. For those odious 
 patents, in particular, which passed the Great 
 Seal while it was in his charge, he must be 
 held answerable. In the speech which he 
 made on first taking his seat in his court, he 
 had pledged himself to discharge this impor- 
 tant part of his functions with the greatest 
 caution and impartiality. He had declared 
 that he “would walk in the light,” “that men 
 should see that no particular turn or end led 
 him, but a general rule.” Mr. Montagu would 
 have us believe that Bacon acted up to these 
 professions, and says that “the power of the 
 favorite did not deter the Lord Keeper from 
 staying grants and patents when his public 
 duty demanded this interposition.” Does Mr. 
 Montagu consider patents of monopoly as 
 good things ? Or does he mean to say that 
 Bacon staid every patent of monopoly that came 
 before him ? Of all patents in our history, the 
 most disgraceful was that which was granted 
 to Sir Giles Mompesson, supposed to be the 
 original of Massinger’s Overreach, and to Sir 
 Francis Michell, from whom Justice Greedy is 
 supposed to have been drawn, for the exclusive 
 manufacturing of gold and silver lace. The 
 
66 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 effect of this monopoly was of course that the 
 metal employed in the manufacture was adul- 
 terated to the great loss of the public. But 
 this was a trifle. The patentees were armed 
 with powers ns great as have ever been given 
 to farmers of the revenue in the worst governed 
 countries. They were authorized to search 
 houses and to arrest interlopers; and these 
 formidable powers were used for purposes viler 
 than even those for which they were given, for 
 the wreaking of old grudges, and for the cor- 
 rupting of female chastity. Was not this a 
 case in which public duty demanded the inter- 
 position of the Lord Keeper ? And did the 
 Lord Keeper interpose? He did. He wrote 
 to inform the King, that he “ had considered 
 of the fitness and conveniency of the gold and 
 silver thread business,” “ that it was convenient 
 that it should be settled,” that he “did con- 
 ceive apparent liklihood that it would redound 
 much to his Majesty’s profit,” that, therefore, 
 “ it were good it were settled with all conve- 
 nient speed.” The meaning of all this was, 
 that certain of the house of Villiers were to go 
 shares with Overreach and Greedy in the 
 plunder of the public. This was the way in 
 which, when the favorite pressed for patents, 
 lucrative to his relations and to his creatures, 
 ruinous and vexatious to the body of the peo- 
 ple, the chief guardian of the laws interposed. 
 Having assisted the patentees to obtain this 
 monopoly, Bacon assisted them also in the steps 
 which they took for the purpose of guarding it. 
 He committed several people to close confine- 
 ment for disobeying his tyrannical edict. It is 
 needless to say more. Our readers are now 
 able to judge whether, in the matterof patents, 
 Bacon acted conformably to his professions, or 
 deserved the praise which his biographer has 
 bestowed on him. 
 
 In his judicial capacity his conduct was not 
 less reprehensible. He suffered Buckingham 
 to dictate many of his decisions. Bacon knew 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 6j 
 
 as well as any man that a judge who listens to 
 private solicitations is a disgrace to his post. 
 He had himself, before he was raised to the 
 woolsack, represented this strongly to Villiers, 
 then just entering on his career. “ By no 
 means,” said Sir Francis, in a letter of advice 
 addressed to the young courtier, “by no means 
 be you persuaded to interpose yourself, either 
 by word or letter, in any cause depending in 
 any court of justice, nor suffer any great man 
 to do it where you can hinder it. If it should 
 prevail, it preverts justice; but if the judge be 
 so just and of such courage as he ought to be, 
 as not to be inclined thereby, yet it always 
 leaves a taint of suspicion behind it.” Yet he 
 had not been Lord Keeper a month when 
 Buckingham began to interfere in Chancery 
 suits ; and Buckingham’s interference was, as 
 might have been expected, successful. 
 
 Mr. Montagu’s reflections on the excellent 
 passage which we have quoted above are ex- 
 ceedingly amusing. “ No man,” says he, 
 “ more deeply felt the evils which then existed 
 of the interference of the Crown and of states- 
 men to influence judges. How beautifully did 
 he admonish Buckingham, regardless as he 
 proved of all admonition ! ” We should be 
 glad to know how it can be expected that 
 admonition will be regarded by him who re- 
 ceives it, when it is altogether neglected by 
 him who gives it. We do not defend Buck- 
 ingham : but what was his guilt to Bacon’s ? 
 Buckingham was young, ignorant, thought- 
 less, dizzy with the rapidity of his ascent 
 and the height of his position. That he 
 should be eager to serve his relations, his 
 flatterers, his mistresses, that he should not 
 fully apprehend the immense importance of 
 a pure administration of justice, that he 
 should think more about those who were bound 
 to him bv private ties than about the public in- 
 terest, all this was perfectly natural, and not 
 altogether unpardonable. Those who intrust a 
 
68 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 petulant, hot-blooded, ill-informed lad with 
 power, are more to blame than he for the mis- 
 chief which he may do it. How could it be ex- 
 pected of a lively page, raised by a wild freak 
 of fortune to the first influence in the empire, 
 that he should have bestowed any serious 
 thought on the principles which ought to guide 
 judicial decisions ? Bacon was the ablest 
 public man then living in Europe. He was 
 near sixty years old. He had thought much, 
 and to good purpose, on the general principles 
 of law. He had for many years borne a part 
 daily in the administration of justice. It was 
 impossible that a man with a tithe of his sagac- 
 ity and experience should not have known that 
 a judge who suffers friends or patrons to dictate 
 his decrees violates the plainest rules of duty. 
 In fact, as we have seen, he knew this well : 
 he expressed it admirably. Neither on this 
 occasion nor on any other could his bad actions 
 be attributed to any defect of the head. They 
 sprang from quite a different cause. 
 
 A man who stooped to render such services 
 to others was not likely to be scrupulous as to 
 the means by which he enriched himself. He 
 and his dependants accepted large presents 
 from persons who were engaged in Chancery 
 suits. The amount of the plunder which he 
 collected in this way it is impossible to esti- 
 mate. There can be no doubt that he received 
 very much more than was proved on his trial, 
 though it may be, less than was suspected by 
 the public. His enemies stated his illicit gains 
 at a hundred thousand pounds. But this was 
 probably an exaggeration. 
 
 It was long before the day of reckoning ar- 
 rived. During the interval between the second 
 and third Parliaments of James, the nation 
 was absolutely governed by the Crown. The 
 prospects of the Lord Keeper were bright and 
 serene. His great place rendered the splendor 
 of his talents even more conspicuous, and gave 
 an additional charm to the serenity of his tern- 
 
LORD BA COR'. 
 
 69 
 
 per, the courtesy of his manners, and the elo- 
 quence of his conversation. The pillaged 
 suitor might mutter. The austere Puritan 
 patriot might, in his retreat, grieve that one on 
 whom God had bestowed without measure all 
 the abilities which qualify men to take the lead 
 in great reforms should be found among the 
 adherents of the worst abuses. But the mur- 
 murs of the suitor and the lamentations of the 
 patriot had scarcely any avenue to the ears of 
 the powerful. The King, and the minister who 
 was the King’s master, smiled on their illustri- 
 ous flatterer. The whole crowd of courtiers 
 and nobles sought his favor with emulous 
 eagerness. Men of wit and learning hailed 
 with delight the elevation of one who had so 
 signally shown that a man of profound learning 
 and of brilliant wit might understand, far bet- 
 ter than any plodding dunce, the art of thriv- 
 ing in the world. 
 
 Once, and but once, this course of prosperity 
 was for a moment interrupted. It should seem 
 that even Bacon’s brain was not strong enough 
 to bear without some discomposure the inebriat- 
 ing effect of so much good fortune. For some 
 time after his elevation he showed himself a 
 little wanting in that wariness and self-com- 
 mand to which, more than even to his tran- 
 scendant talents, his elevation was to be ascrib- 
 ed. He was by no means a good hater. The 
 temperature of his revenge, like that of his grati- 
 tude, was scarcely ever more than lukewarm. 
 But there was one person whom he had long 
 regarded with an animosity which, though 
 studiously suppressed, was perhaps the stronger 
 for the suppression. The insults and injuries 
 which, when a young man struggling into note 
 and professional practice, he had received from 
 Sir Edward Coke, were such as might move the 
 most placable nature to resentment. About 
 the time at which Bacon received the Seals, 
 Coke had, on account of his contumacious re- 
 sistance to the royal pleasure, been deprived of 
 
7 ° 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 his seat in the Court of King’s Bench, and had 
 ever since languished in retirement. But Coke’s 
 opposition to the Court, we fear, was the effect 
 not of good principles, but of a bad temper. 
 Perverse and testy as he was, he wanted true 
 fortitude and dignity of character. His obsti- 
 nacy, unsupported by virtuous motives, was not 
 proof against disgrace. He solicited a recon- 
 ciliation with the favorite, and his solicitations 
 were successful. Sir John Villiers, the brother 
 of Buckingham, was looking out for a rich wife. 
 Coke had a large fortune and an unmarried 
 daughter. A bargain was struck. But Lady 
 Coke, the Lady whom twenty years before 
 Essex had wooed on behalf of Bacon, would 
 not hear of the match. A violent and scandal- 
 ous family quarrel followed. The mother car- 
 ried the girl away by stealth. The father pur- 
 sued them and regained possession of his 
 daughter by force. The King was then in 
 Scotland, and Buckingham had attended him 
 thither. Bacon was, during their absence, at 
 the head of affairs in England. He felt to- 
 wards Coke as much malevolence as it was in 
 his nature to feel towards anybody. His wis- 
 dom had been laid to sleep by prosperity. In 
 an evil hour lie determined to interfere in the 
 disputes which agitated his enemy’s household. 
 He declared for the wife, countenanced the 
 Attorney-General in filing an information in 
 the Star Chamber against the husband, and 
 wrote letters to the King and the favorite 
 against the proposed marriage. The strong 
 language which he used in those letters shows 
 that, sagacious as he was, he did not quite 
 know his place, and that he was not fully ac- 
 quainted with the extent either of Bucking- 
 ham’s power, or of the change which the pos- 
 session of that power had produced in Buck- 
 ingham’s character. He soon had a lesson 
 which he never forgot. The favorite received 
 the news of the Lord Keeper’s interference 
 with feelings of the most violent resentment, 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 71 
 
 and made the King even more angry than him- 
 self. Bacon’s eyes were at once opened to his 
 error, and to all its possible consequences. 
 He had been elated, if not intoxicated, by 
 greatness. The shock sobered him in an in- 
 stant. He was all himself again. He apolo- 
 gized submissively for his interference. He 
 directed the Attorney-General to stop the pro- 
 ceedings against Coke. He sent to tell Lady 
 Coke that he could do nothing for her. He 
 announced to both the families that he was 
 desirous to promote the connection. Having 
 given these proofs of contrition, he ventured 
 to present himself before Buckingham. But 
 the young upstart did not think that he had 
 yet sufficiently humbled an old man who had 
 been his friend and his benefactor, who was 
 the highest civil functionary in the realm, and 
 the most eminent man of letters in the world. 
 It is said that on two successive days Bacon 
 repaired to Buckingham’s house, that on two 
 successive days he was suffered to remain in 
 an antechamber among foot-boys, seated on an 
 old wooden box, with the Great Seal of Eng- 
 land at his side, and that when at length he 
 was admitted, he flung himself on the floor, 
 kissed the favorite’s feet, and vowed never to 
 rise again until he was forgiven. Sir Anthony 
 Weldon, on whose authority this storv rests, is 
 likely enough to have exaggerated the mean- 
 ness of Bacon and the insolence of Bucking- 
 ham. But it is difficult to imagine that so 
 circumstantial a narrative, written by a person 
 who avers that he was present on the occasion 
 can be wholly without foundation ; and, un- 
 happily there is little in the character either of 
 the favorite or of the Lord Keeper to make the 
 narrative improbable. It is certain that a rec- 
 onciliation took place on terms humiliating to 
 Bacon, who never more ventured to cross any 
 purpose of anybody who bore the name of 
 Yilliers. He put a strong curb on those angry 
 passions which had for the first time in his life 
 
7 2 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 mastered his prudence. He went through the 
 forms of a reconciliation with Coke, and did 
 his best, by seeking opportunities of paying 
 little civilities, and by avoiding all that could 
 produce collision, to tame the untamable feroc- 
 ity of his old enemy. 
 
 In the main, however, Bacon’s life, while he 
 held the Great Seal, was, in outward appear- 
 ance, most enviable. In London he lived with 
 great dignity at York House, the venerable 
 mansion of his father. Here it was that, in 
 January, 1620, he celebrated his entrance into 
 his sixtieth year amidst a splendid circle of 
 friends. He had then exchanged the appella- 
 tian of Keeper for the higher title of Chancel- 
 lor. Ben Jonson was one of the party, and 
 wrote on the occasion some of the happiest of 
 his rugged rhymes. All things, he tells us, 
 seemed to smile about the old house, “ the fire 
 the wine, the men.” The spectacle of the ac- 
 complished host, after a life marked by no 
 great disaster, entering on a green old age, 
 in the enjoyment of riches, power, high honors 
 undiminished mental activity, and vast literary 
 reputation, made a strong impression on the 
 poet, if we may judge from those well-known 
 lines : 
 
 “ England’s high Chancellor, the destined heir, 
 
 In liis soft cradle to his father’s chair.” 
 
 Whose even thread the Fates spin round and full 
 Out of their choicest and their whitest wool.” 
 
 In the intervals of rest which Bacon’s politi- 
 cal and judicial functions afforded, he was in 
 the habit of retiring to Gorhambury. At that 
 place his business was literature, and his favor- 
 ite amusement gardening, which in one of his 
 most interesting Essays he calls “ the purest 
 of human pleasures.” In his magnificent 
 grounds he erected, at a cost of ten thousand 
 pounds, a retreat to which he repaired when 
 he wished to avoid all visitors, and to devote 
 himself wholly to stndy, On such occasions, a 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 73 
 
 few young men of distinguished talents were 
 sometimes the companions of his retirement ; 
 and among them his quick eye soon discerned 
 the superior abilities of Thomas Hobbes. It 
 is not probable, however, that he fully appre- 
 ciated the powers of his disciple, or foresaw 
 the vast influence, both for good and for evil, 
 which that most vigorous and acute of human 
 intellects was destined to exercise on the two 
 succeeding generations. 
 
 In January, 1621, Bacon had reached the 
 zenith of his fortunes. He had just published 
 the Novum Organum ; and that extraordinary 
 book had drawn forth the warmest expressions 
 of admiration from the ablest men in Europe. 
 He had obtained honors of a widely different 
 kind, but perhaps not less valued by him. He 
 had been created Baron Verulam. He had 
 subsequently been raised to the higher dignity 
 of Viscount St. Albans. His patent was drawn 
 in the most flattering terms, and the Prince of 
 Wales signed it as a witness. The ceremony 
 of investiture w r as performed with great state 
 at Theobalds, and Buckingham condescended 
 to be one of the chief actors. Posterity has 
 felt that the greatest of English philosophers 
 could derive no accession of dignity from any 
 title which James could bestow, and, in defiance 
 of the royal letters patent, has obstinately re- 
 fused to degrade Francis Bacon into Viscount 
 St. Albans. 
 
 In a few weeks was signally brought to the 
 test the value of those objects for which Bacon 
 had sullied his integrity, had resigned his inde- 
 pendence, had violated the most sacred obli- 
 gations of friendship and gratitude, had flatter- 
 ed the worthless, had persecuted the innocent 
 had tampered with judges, had tortured prison- 
 ers, had plundered suitors, had wasted on paltry 
 intrigues all the powers of the most exquisitely 
 constructed intellect that has ever been be- 
 stowed on any of the children of men. A 
 sudden and terrible reverse was at hand. A 
 
74 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 parliament had been summoned. After six 
 years of silence the voice of the nation was 
 again to be heard. Only three days after the 
 pageant which was performed at Theobalds in 
 honor of Bacon, the Houses met. 
 
 Want of money had, as usual, induced the 
 King to convoke his Parliament. It may be 
 doubted, however, whether, if he or his minis- 
 ters had been at all aware of the state of public 
 feeling, they would not have tried any expedient 
 or borne with any inconvenience, rather than 
 have ventured to face the deputies of a justly 
 exasperated nation. But they did not discern 
 those times. Indeed almost all the political 
 blunders of James, and of his more unfortunate 
 son, arose from one great error. During the 
 fifty years which preceded the Long Parliament 
 a great and progressive change was taking 
 place in the public mind. The nature and ex- 
 tent of this change was not in the least under- 
 stood by either of the first two Kings of the 
 House of Stuart, or by any of their advisers. 
 That the nation became more and more dis- 
 contented every year, that every House of 
 Commons was more unmanageable than that 
 which had preceded it, were facts which it was 
 impossible not to perceive. But the Court 
 could not understand why these things were so. 
 The Court could not see that the English 
 people and the English Government, though 
 they might once have been well suited to each 
 other, were suited to each other no longer ; 
 that the nation had outgrown its old institu- 
 tions, was every day more uneasy under them, 
 was pressing against them, and would soon 
 burst through them. The alarming pheno- 
 mena, the existence of which no sycophant 
 could deny, were ascribed to every cause ex- 
 cept the true one. “ In my first Parliament,” 
 said James, “ I was a novice. In my next, 
 there was a kind of beasts called undertakers,” 
 and so forth. In the third Parliament he could 
 hardly be called a novice, and those beasts, 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 75 
 
 the undertakers, did not exist. Yet his third 
 Parliament gave him more trouble than either 
 the first or the second. 
 
 The Parliament had no sooner met than the 
 House of Commons proceeded, in a temperate 
 and respectful, but most determined manner, 
 to discuss the public grievances. Their first 
 attacks were directed against those odious 
 patents, under cover of which Buckingham and 
 his creatures had pillaged and oppressed the 
 nation. The vigor with which these proceed- 
 ings were conducted spread dismay through the 
 Court. Buckingham thought himself in danger, 
 and, in his alarm, had recourse to an adviser 
 who had lately acquired considerable influence 
 over him, Williams, Dean of Westminster. 
 This person had already been of great use to 
 the favorite in a very delicate matter. Buck- 
 ingham had set his heart on marrying Lady 
 Catherine Manners, daughter and heiress of 
 the Earl of Rutland. But the difficulties were 
 great. The Earl was haughty and impracti- 
 cable, and the young lady was a Catholic. 
 Williams soothed the pride of the father, and 
 found arguments which, for a time at least, 
 quieted the conscience of the daughter. For 
 these services he had been rewarded with con- 
 siderable preferment in the Church ; and he 
 was now rapidly rising to the same place in the 
 regard of Buckingham which had formerly been 
 occupied by Bacon. 
 
 Williams was one of those who are wiser for 
 others than for themselves. His own public 
 life was unfortunate, and was made unfortunate 
 by his strange want of judgment and self-com- 
 mand at several important conjunctures. But 
 the counsel which he gave on this occasion 
 showed no want of worldly wisdom. He ad- 
 vised the favorite to abandon all thoughts of 
 defending the monopolies, to find some foreign 
 embassy for his brother Sir Edward, who was 
 deeply implicated in the villanies of Mompes- 
 son, and to leave the other offenders to the 
 
7 6 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 justice of Parliament. Buckingham received 
 this advice with the warmest expressions of 
 gratitude, and declared that a load had been 
 lifted from his heart. He then repaired with 
 Williams to the royal presence. They found 
 the King engaged in earnest consultation with 
 Prince Charles. The plan of operations pro- 
 posed by the Dean was fully discussed, and 
 approved in all its parts. 
 
 The first victims whom the Court abandoned 
 to the vengeance of the Commons were Sir 
 Giles Mompesson and Sir Francis Michell. 
 It was some time before Bacon began to enter- 
 tain any apprehensions. His talents and his 
 address gave him great influence in the house 
 of which he had lately become a member, as 
 indeed they must have in any assembly. In 
 the House of Commons he had many personal 
 friends and many warm admirers. But at 
 length, about six weeks after the meeting of 
 Parliament, the storm burst. 
 
 A committee of the lower House had been 
 appointed to inquire into the state of the 
 Courts of Justice. On the fifteenth of March, 
 the chairman of that committee, Sir Robert 
 Philips, member for Bath, reported that great 
 abuses had been discovered. “ The person,” 
 said he, “ against whom these things are alleged 
 is no less than the Lord Chancellor, a man so 
 endued with all parts, both of nature and art, 
 as that I will say no more of him, being not 
 able to say enough.” Sir Robert then pro- 
 ceeded to state, in the most temperate manner, 
 the nature of the charges. A person of the 
 name of Aubrey had a case depending in 
 Chancery. He had been almost ruined by law- 
 expenses, and his patience had been almost 
 exhausted by the delays of the court. He re- 
 ceived a hint from some of the hangers-on of 
 the Chancellor that a present of one hundred 
 pounds would expedite matters. The poor 
 man had not the sum required. However; 
 having found out an usurer who accommodated 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 77 
 
 him with it at high interest, he carried it to 
 York House. The Chancellor took the money, 
 and his dependents assured the suitor that all 
 would go right. Aubrey was, however, disap- 
 pointed ; for, after considerable delay, “ a kill- 
 ing decree ” was pronounced against him. 
 Another suitor of the name of Egerton com- 
 plained that he had been induced by two of 
 the Chancellor’s jackals to make his Lordship 
 a present of four hundred pounds, and that, 
 nevertheless, he had not been able to obtain a 
 decree in his favor. The evidence to these 
 facts was overwhelming. Bacon’s friends could 
 only entreat the House to suspend its judg- 
 ment, and to send up the case to the Lords, in 
 a form less offensive than an impeachment. 
 
 On the nineteenth of March the King sent 
 a message to the Commons, expressing his 
 deep regret that so eminent a person as the 
 Chancellor should be suspected of misconduct. 
 His Majesty declared that he had no wish to 
 screen the guilty from justice, and proposed to 
 appoint a new kind of tribunal, consisting of 
 eighteen commissioners, who might be chosen 
 from among the members of the two Houses, 
 to investigate the matter. The Commons were 
 not disposed to depart from their regular course 
 of proceeding. On the same day they had a 
 conference with the Lords, and delivered in 
 the heads of the accusation against the Chan- 
 cellor. At this conference Bacon was not 
 present. Overwhelmed with shame and re- 
 morse, and abandoned by all those in whom he 
 had weakly put his trust, he had shut himself 
 up in his chamber from the eyes of men. The 
 dejection of his mind soon disordered his 
 body. Buckingham, who visited him by the 
 King’s order, “ found his Lordship very sick 
 and heavy.” It appears from a pathetic letter 
 which the unhappy man addressed to the Peers 
 on the day of the conference, that he neither 
 expected nor wished to survive his disgrace. 
 During several days he remained in his bed, 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 jrS 
 
 refusing to see any human being. He passion- 
 ately told his attendants to leave him, to for- 
 get him, never again to name his name, never 
 to remember that there had been such a man 
 in the world. In the mean time, fresh in- 
 stances of corruption were every day brought 
 to the knowledge of his accusers. The number 
 of charges rapidly increased from two to 
 twenty-three. The Lords entered on the in- 
 vestigation of the case with laudable alacrity. 
 Some witnesses were examined at the bar of 
 the House. A select committee was appointed 
 to take the depositions of others; and the in- 
 quiry was rapidly proceeding, when, on the 
 twenty-sixth day of March, the King adjourned 
 the Parliament for three weeks. 
 
 This measure revived Bacon’s hopes. He 
 make the most of his short respite. He at- 
 tempted to work on the feeble mind of the 
 King. He appealed to all the strongest feel- 
 ings of James, to his fears, to his vanity, to his 
 high notions of prerogative. Would the Solo- 
 mon of the age commit so gross an error as to 
 encourage the encroaching spirit of Parliament ? 
 Would God’s anointed, accountable to God 
 alone, pay homage to the clamorous multitude ? 
 “ Those,” exclaimed Bacon, “ who now strike 
 at the Chancellor will soon strike at the Crown. 
 I am the first sacrifice. I wish I may be the 
 last.” But all his eloquence and address were 
 employed in vain. Indeed, whatever Mr. Mon- 
 tagu may say, we are firmly convinced that it 
 was not in the King’s power to save Bacon, 
 without having recourse to measures which 
 would have convulsed the realm. The Crown 
 had not sufficient influence over the Par- 
 liament to procure an acquittal in so clear 
 a case of guilt. And to dissolve a Parliament 
 which is universally allowed to have been one 
 of the best Parliaments that ever sat, which had 
 acted liberally and respectfully towards the 
 Sovereign, and which enjoyed in the highest 
 degree the favor of the people, only in order to 
 
LORD £ A COAT. 
 
 79 
 
 Stop a grave, temperate, and constitutional in- 
 quiry into the personal integrity of the first 
 judge in the kingdom, would have been a 
 measure more scandalous and absurd than any 
 of those which were the ruin of the House of 
 Stuart. Such a measure, while it would have 
 been as fatal to the Chancellor’s honor as a 
 conviction, would have endangered the very 
 existence of the monarchy. The King, acting 
 by the advice of Williams, very properly re- 
 fused to engage in a dangerous struggle with 
 his people, for the purpose of saving from legal 
 condemnation a minister whom it was impossi- 
 ble to save from dishonor. He advised Bacon 
 to plead guilty, and promised to do all in his 
 power to mitigate the punishment. Mr. Mon- 
 tagu is exceedingly angry with James on this 
 account. But though we are, in general, very 
 little inclined to admire that Prince’s conduct, 
 we really think that his advice was, under all 
 the circumstances, the best advice that could 
 have been given. 
 
 On the seventeenth of April, the Houses 
 reassembled, a.nd the Lords resumed their in- 
 quiries into the abuses of the Court of Chan- 
 cery. On the twenty-second, Bacon addressed 
 the Peers a letter, which the Prince of Wales 
 to condescended to deliver. In this artful and 
 pathetic composition, the Chancellor acknow- 
 ledged his guilt in guarded and general terms, 
 land, while acknowledging, endeavored to 
 paliate it. This, however, was not thought 
 sufficient by his judges. They required a more 
 particular confession, and sent him a copy of 
 the charges. On the thirtieth, he delivered a 
 paper, in which he admitted, with a few and 
 unimportant reservations, the truth of the ac- 
 cusations brought against him, and threw him- 
 self entirely on the mercy of his peers. “ Upon 
 advised consideration of the charges,” said he, 
 “ descending into my own conscience, and 
 calling my memory to account so far as 
 I am able, I do plainly and ingenuously con- 
 
8o 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 fess that I am guilty of corruption, and do re- 
 nounce all defence.” 
 
 The Lords came to a resolution that the 
 Chancellor’s confession appeared to be full 
 and ingenuous, and sent a committee to inquire 
 of him whether it was really subscribed by 
 himself. The deputies, among whom was 
 Southampton, the common friend, many years 
 before, of Bacon and Essex, performed their 
 duty with great delicacy. Indeed the agonies 
 of such a mind and the degradation of such a 
 name might well have softened the most obdu- 
 rate natures. “ My Lords,” said Bacon, “it is my 
 act, my hand, my heart. I beseech you Lord- 
 ships to be merciful to a broken reed.” They 
 withdrew ; and he again retired to his chamber 
 in the deepest dejection. The next day, the 
 sergeant-at-arms and the usher of the House of 
 Lords came to conduct him to Westminster 
 Hall, where sentence was to be pronounced. 
 But they found him so unwell that he could 
 not leave his bed ; and this excuse for his 
 absence was readily accepted. In no quarter 
 does there appear to have beeij the smallest 
 desire to add to his humiliation. 
 
 The sentence was, however, severe, the more 
 severe, no doubt, because the Lords knew that 
 it would not be executed, and that they had an 
 excellent opportunity of exhibiting, at small 
 cost, the inflexibility of their justice, and their 
 abhorrence of corruption. Bacon was con- 
 demned to pay a fine of forty thousand pounds, 
 and to be imprisoned in the Tower during the 
 King’s pleasure. He was declared incapable of 
 holding any office in the State, or of sitting in 
 Parliament ; and he was banished for life from 
 the verge of the Court. In such misery and 
 shame ended that long career of worldly wis- 
 dom and worldly prosperity. 
 
 Even at this pass Mr. Montagu does not 
 desert his hero. He seems indeed to think 
 that the attachment of an editor ought to be 
 be as devoted as that of Mr. Moore’s lovers ; 
 
LORD BACON. 81 
 
 and cannot conceive what biography was made 
 for, 
 
 “ if tis not the same 
 
 Through joy and through torment, through glory 
 and shame.” 
 
 He assures us that Bacon was innocent, that 
 he had the means of making a perfectly satis- 
 factory defence, that when he “ plainly and 
 ingenuously confessed that he was guilty of 
 corruption,” and when he afterwards solemnly 
 affirmed that his confession was “ his act, his 
 hand, his heart,” he was telling a great lie, and 
 that he refrained from bringing forward proofs 
 of his innocence, because he durst not disobey 
 the King and the favorite, who, for his own 
 selfish objects, pressed him to plead guilty. 
 
 Now, in the first place, there is not the 
 smallest reason to believe that, if James and 
 Buckingham had thought that Bacon had 
 a good defence, they would have prevented 
 him from making it. What conceivable motive 
 had they for doing so ? Mr. Montagu perpetu- 
 ally repeats that it was their interest to sacri- 
 fice Bacon. But he overlooks an obvious 
 distinction. It was their interest to sacrifice 
 Bacon on the supposition of his guilt ; but 
 not on the supposition of his innocence. James 
 was very properly unwilling to run the risk of 
 protecting his Chancellor against the Parlia- 
 ment. But if the Chancellor had been able, 
 by force of argument, to obtain an acquittal 
 from the Parliament, we have no doubt that 
 both the King and Villiers would have heart- 
 ily rejoiced. They would have rejoiced, not 
 merely on account of their friendship for Bacon 
 which seems, however, to have been as sincere 
 as most friendships of that sort, but on selfish 
 grounds. Nothing could have strengthened 
 the government more than such a victory. The 
 King and the favorite abandoned the Chan- 
 cellor because they were unable to avert his 
 disgrace, and unwilling to share it. Mr. Mon- 
 tagu mistakes effect for cause. He thinks 
 
82 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA YS. 
 
 that Bacon did not prove his innocence, be- 
 cause he was not supported by the Court. The 
 truth evidently is that the Court did not ven- 
 ture to support Bacon, because he could not 
 prove his innocence. 
 
 Again, it seems strange that Mr. Montagu 
 should not perceive that, while attempting to 
 vindicate Bacon’s reputation, he is really cast- 
 ing on in the foulest of all aspersions. He 
 imputes to his idol a degree of meanness and 
 depravity more loathsome than judicial corrup- 
 tion itself. A corrupt judge may have many 
 good qualities. But a man who, to please a 
 powerful patron, solemnly declares himself 
 guilty of corruption when he knows himself to 
 be innocent, must be a master of servility and 
 impudence. Bacon was, to say nothing of his 
 highest claims to respect, a gentleman, a noble- 
 man, a scholar, a statesman, a man of the first 
 consideration in society, a man far advanced in 
 years. Is it possible to believe that such a 
 man would, to gratify any human being, irre- 
 parably ruin his own character by his own act ? 
 Imagine a gray-headed judge, full of years and 
 honors, owning with tears, with pathetic assur- 
 ance of his penitence and of his sincerity, that 
 he has been guilty of shameful malpractices, re- 
 peatedly asseverating the truth of his confes- 
 sion, subscribing it with his own hand, submit- 
 ting to conviction, receiving a humiliating sent- 
 ence and acknowledging its justice, and all 
 this when he has it in his power to show that 
 his conduct has been irreproachable ! The thing 
 is incredible. But if we admit it to be true, 
 what must we think of such a man, if indeed 
 he deserves the name of man, who thinks any 
 thing that kings and minions can bestow more 
 precious than honor, or anything that they can 
 inflict more terrible than infamy? 
 
 Of this most disgraceful imputation we fully 
 acquit Bacon. He had no defence ; and Mr. 
 Montagu’s affectionate attempt to make a 
 defence for him has altogether failed. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 83 
 
 The grounds on which Mr. Montagu rests 
 the case are two ; the first, that the taking of 
 presents was usual, and, what he seems to con- 
 sider as the same thing, not discreditable ; the 
 second, that these presents were not taken as 
 bribes. 
 
 Mr. Montagu brings forward many facts in 
 support of his first proposition, He is not 
 content with showing that many English judges 
 formerly received gifts from suitors, but collects 
 similar instances from foreign nations and 
 ancient times. He goes back to the common- 
 wealths of Greece, and attempts to press into 
 his service a line of Homer and a sentence of 
 Plutarch, which, we fear, will hardly serve his 
 turn. The gold of which Homer speaks was 
 not intended to fee the judges, but was paid 
 into court for the benefit of the successful 
 litigant ; and the gratuities which Pericles, as 
 Plutarch states, distributed among the members 
 of the Athenian tribunals, were legal wages 
 paid out of the public revenue. We can supply 
 Mr. Montagu with passages much more in point. 
 Hesiod, who like poor Aubrey, had a “ killing 
 decree - ’ made against him in the Chancery of 
 Ascra, forgot decorum so far that he ventured 
 to designate the learned persons who presided 
 in that court, as ySdcnAya? Sw/o^djovs. Plu- 
 tarch and Diodorous have handed down to 
 the latest ages the respectable name of Anvtus, 
 the son of Anthemion, the first defendant who, 
 eluding all the safeguards which the ingenuity 
 of Solon could devise, succeeded in corrupting 
 a bench of Athenian judges. We are indeed 
 so far from grudging Mr. Montagu the aid of 
 Greece, that we will give him Rome into the 
 bargain. We acknowledge that the honorable 
 senators who tried Verres received presents 
 which were worth more than the fee-simple of 
 York House and Gorhambury together, and that 
 the no less honorable senators and knights who 
 professed to believe in the alibi of Clodius 
 obtained marks still more extraordinary of the 
 
8 4 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 esteem and gratitude of the defendant. In 
 short, we are ready to admit that, before 
 Bacon’s time, and in Bacon’s time, judges 
 were in the habit of receiving gifts from 
 suitors. 
 
 But is this a defence ? We think not. The 
 robberies of Cacus and Barabbas are no apology 
 for those of Turpin. The conduct of the two 
 men of Belial who swore away the life of 
 Naboth has never been cited as an excuse for 
 the perjuries of Oates and Dangerfield. Mr. 
 Montagu has confounded two things which it 
 is necessary carefully to distinguish from each 
 other, if we wish to form a correct judgment of 
 the characters of men of other countries and 
 other times. That an immoral action is, in a 
 particular society, generally considered as in- 
 nocent, is a good plea for an individual who, 
 being one of that society, and having adopted 
 the notions which prevail among his neighbors, 
 commits that action. But the circumstance 
 that a great many people are in the habit of 
 committing immoral actions is no plea at all. 
 We should think it unjust to call St. Louis a 
 wicked man, because in an age in which tolera- 
 tion was generally regarded as a sin, he per- 
 secuted heretics. We should think it unjust 
 to call Cowper’s friend, John Newton, a 
 Hypocrite and monster, because at a time 
 when the slave-trade was commonly consider- 
 ed by the most respectable people as an 
 innocent and beneficial traffic, he went 
 la r gely provided with hymn-books and hand- 
 cuffs on a Guinea voyage. But the circumstance 
 that there are twenty thousand thieves in Lon- 
 don, is no excuse for a fellow who is caught 
 breaking into a shop. No man is to be blamed 
 for not making discoveries in morality, for not 
 finding out that something which everybody 
 else thinks to be good is really bad. But, if a 
 man does that which he and all around him 
 know to be bad, it is no excuse for him the 
 many others have done the same. We should 
 
LORD BACON 
 
 H 
 
 be ashamed of spending so much time in point- 
 ing out so clear a distinction, but that Mr. 
 Montagu seems altogether to overlook it. 
 
 Now to apply these principles to the case 
 before us : let Mr. Montagu prove that, in 
 Bacon’s age, the practices for which Bacon 
 was punished were generally considered as in- 
 nocent ; and we admit that he has made out 
 his point. But this we defy him to do. That 
 these practices were common we admit. But 
 they were common just as all wickedness to 
 which there is strong temptation always was 
 and always will be common. They were com- 
 mon just as theft, cheating, perjury, adultery 
 have always been common. They were com- 
 mon, not because people did not know what 
 was right, but because people liked to do what 
 was wrong. They were common, though pro- 
 hibited by law. They were common, though 
 condemned by public opinion. They were 
 common, because in that age law and public 
 opinion united had not sufficient force to 
 restrain the greediness of powerful and unprin- 
 cipled magistrates. They were common, as 
 every crime will be common when the gain to 
 which it leads is great, and the chance of pun- 
 ishment small. But, though common, they 
 were universally allowed to be altogether 
 unjustifiable ; they were in the highest degree 
 odious ; and, though many were guilty of them, 
 none had the audacity publicly to avow and 
 defend them. 
 
 We could give a thousand proofs that the 
 opinion then entertained concerning these 
 practices was such as we have described. But 
 we will content ourselves with calling a single 
 witness, honest Hugh Latimer. His sermons, 
 preached more than seventy years before the 
 inquiry into Bacon’s conduct, abound with the 
 sharpest invectives against those very practices 
 of which Bacon was guilty, and which, as Mr. 
 Montagu seems to think, nobody ever con- 
 sidered as blamable till Bacon was punished 
 
86 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 for them. We could easily fill twenty pages 
 with the homely, but just and forcible rhetoric 
 of the brave old bishop. We shall select a few 
 passages as fair specimens, and no more than 
 fair specimens of the rest. “ Omnes diligimt 
 munera. They all love bribes. Bribery is a 
 princely kind of thieving. They will be waged 
 by the rich, either to give sentence against the 
 poor, or to put off the poor man’s cause. This 
 is the noble theft of princes and magistrates. 
 They are bribe-takers. Nowadays they call 
 them gentle rewards. Let them leave their 
 coloring, and call them by their Christian 
 name — bribes.” And again : “ Cambyses was 
 a great emperor, such another as our master 
 is. He had many lord deputies, lord presi- 
 dents, and lieutenants under him. It is a 
 great while ago since I read the history. It 
 chanced he had under him in one of his do- 
 minions a briber, a gift-taker, a gratifier of 
 rich men ; he followed gifts as fast as he that 
 followed the pudding, a handmaker in his office 
 to make his son a great man, as the old saying 
 is : Happy is the child whose father goeth to 
 the devil. The cry of the poor widow came to 
 the emperor’s ear, and caused him to ffay the 
 judge quick, and laid his skin in the chair of 
 judgment, that all judges that should give 
 judgment afterwards should sit in the same 
 skin. Surely it was a goodly sign, a goodly 
 monument, the sign of the judge’s skin. I pray 
 God we may once see the skin in England.” 
 “ I am sure,” says he in another sermon, “this 
 is scala infenii, the right way to hell, to be 
 covetous, to take bribes, and pervert justice. 
 If a judge should ask me the way to hell, I 
 would show him this way. First, let him be a 
 covetous man ; let his heart be poisoned with 
 covetousness. Then let him go a little further 
 and take bribes ; and, lastly, pervert judg- 
 ment. Lo, here is the mother, and the daugh- 
 ter, and the daughter’s daughter. Avarice is 
 the mother ; she brings forth bribe-taking, and 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 87 
 
 bribe-taking perverting of judgment. There 
 lacks a fourth thing to make up the mess, which, 
 so help me God, if I were to judge, should be 
 hangum tuum, a Tyburn tippet to take with 
 him ; an it were the judge of the King’s 
 Bench, my Lord Chief Judge of England, yea, 
 an it were my Lord Chancellor himself, to Ty- 
 burn with him.” We will quote but one more 
 passage. “ He that took the silver basin and 
 ewer for a bribe, thinketh that it will never 
 come out. But he may now know that I know 
 it, and I know it not alone ; there be more be- 
 side me that know it. Oh, briber and bribery ! 
 He was never a good man that will so take 
 bribes. Nor can I believe that he that is a 
 briber will be a good justice. It will never be 
 merry in England till we have the skins of such. 
 For what needeth bribing where men do their 
 things uprightly ? ” 
 
 This was not the language of a great philoso- 
 pher who had made new discoveries in moral 
 and political science. It was the plain talk of 
 a plain man, who sprang from the body of the 
 people, who sympathized strongly with their 
 wants and their feelings, and who boldly 
 uttered their opinions. It was on account of 
 the fearless way in which stout-hearted old 
 Hugh exposed the misdeeds of men in ermine 
 tippets and gold collars, that the Londoners 
 cheered him, as he walked down the Strand to 
 preach at Whitehall, struggled for a touch of 
 his gown, and bawled, “ Have at them, Father 
 Latimer.” It is plain, from the passages 
 which we have quoted, and from fifty others 
 which we might quote, that, long before Bacon 
 was born, the accepting of presents by a judge 
 was known to be a wicked and shameful act, 
 that the fine words under which it was the 
 fashion to veil such corrupt practices were even 
 then seen through by the common people, that 
 the distinction on which Mr. Montagu insists 
 between compliments and bribes was even then 
 laughed at as a mere coloring. There may be 
 
88 
 
 P TOG RAP NIC' A L RSSA VS. 
 
 some oratorical exaggeration in what Latimer 
 says about the Tyburn tippet and the sign of 
 the judge’s skin ; but the fact that he ventured 
 to use such expressions is amply sufficient to 
 prove that the gift-taking judges, the receivers 
 of silver basins and ewers, were regarded as 
 such pests of the commonwealth that a vener- 
 able divine might, without any breach of 
 Christian charity, publicly pray to God for their 
 detection and their condign punishment. 
 
 Mr. Montagu tells us, most justly, that we 
 ought not to transfer the opinions of our age to 
 a former age. But he has himself committed 
 a greater error than that against which he has 
 cautioned his readers. Without any evidence, 
 nay, in the face of the strongest evidence, he 
 ascribes to the people of a former age a set of 
 opinions which no people ever held. But any 
 hypothesis is in his view more probable than 
 that Bacon should have been a dishonest man. 
 We firmly believe that, if papers were to be dis- 
 covered which should irresistibly prove that 
 Bacon was concerned in the poisoning of Sir 
 Thomas Overbury, Mr. Montagu would tell us 
 that, at the beginning of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury, it was not thought improper in a man to 
 put arsenic into the broth of his friends, and 
 that we ought to blame, not Bacon, but the age 
 in which he lived. 
 
 But why should we have recourse to any 
 other evidence, when the proceedings against 
 Lord Bacon is itself the best evidence on the 
 subject ? When Mr. Montagu tells us that we 
 ought not to transfer the opinions of our age 
 to Bacon’s age he appears altogether to forget 
 that it was by men of Bacon’s own age that 
 Bacon was prosecuted, tried, convicted, and 
 sentenced. Did not they know what their owm 
 opinions were ? Did not they know whether 
 they thought the taking of gifts by a judge a 
 crime or not? Mr. Montague complains 
 bitterly that Bacon was induced to abstain 
 from making a defence. But, if Bacon’s 
 
LORD dacoa: 
 
 89 
 
 defence resembled that which is made for him 
 in the volume before us, it would have been un- 
 necessary to trouble the Houses with it. The 
 Lords and Commons did not want Bacon to tell 
 them the thoughts of their own hearts, to inform 
 them that they did not consider such practices 
 as those in which they had detected him as at 
 all culpable. Mr. Montagu’s proposition may 
 indeed be fairly stated thus : — It was very hard 
 that Bacon’s contemporaries should think it 
 wrong in him to do what they did not think it 
 wrong in him to do. Hard indeed ; and withal 
 somewhat improbable. Will any person say 
 that the Commons who impeached Bacon for 
 taking presents, and the Lords who sentenced 
 him to fine, imprisonment, and degradation for 
 taking presents, did not know that the taking 
 of presents, was a crime ? Or, will any person 
 say that Bacon did not know what the whole 
 House of Commons and the whole House of 
 Lords knew? Nobody who is not prepared to 
 maintain one of these absurd propositions can 
 deny that Bacon committed what he knew to be 
 a crime. 
 
 It cannot be pretended that the Houses 
 were seeking occasion to ruin Bacon, and that 
 they therefore brought him to punishment on 
 charges which they themselves knew to be 
 frivolous. In no quarter was there the faintest 
 indication of a disposition to treat him harshly. 
 Through the whole proceeding there was no 
 symptom of personal animosity or of factious 
 violence in either House. Indeed, we will 
 venture to say that no State-Trial in our history 
 is more creditable to all who took part in it, 
 either as prosecutors or judges. The decency, 
 the gravity, the public spirit, the justice 
 moderated but not unnerved by compassion, 
 which appeared in every part of the transac- 
 tion, would do honor to the most respectable 
 public men in our own times. The accusers, 
 while they discharged their duty to their con- 
 stituents by bringing the misdeeds of the Chan- 
 
9 ° 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 cellor to light, spoke with admiration of his 
 many eminent qualities. The Lords, while 
 condemning him, complimented him on the 
 ingenuousness of his confession, and spared 
 him the humiliation of a public appearance at 
 their bar. So strong was the contagion of good 
 feeling that even Sir Edward Coke, for the first 
 time in his life, behaved like a gentleman. No 
 criminal ever had more temperate prosecutors 
 than Bacon. No criminal ever had more 
 favorable judges. If he was convicted, it was 
 because it was impossible to acquit him with- 
 out offering the grossest outrage to justice and 
 common sense. 
 
 Mr. Montagu’s other argument, namely, that 
 Bacon, though he took gifts, did not take bribes, 
 seems to us as futile as that which we have 
 considered. Indeed, we might be content to 
 leave it to be answered by the plainest man 
 among our readers. Demosthenes noticed it 
 with contempt more than two thousand years 
 ago. Latimer, we have seen, treated this soph- 
 istry with similar disdain. “ Leave color- 
 ing,” said he, “ and call these things by their 
 Christian name, bribes.” Mr. Montagu at- 
 tempts, somewhat unfairly, we must say, to 
 represent the presents which Bacon received as 
 similar to the perquisites which suitors paid to 
 the members of the Parliaments of France. 
 The French magistrate had a legal right to his 
 fee ; and the amount of the fee was regulated 
 by law. Whether this be a good mode of re- 
 munerating judges is not the question. But 
 what analogy is there between payments of this 
 sort and the presents which Bacon received, 
 presents which were not sanctioned by the law, 
 which were not made under the public eye, 
 and of which the amount was regulated only 
 by private bargain between the magistrate and 
 the suitor ? 
 
 Again, it is mere trifling to say that Bacon 
 could not have meant to act corruptly because 
 he employed the agency of men of rank, of 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 91 
 
 bishops, privy councillors, and members of 
 Parliament ; as if the whole history of that 
 generation was not full of the low actions of 
 high people ; as if it was not notorious that 
 men, as exalted in rank as any of the decoys 
 that Bacon employed, had pimped for Somerset 
 and poisoned Overbury. 
 
 But, says Mr. Montagu, these presents “ were 
 made openly and with the greatest publicity.” 
 This would indeed be a strong argument in 
 favor of Bacon. But we deny the fact. In 
 one, and one only, of the cases in which Bacon 
 was accused of corruptly receiving gifts, does 
 he appear to have received a gift publicly. 
 This was in a matter depending between the 
 Company of Apothecaries and the Company of 
 Grocers. Bacon, in his Confession, insisted 
 strongly on the circumstance that he had on 
 this occasion taken a present publicly, as a 
 proof that he had not taken it corruptly. Is it 
 not clear, that, if he had taken the presents 
 mentioned in the other charges in the same 
 public manner, he would have dwelt on this 
 point in his answer to those charges ? The 
 fact that he insists so strongly on the publicity 
 of one particular present is of itself sufficient 
 to prove that the other presents were not pub- 
 licly taken. Why he took this present publicly 
 and the rest secretly, is evident. He on that 
 occasion acted openly, because he was acting 
 honestly. He was not on that occasion sitting 
 judicially. He was called in to effect an 
 amicable arrangement between two parties. 
 Both were satisfied with his decision. Both 
 joined in making him a present in return for 
 his trouble. Whether it was quite delicate in 
 a man of his rank to accept a present under 
 such circumstances, may be questioned. But 
 there is no ground in this case for accusing him 
 of corruption. 
 
 Unhappily, the very circumstances which 
 prove him to have been innocent in this case 
 prove him to have been guilty on the other 
 
92 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 charges. Once, and once only, he alleges that 
 he received a present publicly. The natural 
 inference is that in all the other cases mention- 
 ed in the articles against him he received 
 presents secretly. When we examine the single 
 case in which he alleges that he received a 
 present publicly, we find that it is also the 
 single case in which there was no gross impro- 
 priety in his receiving a present. Is it then 
 possible to doubt that his reason for not receiv- 
 ing other presents in as public a manner was 
 that he knew that it was wrong to receive 
 them ? 
 
 One argument still remains, plausible in ap- 
 pearance, but admitting of easy and complete 
 refutation. The two chief complainants, Aubrey 
 and Egerton, had both made presents to the 
 Chancellor. But he had decided against them 
 both. Therefore, he had not received those 
 presents as bribes. “ The complaints of his 
 accusers were,” says Mr. Montagu, “ not that 
 the gratuities had, but that they had not in- 
 fluenced Bacon’s judgment, as he had decided 
 against them.” 
 
 The truth is, that it is precisely in this way 
 that an extensive system of corruption is gener- 
 ally detected. A person who, by a bribe, has 
 procured a decree in his favor, is by no means 
 likely to come forward of his own accord as 
 an accuser. He is content. He has his quid 
 pro quo. He is not impelled either by inter- 
 ested or by vindictive motives to bring the 
 transaction before the public. On the con- 
 trary, he has almost as strong motives for hold- 
 ing his tongue as the judge himself can have. 
 But when a judge practices corruption, as we 
 fear that Bacon practiced it, on a large scale, 
 and has many agents looking out in different 
 quarters for prey, it will sometimes happen 
 that he will be bribed on both sides, It will 
 sometimes happen that he will receive money 
 from suitors who are so obviously in the wrong 
 that he can not with decency do anything to 
 
LORD BA COM 
 
 93 
 
 serve them. Thus he will now and then be 
 forced to pronounce against a person from 
 whom he has received a present ; and he makes 
 that person a deadly enemy. The hundreds 
 who have got what they paid for remain quiet. 
 It is the two or three who have paid, and have 
 nothing to show for their money, who are 
 noisy. 
 
 The memorable case of the Goezmans is an 
 example of this. Beaumarchais had an import- 
 ant suit depending before the Parliament of 
 Paris. M. Goezman was the judge on whom 
 chiefly the decision depended. It was hinted 
 to Beaumarchais that Madame Goezman might 
 be propitiated by a present. He accordingly 
 offered a purse of gold to the lady, who re- 
 ceived it graciously. There can be no doubt 
 that, if the decision of the court had been 
 favorable to him, these things would never have 
 been known to the world. But he lost his cause. 
 Almost the whole sum which he had expended 
 in bribery was immediately refunded ; and 
 those who had disappointed him probably 
 thought that he would not, for the mere grati- 
 fication of his malevolence, make public a trans- 
 action which was discreditable to himself as 
 well as to them. They knew little of him. He 
 soon taught them to curse the day in which 
 they had dared to trifle with a man of so re- 
 vengeful and turbulent a spirit, of such daunt- 
 less effrontery, and of such eminent talents for 
 controversy and satire. He compelled the 
 Parliament to put a degrading stigma on M. 
 Goezman. He drove Madame Goezman to a 
 convent. Till it was too late to pause, his ex- 
 cited passions did not suffer him to remember 
 that he could effect their ruin only by disclos- 
 ures ruinous to himself. We could give other 
 instances. But it is needless. No person well 
 acquainted with human nature can fail to per- 
 ceive that, if the doctrine for which Mr. Mon- 
 tagu contends, were admitted, society would be 
 
94 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 deprived of almost the only chance which it has 
 of detecting the corrupt practices of judges. 
 
 We return to our narrative. The sentence 
 of Bacon had scarcely been pronounced when 
 it was mitigated. He was indeed sent to the 
 Tower. But this was merely a form. In two 
 days he was set at liberty, and soon after he 
 retired to Gorhambury. His fine was speedily 
 released by the Crown. He was next suffered 
 to present himself at Court ; and at length, in 
 1624, the rest of his punishment was remitted. 
 He was now at liberty to resume his seat in the 
 House of Lords, and he was actually summoned 
 to the next Parliament. But age, infirmity, and 
 perhaps shame, prevented him from attending. 
 The Government allowed him a pension of 
 twelve hundred pounds a year ; and his whole 
 annual income is estimated by Mr. Montagu at 
 two thousand five hundred pounds, a sum 
 which was probably above the average income 
 of a nobleman of that generation, and which 
 was certainly sufficient for comfort and even for 
 splendor. Unhappily, Bacon was fond of dis- 
 play, and unused to pay minute attention to 
 domestic affairs. He was not easily persuaded 
 to give up any part of the magnificence to 
 which he had been accustomed in the time of 
 his power and prosperity. No pressure of dis- 
 tress could induce him to part with the woods 
 of Gorhambury. “ I will not,” he said, “ be 
 stripped of my feathers.” He traveled with so 
 splendid an equipage and so large a retinue 
 that Prince Charles, who once fell in with him 
 on the road, exclaimed with surprise, “ Well ; 
 do what we can, this man scorns to go out in 
 snuff.” This carelessness and ostentation re- 
 duced Bacon to frequent distress. He was 
 under the necessity of parting with York 
 House, and of taking up his residence, during 
 his visits to London, at his old chambers in 
 Gray’s Inn. He had other vexations, the 
 exact nature of which is unknown. It is 
 evident from his will that some part of his 
 
LORD BA COM 
 
 95 
 
 wife’s conduct had greatly disturbed and irri- 
 tated him. 
 
 But, whatever might be his pecuniary diffi- 
 culties or his conjugal discomforts, the powers 
 of his intellect still remained undiminished. 
 Those noble studies for which he had found 
 leisure in the midst of professional drudgery 
 and of courtly intrigues gave to this last sad 
 stage of his life a dignity beyond what power 
 or titles could bestow. Impeached, convicted, 
 sentenced, driven with ignominy from the pres- 
 ence of his Sovereign, shut out from the delib- 
 erations of his fellow nobles, loaded with debt, 
 branded with dishonor, sinking under the 
 weight of years, sorrows, and diseases, Bacon 
 was Bacon still. “ My conceit of his person,” 
 says Ben Jonson very finely, “was never in- 
 creased towards him by his place of honors ; but 
 I have and do reverence him for the greatness 
 that was only proper to himself; in that he 
 seemed to me ever, by his work, one of the 
 greatest men and most worthy of admiration, 
 that had been in many ages. In his adversity 
 I ever prayed that God would give him 
 strength ; for greatness he could not want.” 
 
 The services which Bacon rendered to let- 
 ters during the last five years of his life, amidst 
 ten thousand distractions and vexations, in- 
 crease the regret with which we think on the 
 many years which he had wasted, to use the 
 words of Sir Thomas Bodley, “ on such study 
 as was not worthy of such a student.” He 
 commenced a Digest of the Laws of England, 
 a History of England under the Princes of the 
 House of Tudor, a body of Natural History. 
 Philosophical Romance. He made extensive 
 and valuable additions to his Essays. He pub- 
 lished the inestimable Treatise De Augmentis 
 Scientiarmn. The very trifles with which he 
 amused himself in hours of pain and languor 
 bore the mark of his mind. The best collec- 
 tions of jests in the world is that which he dic- 
 tated from memory without referring to any 
 
96 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 book, on a day on which illness had rendered 
 him incapable of serious study. 
 
 The great apostle of experimental philoso- 
 phy was destined to be its martyr. It had 
 occurred to him that snow might be used with 
 advantage for the purpose of preventing ani- 
 mal substances from putrefying. On a very 
 cold day early in the spring of the year 1626, 
 he alighted from his coach near Highgate, in 
 order to try the experiment. He went into a 
 cottage, bought a fowl, and with his own hands 
 stuffed it with snow. While thus engaged he 
 felt a sudden chill, and was soon so much in- 
 disposed that it was impossible for him to re- 
 turn to Gray’s Inn. The Earl of Arundel, 
 with whom he was well acquainted, had a 
 house at Highgate. To that house Bacon was 
 carried. The Earl was absent ; but the ser- 
 vants who were in charge of the place showed 
 great respect and attention to the illustrious 
 guest. Here, after an illness of about a week, 
 he expired early on the morning of Easter-day, 
 1626. His mind appears to have retained its 
 strength and liveliness to the end. He did 
 not forget the fowl which has caused his death. 
 In the last letter that he wrote, with fingers 
 which, as he said, could not steadily hold a 
 pen, he did not omit to mention that the ex- 
 periment of the snow had succeeded “ excel- 
 lently well.” 
 
 Our opinion of the moral character of this 
 great man has already been sufficiently ex- 
 plained. Had his life been passed in literary 
 retirement, he would, in all probability, have 
 deserved to be considered, not only as a great 
 philosopher, but as a worthy and good-natured 
 member of society. But neither his principles 
 nor his spirits were such as could be trusted, 
 when strong temptations were to be resisted, 
 and serious dangers to be braved. 
 
 In his will he expressed with singular brevity, 
 energy, dignity, and pathos, a mournful con- 
 sciousness that his actions had not been such 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 97 
 
 as to entitle him to the esteem of those under 
 whose observation his life had been passed, 
 and at the same time a proud confidence that 
 his writings had secured for him a high and 
 permanent place among the benefactors of 
 mankind. So at least we understand those 
 striking words which have been often quoted, 
 but which we must quote once more : “ For 
 my name and memory, I leave it to men’s char- 
 itable speeches, and to foreign nations, and to 
 the next age.” 
 
 His confidence was just. From the day of 
 his death his fame has been constantly and 
 steadily progressive ; and we have no doubt 
 that his name will be named with reverence to 
 the latest ages, and to the remotest ends of 
 the civilized world. 
 
 The chief peculiarity of Bacon’s philosophy 
 seems to us to have been this, that it aimed at 
 things altogether different from those which 
 his predecessors had proposed to themselves. 
 This was his own opinion. “ Finis scientiarum,” 
 says he, “ a nemine adhuc bene positus est.”* 
 And again, “ Omnium gravissimus error in 
 deviatione ab ultimo doctrinarum fine con- 
 sistit.” f “ Nec ipsa meta,” says he elsewhere, 
 “ adhuc ulli, quod sciam, mortalium posita est 
 et defixa.”+ The more carefully his works are 
 examined, the more clearly, we think, it will 
 appear that this is the real clue to the whole 
 system, and that he used means different from 
 those used by other philosophers, because he 
 wished to arrive at an end altogether different 
 from theirs. 
 
 What then was the end which Bacon proposed 
 to himself ? It was, to use his own emphatic ex- 
 pression, “ fruit.” It was the multiplying of 
 of human enjoyments and the mitigating of 
 human sufferings. It was “the relief of man’s 
 
 * Novum Organum. Lib. i Aph. 81. 
 
 t De A ug mentis, Lib. I. 
 
 | Cogitata et visa. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA VS. 
 
 98 
 
 estate.”* * * § It was “commodis humanis inser- 
 vire.” t It was “ efficaciter operari ad suble- 
 vanda vitae humanae incommoda.’ | It was 
 “ dotare vitam human amnovis inventis et 
 copiis.” § It was “genus humanum novis oper- 
 ibus et potestatibus continuo dotare.” || This 
 was the object of all his speculations in every 
 department of science, in natural philosophy, 
 in legislation, in politics in morals. 
 
 Two words form the key of the Baconian 
 doctrine, Utility and Progress. The ancient 
 philosophy disdained to be useful, and was 
 content to be stationary. It dealt largely in 
 theories of moral perfection, which were so 
 sublime that they never could be more than 
 theories ; in attempts to solve insoluble 
 enigmas ; in exhortations to the attainment of 
 unattainable frames of mind. It could not 
 condescend to the humble office of ministering 
 to the comfort of human beings. All the 
 schools contemned that office as degrading ; 
 some censured it as immoral. Once indeed 
 Posidonius, a distinguished writer of the age 
 of Cicero and Caesar, so far forgot himself as 
 to enumerate, among the humbler blessings 
 which mankind owed to philosophy, the dis- 
 covery of the principle of the arch, and the in- 
 troduction of the use of metals. This eulogy 
 was considered as an affront, and was taken 
 up with proper spirit. Seneca vehemently dis- 
 claims these insulting compliments.1T Philoso- 
 phy, according to him, has nothing to do with 
 teaching men to rear arched roofs over their 
 heads. The true philosopher does not care 
 whether he has an arched roof or any roof. 
 Philosophy has nothing to do with teaching 
 men the uses of metals. She teaches us to be 
 
 * Advancement of learning, Book I 
 
 t De Augmentis, Lib. 7 Cap. I. 
 
 J lb. I.ib. 2 Cap. 2. 
 
 § Novum Organum, Lib. 1 Aph. 81. 
 
 || ' Cogitata et visa. 
 
 11 Seneca, Efist. 90. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 99 
 
 independent of all material substances, of all 
 mechanical contrivances. The wise man lives 
 according to nature. Instead of attempting to 
 add to the physical comforts of his species, he 
 regrets that his lot was not cast in that golden 
 age when the human race had no protection 
 against the cold but the skins of wild beasts, 
 no screen from the sun but a cavern. To im- 
 pute to such a man any share in the invention 
 or improvement of a plough, a ship, or a mill, 
 is an insult. In my own time,” says Seneca, 
 “ there have been inventions of this sort, trans- 
 parent windows, tubes for diffusing warmth 
 equally through all parts of a building, short- 
 hand, which has been carried to such a perfec- 
 tion that a writer can keep pace with the most 
 rapid speaker. But the inventing of such 
 things is drudgery for the lowest slaves ; phil- 
 osophy lies deeper. It is not her office to 
 teach men how to use their hands. The ob- 
 ject of her lessons is to form the soul. Non 
 est, inquam. instrumentorum ad uses necessarios 
 opifex If the non were left out, this last sen- 
 tence would be no bad description of the Ba- 
 conian philosophy, and would, indeed, very 
 much resemble several expressions in the 
 Novum Organum. “ We shall next be told,” 
 exclaims Seneca, “ that the first shoemaker was 
 a philosopher.” For our own part, if we are 
 forced to make our choice between the first 
 shoemaker, and the author of the three books 
 On Anger, we pronounce for the shoemaker. 
 It may be worse to be angry than to be wet. 
 But shoes have kept millions from being wet ; 
 and we doubt whether Seneca ever kept any- 
 body from being angry. 
 
 It is very reluctantly that Seneca can be 
 brought to confess that any philosopher had 
 ever paid the smallest attention to anything 
 that could possibly promote what vulgar peo- 
 ple would consider as the well-being of man- 
 kind. He labors to clear Democritus from the 
 disgraceful imputation of having made the first 
 
IOO 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 arch, and Anacharsis from the charge of hav- 
 ing contrived the potter’s wheel. He is forced 
 to own that such a thing might happen ; and it 
 may also happen, he tells us, that a philosopher 
 may be swift of foot. But it is not in his char- 
 acter of philosopher that he either wins a race 
 or invents a machine. No, to be sure. The 
 business of a philosopher was to declaim in 
 praise of poverty, with two millions sterling out 
 at usury, to meditate epigrammatic conceits 
 about the evils of luxury, in gardens which 
 moved the envy of sovereigns, to rant about 
 liberty, while fawning on the insolent and pam- 
 pered freedom of a tyrant, to celebrate the 
 divine beauty of virtue with the same pen 
 which had just before written a defence of the 
 murder of a mother by a son. 
 
 From the cant of this philosophy, a philoso- 
 phy meanly proud of its own unprofitableness, 
 it is delightful to turn to the letters of the great 
 English teacher. We can almost forgive all 
 the faults of Bacon’s life when we read that 
 singularly graceful and dignified passage : 
 “ Ego certe, ut de me ipso, quod res est, 
 loquar, et in iis quae nunc edo, et in iis quae in 
 posterum meditor, dignitatum ingenii et nom- 
 inis mei, si qua sit, saepius sciens et volens 
 projicio, dum commodis humanis inserviam ; 
 quique architectus fortasse in philosophia et 
 et scientiis esse debeam, etiam operarius, et 
 bajulus, et quidvis demum fio, cum baud pauca 
 quae omnino fieri necesse sit, alii autem ob in- 
 natam superbiam subterfugiant, ipse sustineam 
 et exsequar.” * This philaiithropia, which, as 
 he said in one of the most remarkable of his 
 early letters, “ was so fixed in his mind, as it 
 could not be removed,” this majestic humility, 
 this persuasion that nothing can be too insig- 
 nificant for the attention of the wisest, 
 which is not to insignificant to give pleasure 
 or pain to the meanest, is the great charac- 
 
 * De Augmeiitis Lib. 7. Cap I. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 IOI 
 
 teristic distinction, the essential spirit of the 
 Baconian philosophy. We trace it in all that 
 Bacon has written on Physics, on Laws, on 
 Morals. And we conceive that from this 
 peculiarity all the other peculiarities of his 
 system directly and almost necessarily sprang. 
 
 The spirit which appears in the passage of 
 Seneca to which we have referred, tainted the 
 whole body of the ancient philosophy from the 
 time of Socrates downwards, and took posses- 
 sion of intellects with which that of Seneca can 
 not for a moment be compared. It pervades 
 the dialogues of Plato. It may be distinctly 
 traced in many parts of the works of Aristotle. 
 Bacon has dropped hints, from which it may be 
 inferred that, in his opinion, the prevalence of 
 this feeling was in a great measure to be at- 
 tributed to the influence of Socrates. Our 
 great countryman evidently did not consider 
 the revolution which Socrates effected in phil- 
 osophy as a happy event, and constantly main- 
 tained that the earlier Greek speculators, 
 Democritus in particular, were, on the whole, 
 superior to their more celebrated successors.* 
 
 Assuredly if the tree which Socrates planted 
 and Plato watered is to be judged of by its 
 flowers and leaves, it is the noblest of trees. 
 But if we take the homely test of Bacon, if we 
 judge of the tree by its fruits, our opinion of 
 it may perhaps be less favorable. When we 
 sum up all the useful truths which we owe to 
 that philosophy, to what do they amount ? We 
 find, indeed, abundant proofs that some of those 
 who cultivated it were men of the first order 
 of intellect. We find among their writings 
 incomparable specimens both of dialectical and 
 rhetorical art. We have no doubt that the an- 
 cient controversies were of use, in so far as they 
 served to exercise the faculties of the disputants; 
 for there is no controversy so idle that it may not 
 
 * Novum Organum , Lib. i. Apb. 71. 79. De Aug- 
 ments, Lib. 3, Cap. 4. De Principiis atque originibus 
 Qogitata et visa , Redargutio phflogoph aivunt. 
 
102 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 be of use in this way. But. when we look for 
 something more, for something which adds to 
 the comforts or alleviates the calamities of the 
 uhman race, we are forced to own ourselves dis- 
 appointed. We are forced to say with Bacon 
 that this celebrated philosophy ended in noth- 
 ing but disputation, that it was neither a vine- 
 yard nor an olive-ground, but an intricate wood 
 of briars and thistles, from which those who 
 lost themselves in it brought back many 
 scratches and no food.* 
 
 We readily acknowledge that some of the 
 teachers of this unfruitful wisdom were among 
 the greatest men that the world has ever seen. 
 If we admit the justice of Bacon’s censure, we 
 admit it with regret, similar to that which 
 Dante felt when he learned the fate of those 
 illustrious heathens who were doomed to the 
 first circle of Hell. 
 
 “ Gran duol mi prese al cuor quando lo ’ntesi, 
 Ferocche gente di molto valore 
 Conobbi che ’n quel limbo eran sospesi.” 
 
 But in truth the very admiration w'hich we 
 feel for the eminent philosophers of antiquity 
 forces us to adopt the opinion that their pow- 
 ers were systematically misdirected. For how 
 else could it be that such powers should effect 
 so little for mankind ? A pedestrian may 
 show as much muscular vigor on a treadmill 
 as on the highway road. But on the road his 
 vigor will assuredly carry him forward ; and 
 on the treadmill he will not advance an inch. 
 The ancient philosophy was a treadmill, not 
 a path. It was made up by revolving questions, 
 of controversies which w'ere always beginning 
 again. It was a contrivance for having much 
 exertion and no progress. We must acknowl- 
 edge that more than once, while contemplating 
 the doctrines of the Academy and the Portico, 
 even as they appear in the transparent splen- 
 
 * Novum Orgamtm, Lib. t, Aph, 73, 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 I0 3 
 
 dor of Cicero’s incomparable diction, we have 
 been tempted to mutter with the surly centu- 
 rion in Persius, “ Cur quis non prandeat hoc 
 est ? ” What is the highest good, wffiether pain 
 be an evil, whether all things be fated, whether 
 we can be certain of anything, whether w r e can 
 be certain that we are certain of nothing, 
 whether a wise man can be unhappy, whether 
 all departures from right be equally reprehen- 
 sible, these, and other questions of the same 
 sort, occupied the brains, the tongues, and the 
 pens of the ablest men in the civilized world 
 during several centuries. This sort of philoso- 
 phy, it is evident, could not be progressive. It 
 might indeed sharpen and invigorate the minds 
 of those who devoted themselves to it ; and so 
 might the disputes of the orthodox Lilliputians 
 and the heretical Blefuscudians about the big 
 ends and the little ends of eggs. But such 
 disputes could add nothing to the stock of 
 knoudedge. The human mind accordingly, in- 
 stead of marching, merely marked time. It 
 took as much trouble as w'ould have sufficed to 
 carry it forward, and yet remained oti the same 
 spot. There was no accumulation of truth, no 
 heritage of truth acquired by the labor of one 
 generation and bequeathed to another, to be 
 again transmitted with larger additions to a third. 
 Where this philosophy was in the time of Cicero, 
 there it continued to be in the time of Seneca, 
 and there it continued to be in the time of Favo- 
 ritrus. The same sects were still battling with 
 the same unsatisfactory arguments about the 
 same interminable questions. There had been 
 no want of ingenuity, of zeal, of industry. 
 Every trace of intellectual cultivation w'as there, 
 except a harvest. There had been plenty of 
 ploughing, harrowing, reaping, threshing. But 
 the garners contained only smut and stubble. 
 
 The ancient philosophers did not neglect 
 natural science ; but they did not cultivate it 
 for the purpose of increasing the power and 
 ameliorating the condition of man, The taint 
 
104 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS . 
 
 of barrenness had spread from ethical to physi- 
 cal speculations. Seneca wrote largely on 
 natural philosophy, and magnified the import- 
 ance of that study. But why ? Not because it 
 tended to assuage suffering, to multiply the 
 conveniences of life, to extend the empire of 
 man over the material world ; but solely be- 
 cause it tended to raise the mind above low 
 cares, to separate it from the body, to exercise 
 its subtilty in the solution of very obscure ques- 
 tions.* Thus natural philosophy was consid- 
 ered in the light merely of a mental exercise. 
 It was made subsidiary to the art of disputation ; 
 and it consequently proved altogether barren 
 of useful discoveries. 
 
 There was one sect which, however absurd 
 and pernicious some of its doctrines may have 
 been, ought, it should seem, to have merited an 
 exception from the general censure which Ba- 
 con has pronounced on the ancient schools of 
 wisdom. The Epicurean, who referred all 
 happiness to bodily pleasure, and all evil to 
 bodily pain, might have been expected to exert 
 himself for the purpose of bettering his own 
 physical condition and that of his neighbors. 
 But the thought seems never to have occurred 
 to any member of that school. Indeed their 
 notion, as reported by their great poet, was, 
 that no more improvements were to be ex- 
 pected in the arts which conduce to the com- 
 fort of life. 
 
 “Ad victum quae flagitat usus 
 Omnia jam ferme mortalibus esse parata.” 
 
 This contented despondency, this disposition 
 to admire what had been done, and to expect 
 that nothing more will be done, is strongly 
 characteristic of all the schools which pre- 
 ceded the school of Fruit and Progress. Wide- 
 ly as the Epicurean and the Stoic differed on 
 most points, they seemed to have quite agreed 
 
 * Seneca, Nat , Quasi, f rasf. I4b. 3 , 
 
LORD BA COAT. 
 
 *°5 
 
 in their contempt for pursuits so vulgar as to 
 be useful. The philosophy of both was a garru- 
 lous, declaiming, canting, wrangling philosophy. 
 Century after century they continued to repeat 
 their hostile war-cries, Virtue and Pleasure ; 
 and in the end it appeared that the Epicurean 
 had added as little to the quantity of pleasure 
 as the Stoic to the quantity of virtue. It is on 
 the pedestal of Bacon, not on that of Epicurus, 
 that those noble lines ought to be inscribed : 
 
 “ O tenebris tantis tam clarum extollere lumen 
 Qui primus potuisti, illustrans commoda vitae.’ 
 
 In the fifth century Christianity had con- 
 quered Paganism, and Paganism had infected 
 Christianity. The Church was now victorious 
 and corrupt. The rites of the Pantheon had 
 passed into her worship, the subtilties of the 
 Academy into her creed. In an evil day, 
 though with great pomp and solemnity, — we 
 quote the language of Bacon, — was the ill- 
 starred alliance stricken between the old phil- 
 osophy and the new faith.* Questions widely 
 different from those which had employed the 
 ingenuity of Pyrrho and Carneades, but just 
 as subtle, just as interminable, and just as un- 
 profitable, exercised the minds of the lively 
 and voluble Greeks. When learning began to 
 revive in the West, similar trifles occupied the 
 sharp and vigorous intellects of the Schoolmen. 
 There was another sowing of the wind, and 
 another reaping of the whirlwind. The great 
 work of improving the condition of the human 
 race was still considered as unworthy of a man 
 of learning. Those who undertook that task, 
 if what they effected could be readily compre- 
 hended, were despised as mechanics; if not, 
 they were in danger of being burned as com 
 jurers. 
 
 There cannot be a stronger proof of the de- 
 gree in which the human mind had been mis- 
 
 * Ccgitata et visa. 
 
I 0 6 BIOGRAPHICAL essays. 
 
 directed than the history of the two greatest 
 events which took place during the middle 
 ages. We speak of the invention of Gun- 
 powder and of the invention of Printing. The 
 dates of both are unknown. The authors of 
 both are unknown. Nor was this because 
 men were too rude and ignorant to value in- 
 tellectual superiority. The inventor of gun- 
 powder seems to have been contemporary with 
 Petrarch and Boccaccio. The inventor of 
 printing was certainly contemporary with Nicho- 
 las the Fifth, with Cosmo de’ Medici, and with 
 a crowd of distinguished scholars. But the 
 human mind still retained that fatal bent which 
 it had received two thousand years earlier. 
 George of Trebisond and Marsilio Ficino 
 would not easily have been brought to believe 
 that the inventor of the printing-press had 
 done more for mankind than themselves, or 
 than those ancient writers of whom they were 
 the enthusiastic votaries. 
 
 At length the time arrived when the barren 
 philosophy which had, during so many ages, 
 employed the faculties of the ablest of men, 
 was destined to fall. It had worn many 
 shapes. It had mingled itself with many creeds. 
 It had survived revolutions in which empires, 
 religions, languages, races, had perished. 
 Driven from its ancient haunts, it had taken 
 sanctuary in that Church which it had perse- 
 cuted, and had, like the daring fiends of the 
 poet, placed its seat 
 
 “ next the seat of God, 
 
 And with its darkness dared affront his light.” 
 
 Words, and more words, and nothing but 
 words, had been all the fruit of all the toil of 
 all the most renowned sages of sixty genera- 
 tions. But the days of this sterile exuberance 
 were numbered. 
 
 Many causes predisposed the public mind to 
 a change. The study of a great variety of an- 
 
LORD BA COAT. 
 
 -1 07 
 
 cient writers, though it did not give a right 
 direction to philosophical research, did much 
 towards destroying that blind reverence for 
 authority which had prevailed when Aristotle 
 ruled alone. The rise of the Florentine sect 
 of Platonists, a sect to which belonged 
 some of the finest minds of the fifteenth 
 century, was not an unimportant event. The 
 mere substitution of the Academic for the 
 Peripatetic philosophy would indeed have 
 done little good. But anything was better 
 than the old habit of unreasoning servility. 
 It was something to have a choice of tyrants. 
 “ A spark of freedom,” as Gibbon has justly 
 remarked, “ was produced by this collision of 
 adverse servitude.” 
 
 Other causes might be mentioned. But it is 
 chiefly to the great reformation of religion that 
 we owe the great reformation of philosophy. 
 The alliance between the Schools and the Vati- 
 can had for ages been so close that those who 
 threw off the dominion of the Vatican could not 
 continue to recognize the authority of the 
 Schools. Most of the chiefs of the schism treated 
 the Peripatetic philosophy with contempt, and 
 spoke of Aristotle as if Aristotle had been an- 
 swerable for all the dogmas of Thomas Aquinas. 
 “ Nulio apud Lutheranos philosophiam esse in 
 pretio,” was a reproach which the defenders 
 of the Church of Rome loudly repeated, and 
 which many of the Protestant leaders consid- 
 ered as a compliment. Scarcely any text was 
 more frequently cited by the reformers than 
 that in which St. Paul cautions the Collossians 
 not to let any man spoil them by philosophy. 
 Luther, almost at the onset of his career, went 
 so far as to declare that no man could be at 
 once a proficient in the school of Aristotle and 
 in that of Christ. Zwingle, Bucer, Peter Mar- 
 tyr, Calvin, held similar language. In some of 
 the Scotch universities, the Aristotlean system 
 was discarded for that of Ramus. Thus, be- 
 fore the birth of Bacon, the empire of the 
 
10S BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 scholastic philosophy had been shaken to its 
 foundations. There was in the intellectual 
 world an anarchy resembling that which in the 
 political world often follows the overthrow of 
 an old and deeply-rooted government. Anti- 
 quity, prescription, the sound of great names, 
 had ceased to awe mankind. The dynasty 
 which had reigned for ages was at an end : 
 and the vacant throne was left to be struggled 
 for by pretenders. 
 
 The first effect of this great revolution, was, 
 as Bacon most justly observed,* to give for a 
 time an undue importance to the mere graces 
 of style. The new breed of scholars, the 
 Aschams and Buchanans, nourished with the 
 finest compositions of the Augustan age, re- 
 garded with loathing the dry, crabbed, and bar- 
 barous diction of respondents and opponents. 
 They were far less studious about the matter 
 of their writing than about the manner. They 
 succeeded in reforming Latinity; but they 
 never even aspired to effect a reform in phil- 
 osophy. 
 
 At this time Bacon appeared. It is alto- 
 gether incorrect to say, as has often been said, 
 that he was the first man who rose up against 
 the Aristotlean philosophy when in the height 
 of its power. The authority of that philosophy 
 had, as we have shown, received a fatal blow 
 long before he was born. Several speculators, 
 among whom Ramus is the best known, had 
 recently attempted to form new sects. Bacon’s 
 own expressions about the state of public 
 opinion in the time of Luther are clear and 
 strong; “ Accedebat,” says he, “ odium et con- 
 temptus, illis ipsis temporibus ortus erga Schol- 
 asticos.” And again, “ Scholasticorum doc- 
 trina despectui prorsus haberi ccepit tanquam 
 aspera et barbara.” f The part which Bacon 
 played in this great change was the part, not 
 
 * De Augment is , Lib 1. 
 
 t Both these passages are in the first book of De Aug - 
 mentis , 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 109 
 
 of Robespierre, but of Bonaparte. The ancient 
 order of things had been subverted. Some 
 bigots still cherished with devoted loyalty the re- 
 membrance of the fallen monarchy, and exerted 
 themselves to effect a restoration. But the 
 majority had so such feeling. Freed, yet not 
 knowing how to use their freedom, they pur- 
 sued no determinate course, and had found no 
 leader capable of conducting them. 
 
 That leader at length arose. The philosophy 
 which he taught was essentially new. It dif- 
 fered from that of the celebrated ancient 
 teachers, not merely in method, but also in ob- 
 ject. Its object was the good of mankind, in 
 the sense in which the mass of mankind always 
 have understood and always will understand 
 the word good. “ Meditor,” said Bacon, “ in- 
 staurationem philosopiae ejusmodi quae nihil in- 
 anis aut abstracti habeat, quaeque vitae humanae 
 conditiones in meaius provehat.” * 
 
 The difference between the philosophy of 
 Bacon and that of his predecessors cannot, we 
 think, be better illustrated than by comparing 
 his views on some important subjects with 
 those of Plato. We select Plato, because we 
 conceive that he did more than any other per- 
 son towards giving to the minds of speculative 
 men that bent which they retained fill they 
 received from Bacon a new impulse in a diamet- 
 rically opposite direction. 
 
 It is curious to observe how differently these 
 great men estimated the value of every kind of 
 knowledge. Take Arithmetic for example. 
 Plato, after speaking slightly of the conveni- 
 ence of being able to reckon and compute in 
 the ordinary transactions of life, passes to what 
 he considers as far more important advantage. 
 The study of the properties of numbers, he tells 
 11s, habituates the mind to the contemplation 
 of pure truth, and raises us above the material 
 universe. He would have his disciples apply 
 
 * Redargutio Philosophiarum, 
 
1 10 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 themselves to this study, not that they may be 
 able to buy or sell, not that they may qualify 
 themselves to be shop-keepers or travelling 
 merchants, but that they may learn to withdraw 
 their minds from the ever-shifting spectacle of 
 this visible and tangible world, and to fix them 
 on the immutable essences of things.* 
 
 Bacon, on the other hand, valued this branch 
 of knowledge, only on account of its uses with 
 reference to that visible and tangible world 
 which Plato so much despised. He speaks 
 with scorn of the mystical arithmetic of the 
 later Platonists, and laments the propensity of 
 mankind to employ, on mere matters of curi- 
 osity, powers the whole exertion of which is 
 required for purposes of solid advantage. He 
 advises arithmeticians to leave these trifles, 
 and to employ themselves in framing convenient 
 expressions, which may be of use in physical 
 researches. f 
 
 • The same reasons which led Plato to recom- 
 mend the study of aritpmetic led him to recom- 
 mend also the study of mathematics. The 
 vulgar crowd of geometricians, he says, will not 
 understand him. They have practice always in 
 view. They do not know that the real use of 
 the science is to lead men to the knowledge of 
 abstract, essential, eternal truth. $ Indeed, if 
 we are to believe Plutarch, Plato carried this 
 feeling so far that he considered geometry as 
 degraded by being applied to any purpose of 
 vulgar utility. Archytas, it seems, had framed 
 machines of extraordinary power on mathe- 
 matical principles. § Plato remonstrated with 
 his friend, and declared that this was to de- 
 grade a noble intellectual exercise into a low 
 craft, fit only for carpenters and wheelwrights. 
 The office of geometry, he said, was to disci- 
 * Plato’s Republic, Book 7. 
 t De A ugvientis, Lib. 3. Cap. 6. 
 f Plato’s Republic Book 7. 
 
 § Plutarch, Synipos. viii, and life of Marcellus. The 
 machines of Archytas are also mentioned by Aulus 
 Gellius and Diogenes Laertius. 
 
LORD BA COM 
 
 in 
 
 pline the mind, not to minister to the base wants 
 of the body. His interference was successful ; 
 and from that time, according to Plutarch, the 
 science of mechanics was considered as un- 
 worthy of the attention of a philosopher. 
 
 Archimedes in a later age imitated and sur- 
 passed Archytas. But even Archimedes was 
 not free from the prevailing notion that geome- 
 try degraded by being employed to produce 
 anything useful. It was with difficulty that he 
 was indeed to stoop from speculation to practice. 
 He was half ashamed of those inventions which 
 were the wonder of hostile nations, and always 
 spoke of them slightingly as mere amusements, 
 as trifles in which a mathematician might be 
 suffered to relax his mind after intense applica- 
 tion to the higher parts of his science. 
 
 The opinion of Bacon on this subject was 
 diametrically opposed to that of the ancient 
 philosophers. He valued geometry chiefly, if 
 not solely, on account of those uses, which to 
 Plato appeared so base. And it is remarkable 
 that the longer Bacon lived the stronger this 
 feeling became. When in 1605 he wrote the 
 two books on the Advancement of Learning, 
 he dwelt on the advantages which mankind de- 
 rived from mixed mathematics ; but he at the 
 same time admitted that the beneficial effect 
 produced by mathematical study on the intel- 
 lect, though a collateral advantage, was “ no 
 less worthy than that which was principal and 
 intended.'’ But it is evident that his views 
 underwent a change. When, near twenty 
 years later, he published the De Augmentis, 
 which is the Treatise on the Advancement of 
 Learning, greatly expanded and carefully cor- 
 rected, he made important alterations in the 
 part which related to mathematics. He con- 
 demned with severity the high pretensions of 
 the mathematicians, “ delicias et fastummathe- 
 maticorum.” Assuming the well-being of the 
 human race to be the end of knowledge, * he 
 * Usui et commodis hominum consulimus. 
 
I 12 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 pronounced that mathematical science could 
 claim no higher rank than that of an append- 
 age or an auxiliary to other sciences. Mathe- 
 matical science, he says, is the handmaid of 
 natural philosophy ; she ought to demean her- 
 self as such ; and he declares that he cannot 
 conceive by what ill chance it has happened 
 that she presumes to claim precedence over 
 her mistress. He predicts — a prediction which 
 would have made Plato shudder — that as more 
 and more discoveries are made in physics, there 
 will be more and more branches of mixed 
 mathematics. Of that collateral advantage the 
 value of which, twenty years before, he rated 
 so highly, he says not one word. This omis- 
 sion cannot have been the effect of mere inad- 
 vertence. His own treatise was before him. 
 From that treatise he deliberately expunged 
 whatever was favorable to the study of pure 
 mathematics, and inserted several keen re- 
 flections on the ardent votaries of that study. 
 This fact, in our opinion, admits of only one 
 explanation. Bacon’s love of those pursuits 
 which directly tend to improve the condition 
 of mankind, and his jealousy of all pursuits 
 merely curious, had grown upon him, and had, 
 it may be, become immoderate. He was afraid 
 of using any expression which might have the 
 effect of inducing any man of talents to employ 
 in speculations, useful only to the mind of the 
 speculator, a single hour which might be em- 
 ployed in extending the empire of man over 
 matter.* If Bacon erred here, we must ac- 
 knowledge that we greatly prefer his error to 
 the opposite error of Plato. We have no pati- 
 ence with a philosophy which, like those Roman 
 matrons who swallowed abortives in order to 
 preserve their shapes, take pains to be barren 
 for fear of being homely. 
 
 Let us pass to astronomy. This was one of 
 
 * Compare the passage relating to mathematics in the 
 Second Book of the Advancement of Learning, with the 
 De Augmcniis, Lib. 3, Cap. 6. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 IJ 3 
 
 the sciences which Plato exhorted his disciples 
 to learn, but for reasons far removed from 
 common habits of thinking. “ Shall we set- 
 down astronomy,” says Socrates, “ among the 
 subjects of study ? ” * “I think so,” answered 
 his young friend Glaucon : “to know some- 
 thing about the seasons, the months, and the 
 years is of use for military purposes, as well as 
 for agriculture and navigation.” “ It amuses 
 me,” says Socrates, “ to see how afraid you 
 are, lest the common herd of people should ac- 
 cuse you of recommending useless studies. He 
 then proceeds, in that pure and magnificent 
 diction which, as Cicero said, Jupiter would 
 use if Jupiter spoke Greek, to explain that the 
 use of astronomy is not to add to the vulgar 
 comforts of life, but to assist in raising the 
 mind to the contemplation of things which are 
 to be perceived by the pure intellect alone. 
 The knowledge of the actual motions of the 
 heavenly bodies Socrates considers as of little 
 value. The appearances which make the sky 
 beautiful at night are, he tells us, like the 
 figures which a geometrician draws on the 
 sand, mere examples, mere helps to feeble 
 minds. We must get beyond them ; we must 
 neglect them; we must attain to an astronomy 
 which is as independent of the actual stars as 
 geometrical truth is independent of the lines 
 of an ill-drawn diagram. This is, we imagine, 
 very nearly, if not exactly, the astronomy which 
 Bacon compared to the ox of Prometheus, f a 
 sleek, well-shaped hide, stuffed with rubbish, 
 goodly to look at, but containing nothing to 
 eat. He complained that astronomy had, to 
 its great injury, been separated from natural 
 philosophy, of which it was one of the noblest 
 provinces, and annexed to the domain of mathe- 
 matics. The world stood in need, he said, of 
 a very different astronomy, of a living astron- 
 omy, j of an astronomy which should set forth 
 
 * Plato’s Republic , Book 7. 
 
 t De A Hgmentis. Lib 3, Cap. 4. t Astronomia vina. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 114 
 
 the nature, the motion, and the influences of 
 the heavenly bodies, as they really are.* * * § 
 
 On the greatest and most useful of all human 
 inventions, the invention of alphabetical writ- 
 ing, Plato did not look with much complacency. 
 He seems to have thought that the use of 
 letters had operated on the human mind as 
 the use of the go-cart in learning to walk, or of 
 corks in learning to swim, is said to operate 
 on the human body. It was a support which, 
 in his opinion, soon became indispensable to 
 those who used it, which made vigorous exer- 
 tion first unnecessary and then impossible. 
 The powers of the intellect would, he conceived, 
 have been more fully developed without this 
 delusive aid. Men would have been compelled 
 to exercise the understanding and the memory, 
 and, by deep and assiduous meditation, to 
 make truth thoroughly their own. Now, on the 
 contrary, much knowledge is traced on paper, 
 but little is engraved in the soul. A man is 
 certain that he can find information at a mo- 
 ment’s notice when he wants it. He therefore 
 suffers it to fade from his mind. Such a man 
 cannot in strictness be said to know anything. 
 He has the show without the reality of wisdom. 
 These opinions Plato has put into the mouth 
 of an ancient king of Egypt. f But it is evi- 
 dent from the context that they were his own ; 
 and so they were understood to be by Quinc- 
 tilian.f Indeed they are in perfect accordance 
 with the whole Platonic system. 
 
 Bacon’s views, as may easily be supposed, 
 were widely different.§ The powers of the 
 memory, he observed, without the help of 
 writing, can do little towards the advancement 
 of any useful science. He acknowledges that 
 
 * “ Quae substantiam et motum et influxum ccelestium 
 
 prout re vera sunt preponat.” Compare this language 
 
 with Plato’s, “ tu 6' h rui ovpavti maopev.” 
 t Plato’s PluEdrits. 
 t Quinctilian, XI. 
 
 § De Angmeniis , Lib. 5. Cap. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 ”5 
 
 the memory may be disciplined to such a point 
 as to be able to perform very extraordinary 
 feats. But on such feats he sets little value. 
 The habits of his mind, he tells us, are such 
 that he is not disposed to rate highly any ac- 
 complishment, however rare which is of no 
 practical use to mankind. As to these pro- 
 digious achievements of the memory, he ranks 
 them with the exhibitions of rope-dancers and 
 tumblers. “ The two performances,” he says, 
 “are of much the same sort. The one is an 
 abuse of the powers of the body; the other is 
 an abuse of the powers of the mind. Both 
 may perhaps excite our wonder ; but neither is 
 entitled to our respect.” 
 
 To Plato, the science of medicine appeared 
 to be of very disputable advantage. * He did 
 not indeed object to quick cures for the acute 
 disorders, or for injuries produced by accidents. 
 But the art which resists the slow sap of a 
 chronic disease, which repairs frames enervated 
 lust, swollen by gluttony, or inflamed by wine, 
 by which encourages sensuality by mitigating 
 the natural punishment of the sensualist, and 
 prolongs existence when the intellect has ceased 
 to retain its entire energy, had no share of his 
 esteem. A life protracted by medical skill he 
 pronounced to be a long death. The existence 
 of the art of medicine ought, he said, to be 
 tolerated, so far as that art may serve to cure 
 the occasional distempers of men whose con- 
 stitutions are good. As to those who have bad 
 constitutions, let them die ; and the sooner the 
 better. Such men are unfit for war, for mag- 
 istracy, for the management of their domestic 
 affairs, for severe study and speculation. If 
 they engage in any vigorous mental exercise, 
 they are troubled with giddiness and fulness of 
 the head, all which they lay to the account of 
 philosophy. The best thing that can happen 
 to such wretches is to have done with life at 
 
 * Plato’s Republic, Book 3. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA KS - . 
 
 1 16 
 
 once. He quotes mythical authority in sup- 
 port of this doctrine ; and reminds his dis- 
 ciples that the practice of the sons of y£scu- 
 lapius, as described by Homer, extended only 
 to the cure of external injuries. 
 
 Far different was the philosophy of Bacon. 
 Of all the sciences, that which he seems to 
 have regarded with the greatest interest was 
 the science which, in Plato’s opinion, would 
 not be tolerated in a well regulated community. 
 To make men perfect was no part of Bacon’s 
 plan. His humble aim was to make imperfect 
 men comfortable. The beneficence of his 
 philosophy resembled the beneficence of the 
 common Father, whose sun rises on the evil 
 and the good, whose rain descends for the just 
 and the unjust. In Plato’s opinion man was 
 made for philosophy ; in Bacon’s opinion 
 philosophy was made for man ; it was a means 
 to an end ; and that end was to increase the 
 pleasures and to mitigate the pains of millions 
 who are not and cannot be philosophers. That 
 a valetudinarian who took great pleasure in 
 being wheeled along his terrace, who relished 
 his boiled chicken and his weak wine and 
 water, and who enjoyed a hearty laugh over 
 the Queen of Navarre’s tales, should be treated 
 as a caput lupinum because he could not read 
 the Timaeus without a headache, was a notion 
 which the humane spirit of the English schools 
 of wisdom altogether rejected. Bacon would 
 not have thought it beneath the dignity of a 
 philosopher to contrive an improved garden 
 chair for such a valetudinarian, to devise some 
 way of rendering his medicines more palatable, 
 to invent repasts which he might enjoy, and 
 pillows on which he might sleep soundly ; and 
 this though there might not be the smallest 
 hope that the mind of the poor invalid would 
 ever rise to the contemplation of the ideal 
 beautiful and the ideal good. As Plato had 
 cited the religious legends of Greece to justify 
 his contempt for the more recondite parts of 
 
LORD BA COM 
 
 117 
 
 the art of healing, Bacon vindicated the dignity 
 of that art by appealing to the example of 
 Christ, and reminded men that the great 
 Physician of the soul did not disdain to be also 
 the physician of the body. * 
 
 When we pass from the science of medicine 
 to that of legislation, we hud the same differ- 
 ence between the systems of these two great 
 men. Plato, at the commencement of the Dia- 
 logue on laws, lays it down as a fundamental 
 principle that the end of legislation is to make 
 men virtuous. It is unnecessary to point out 
 the extravagant conclusions to which such a 
 proposition leads. Bacon well knew to how 
 great an extent the happiness of every society 
 must depend on the virtue of its members ; 
 and he also knew what legislators can and 
 what they cannot do for the purpose of pro- 
 moting virtue. The view which he has given 
 of the end of legislation, and of the principal 
 means for the attainment of that end, has al- 
 ways seemed to us eminently happy, even 
 among the many happy passages of the same 
 kind with which his works abound. “ Finis et 
 scopus quern leges intueri atque ad quern jus- 
 siones et sanctiones suas dirigre debent, non 
 alius est quam ut civesfeliciter degant. Id fiet 
 si pietate et religione recte instituti, moribus 
 honesti, armis adversus hostes externos tuti, le- 
 gum auxilo adversus seditiones et privatas in- 
 jurias muniti, imperio et magistratibus obse- 
 quentes, copiis et opibus locupletes et florentes 
 fuerint.”* The end is the well-being of the 
 people. The means are the imparting of moral 
 and religious education ; the providing of 
 everything necessary for defenee against for- 
 eign enemies ; the maintaining of internal 
 order ; the establishing of a judicial, financial, 
 and commercial system, under which wealth 
 may be rapidly accumulated and securely en- 
 joyed. 
 
 * De Augment is, Lib. 4. Cap, 2. 
 
 f Ibid . , Lib. S Cap. 3, Aph. 5. 
 
Ii8 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 Even with respect to the form in which laws 
 ought to be drawn, there is a remarkable dif- 
 ference of opinion between the Greek and the 
 Englishman. Plato thought a preamble essen- 
 tial ; Bacon thought it mischievous. Each was 
 consistent with himself. Plato, considering 
 the moral improvement of the people as the 
 end of legislation, justly inferred that a law 
 which commanded and threatened, but which 
 neither convinced the reason, nor touched the 
 heart, must be a most imperfect law. He was 
 not content with deterring from theft a man 
 who still continued to be a thief at heart, with 
 restraining a son who hated his mother from 
 beating his mother. The only obedience on 
 which he set much value was the obedience 
 which an enlightened understanding yields to 
 reason, and which a virtuous disposition yields 
 to precepts of virtue. He really seems to have 
 believed that, by prefixing to every law an elo- 
 quent and pathetic exhortation, he should to a 
 great extent, render penal enactments super- 
 fluous. Bacon entertained no such romantic 
 hopes ; and he well knew the practical incon- 
 veniences of the course which Plato recom- 
 mended. “ Neque nobis,” says he, “ prologi 
 legum qui inepti olim habiti sunt, et legis in- 
 troducunt disputantes non jubentes, utique 
 placerent, si priscos mores ferre possemus. 
 * * * * Quantum fieri potest prologi eviten- 
 tur, et lex incipiat a jussione.” * 
 
 > Each of the great men whom we have com- 
 pared intended to illustrate his system by a 
 philosophical romance ; and each left his ro- 
 mance imperfect. Had Plato lived to finish 
 the Critias, a comparison between that noble 
 fiction and the new Atlantis would probably 
 have furnished us with still more striking in- 
 stances than any which we have given. It is 
 amusing to think with what horror he would 
 have seen such an institution as Solomon’s 
 
 De Augment is, Aph. 69. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 “9 
 
 House rising in his republic ; with what vehe- 
 mence he would have ordered the brew-houses, 
 the perfume houses, and the dispensatories to 
 be pulled down ; and with what inexorable 
 rigor he would have driven beyond the frontier 
 all the Fellows of the College, Merchants of 
 Light and Depredators, Lamps and Pioneers. 
 
 To sum up the whole, we should say that 
 the aim of the Platonic philosophy was to exalt 
 man into a god. The aim of th'e Baconian 
 philosophy was to provide man with what he 
 requires while he continues to be man. The 
 aim of the Platonic philosophy was to raise us 
 far above vulgar wants. The aim of the Baco- 
 nian philosophy was to supply our vulgar wants. 
 The former him was noble ; but the latter was 
 attainable. Plato drew a good bow ; but, like 
 Acestes in Virgil, he aimed at the stars ; and, 
 therefore, though there was no want of strength 
 or skill, the shot was thrown away. His arrow 
 was indeed followed by a track of dazzling 
 radiance, but it struck nothing. 
 
 “ Volans liquidis in nubibus arsit arundo 
 Signavitque viam flammis, tenuisque recessit 
 Consumpta in ventos.” 
 
 Bacon fixed his eye on a mark which was 
 placed on the earth, and within bow-shot, and 
 hit it in the white. The philosophy of Plato 
 began in words and ended in words, noble 
 words indeed, words such as were to be ex- 
 pected from the finest of human intellects ex- 
 ercising boundless dominion over the finest of 
 human languages. The philosophy of Bacon 
 began in observations and ended in arts. 
 
 The boast of the ancient philosophers was 
 that their doctrine formed the minds of men to 
 a high degree of wisdom and virtue. This was 
 indeed the only practical good which the most 
 celebrated of those teachers even pretended to 
 effect ; and undoubtedly, if they had effected 
 this, they would have deserved far higher praise 
 than if they had discovered the most salutary 
 
120 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 medicines or constructed the most powerful 
 machines. But the truth is that, in those very 
 matters in which alone they professed to do 
 any good to mankind, in those very matters for 
 the sake of which they neglected all the vulgar 
 interests of mankind, they did nothing, or 
 worse than nothing. They promised what was 
 impracticable ; they despised what was practic- 
 able ; they filled the world with long words and 
 long beards'; and they left it as wicked and as 
 ignorant as they found it. 
 
 An acre in Middlesex is better than a princi- 
 pality in Utopia. The smallest actual good is 
 better than the most magnificent promises of 
 impossibilities. The wise man of the Stoics 
 would, no doubt, be a grander object than a 
 steam-engine. But there are steam-engines. 
 And the wise man of the Stoics is yet to be 
 born. A philosophy which should enable a 
 man to feel perfectly happy while in agonies of 
 pain would be better than a philosophy which 
 assuages pain. But we know that there are 
 remedies which will assuage pain ; and we know 
 that the ancient sages like the tooth-ache just 
 as little as their neighbors. A philosophy which 
 should extinguish cupidity would be better than 
 a philosophy which should devise laws for the 
 security of property. But it is possible to 
 make laws which shall, to a very great extent 
 secure property. And we do not understand 
 how any motives which the ancient philosopher 
 furnished could extinguish cupidity. We know 
 indeed that the philosophers were no better 
 than other men. From the testimony of 
 friends as well as of foes, from the confessions 
 of Epictetus and Seneca, as well as from the 
 sneers of Lucian and the fierce invectives of 
 Juvenal, it is plain that these teachers of vir- 
 tue had all the vices of their neighbors, with 
 the additional vice of hypocrisy. Some people 
 may think the object of the Baconian philosophy 
 a low object, but they cannot deny that, high 
 or low, it has been attained. They cannot 
 
LORD BA COAT. 
 
 121 
 
 deny that every year makes an addition to what 
 Bacon called “fruit.” They cannot deny that 
 mankind have made, and are making, great 
 and constant progress in the road which he 
 pointed out to them. Was there any such pro- 
 gressive movement among the ancient philoso- 
 phers ? After they had been declaiming eight 
 hundred years, had they made the world better 
 than when they began ? Our belief is that, 
 among the philosophers themselves, instead of 
 a progressive improvement there was a pro- 
 gressive degeneracy. An abject superstition 
 which Democritus or Anaxagoras would have 
 rejected with scorn added the last disgrace to 
 the long dotage of the Stoic and Platonic 
 schools. Those unsuccessful attempts to articu- 
 late which are so delightful and interesting in 
 a child shock and disgust us in an aged paraly- 
 tic ; and in the same way, those wild mytholo- 
 gical fictions which charm us when we hear 
 them lisped by Greek poetry in its infancy, ex- 
 cite a mixed sensation of pity and loathing 
 when mumbled by Greek philosophy in its old 
 age. We know that guns, cutlery, spy-glasses, 
 clocks, are better in our time than they were 
 in the time of our fathers, and were better in 
 the time of our fathers than they were in the 
 time of our grandfathers. We might, therefore 
 be inclined to think that, when a philosophy 
 which boasted that its object was the elevation 
 and purification of the mind, and which for this 
 object neglected the sordid office of minister- 
 ing to the comforts of the body, had flourished 
 in the highest honor during many hundreds of 
 years, a vast moral amelioration must have 
 taken place. Was it so? Look at the schools 
 of this wisdom four centuries before the 
 Christian era and four centuries after that era. 
 Compare the men whom those schools formed 
 at those two periods. Compare Plato and 
 Libanius. Compare Pericles and Julian. This 
 philosophy confessed, nay boasted, that for 
 
122 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 every end but one it was useless. Had it at- 
 tained that one end ? 
 
 Suppose that Justinian, when he closed the 
 schools of Athens, had called on the last few 
 sages who still haunted the Portico, and lin- 
 gered round the ancient plane-trees, to show 
 their title to public veneration : suppose that 
 he had said, “ A thousand years have elapsed 
 since, in this famous city, Socrates posed Pro- 
 tagoras and Hippias ; during those thousand 
 years a large proportion of the ablest men of 
 every generation has been employed in con- 
 stant efforts to bring to perfection the phil- 
 osophy which you teach ; that philosophy 
 has been munificently patronized by the 
 powerful ; its professors have been held in 
 the highest esteem by the public; it has 
 drawn to itself almost all the sap and vigor 
 of the human intellect: and what has it 
 effected ? What profitable truth has it taught 
 us which we should not equally have known 
 without it ? What has it enabled us to do 
 which we should not have been equally able to 
 do without it ? ” Such questions, we suspect, 
 would have puzzled Simplicius and Isidore. 
 Ask a follower of Bacon what the new phil- 
 osophy, as it was called in the time of Charles 
 the Second, has effected for mankind, and his 
 answer is ready: “It has lengthened life ; it 
 has mitigated pain ; it has extinguished dis- 
 eases ; it has increased the fertility of the soil ; 
 it has given new securities to the mariner ; it 
 has furnished new arms to the warrior ; it has 
 spanned great rivers and estuaries with bridges 
 of form unknown to our fathers ; it has guided 
 the thunderbolt innocuously from heaven to 
 earth ; it has lighted up the night with the 
 splendor of the day ; it has extended the range 
 of the human vision ; it has multiplied the 
 power of the human muscles ; it has accelerated 
 motion ; it has annihilated distance ; it has 
 facilitated intercourse, correspondence, all 
 friendly offices, all despatch of business ; it 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 123 
 
 has enabled man to descend to the depths of 
 the sea, to soar into the air, to penetrate 
 securely into the noxious recesses of the earth, 
 to traverse the land in cars which whirl along 
 without horses, and the ocean in ships which 
 run ten knots an hour against the wind. These 
 are but a part of its fruits, and of its first fruits. 
 For it is a philosophy which never rests, which 
 has never attained, which is never perfect. Its 
 law is progress. A point which yesterday was 
 invisible is its goal to-day, and will be its start- 
 ing-post to-morrow.” 
 
 Great and various as the powers of Bacon 
 were, he owes his wide and durable fame 
 chiefly to this, that all those powers received 
 their direction from common sense. His love 
 of the vulgar useful, his strong sympathy with 
 the popular notions of good and evil, and the 
 openness with which he avowed that sympathy, 
 are the secret of his influence. There was in 
 his system no cant, no illusion. He had no 
 anointing for broken bones, no fine theories 
 definibus, no arguments to persuade men out 
 of their senses. He knew that men, and 
 philosophers as well as other men, do actually 
 love life, health, comfort, honor, security, the 
 society of friends, and do actually dislike death, 
 sickness, pain, poverty, disgrace, danger, sepa- 
 ration from those to whom they are attached. 
 He knew that religion, though it often regulates 
 and moderates these feelings, seldom eradicates 
 them ; nor did he think it desirable for man- 
 kind that they should be eradicated. The plan 
 of eradicating them by conceits like those of 
 Seneca, or syllogisms like those of Chrys’’ppus, 
 was too preposterous to be for a moment en- 
 tertained by a mind like his. He did not 
 understand what wisdom there could be in 
 changing names where it was impossible to 
 change things ; in denying that blindness, 
 hunger, the gout, the rack, were evils, and 
 calling them ojroTrpo^v^va . ; in refusing to ac- 
 knowledge that health, safety, plenty, were 
 
1 24 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 good things, and dubbing them by the name of 
 aStai/'o/Da. In his opinions on all these sub- 
 jects, he was not a Stoic, nor an Epicurean, 
 nor an Academic, but what would have been 
 called by Stoics, Epicureans, and Academics, 
 a mere iSuor^s, a mere common man. And it 
 was precisely because he was so that his name 
 makes so great an era in the history of the 
 world. It was because he dug deep that he 
 was able to pile high. It was because, in order 
 to lay his foundations, he went down into those 
 parts of human nature which lie low, but which 
 are not liable to change, that the fabric which 
 he reared has risen to so stately an elevation, 
 and stands with such immovable strength. 
 
 We have sometimes thought that an amusing 
 fiction might be written, in which a disciple of 
 Epictetus and a disciple of Bacon should be 
 introduced as fellow-travellers. They come to 
 a village where the small-pox has just begun 
 to rage, and find houses shut up, intercourse 
 suspended, the sick abandoned, mothers weep- 
 ing in terror over their children. The Stoic 
 assures the dismayed population that there is 
 nothing bad in the small-pox, and that to a wise 
 man, disease, deformity, death, the loss of 
 friends are not evils. The Baconian takes out 
 a lancet and begins to vaccinate. They find a 
 body of miners in great dismay. An explosion 
 of noisome vapors has just killed many of those 
 who were at work ; and the survivors are 
 afraid to venture into the cavern. The Stoic 
 assures them that such an accident is nothing 
 but a mere airov-porj] pcvov. The Baconian, who 
 has no such fine word at his command, con 
 tents himself with devising a safety-lamp. The / 
 find a ship-wrecked merchant wringing Lis 
 hands on the shore. His vessel with an i .es- 
 timable cargo has just gone down, and be is 
 reduced in a moment from opulence to beggary. 
 The Stoic exhorts him not to seek happiness 
 in things which lie without himself and repeats 
 the whole chapter of Epictetus 717305 tov s rijv 
 
LORD BA COJV. 
 
 »*5 
 
 anoptav SeSoi-voras. The Baconian constructs 
 a diving-bell, goes down in it, and returns with 
 the most precious effects from the wreck. It 
 would be easy to multiply illustrations of the 
 difference between the philosophy of thorns 
 and the philosophy of fruit, the philosophy of 
 words and the philosophy of works. 
 
 Bacon has been accused of overrating the 
 importance of those sciences which minister to 
 the physical well-being of man, and of under- 
 rating the importance of moral philosophy ; and 
 it cannot be denied that persons who read the 
 Novum Organum and the Dc A ug mentis, with- 
 out adverting to the circumstances under which 
 those works were written, will find much that 
 may seem to countenance the accusation. It 
 is certain, however, that though in practice he 
 often went very wrong, and though, as his his- 
 torical work and his essays prove, he did not 
 hold, even in theory, very strict opinions on 
 points of political morality, he was far too wise 
 a man not to know how much our well-being 
 depends on the regulation of our minds. The 
 world for which he wished was not, as some 
 people seem to imagine, a world of water-wheels, 
 power-looms, steam-carriages, sensualists, and 
 knaves. He would have been as ready as 
 Zeno himself to maintain that no bodily com- 
 forts which could be devised by the skill and 
 labor of a hundred generations would give 
 happiness to a man whose mind was under the 
 tyranny of licentious appetite, of envy, of hatred, 
 or of fear. If he sometimes appeared to ascribe 
 importance too exclusively to the arts which 
 increase the outward comforts of our species, 
 the reason is plain. Those arts had been most 
 unduly depreciated. They had been repre- 
 sented as unworthy the attention of a man of 
 liberal education. “ Cogitavit,” says Bacon of 
 himself, “ earn esse opinionem sive sestima- 
 tionem humidam et damnosam, minui nempe 
 majestatem mentis humanae, si in experimentis 
 et rebus particularibus, sensui subjectis, et in 
 
126 
 
 BIO GRA P IIIC A L ESS A VS. 
 
 materia terminatis, diu ac multum versetur ; 
 praesertim cum hujusmodi res ad inquirendum 
 laboriosae ad meditandum ignobiles, ad discen- 
 dum asperae, ad practicam illiberales, numero 
 infinitae, et subtilitate pusillae videri soleant, 
 et ob hujusmodi conditiones, gloriae artium 
 minus sint accommodatae.” * This opinion 
 seemed to him “omnia in familia humana tur- 
 basse.” It had undoubtedly caused many arts 
 which were of the greatest utility, and which 
 were susceptible of the greatest improvements, 
 to be neglected by speculators, and abandoned 
 to joiners, masons, smiths, weavers, apothe- 
 caries. It was necessary to assert the. dignity 
 of those arts, to bring them prominently for- 
 ward, to proclaim that, as they have a most seri- 
 ous effect on human happiness, they are not 
 unworthy of the attention of the highest human 
 intellects. Again, it was by illustrations drawn 
 from these arts that Bacon could most easily 
 illustrate his principles. It was by improve- 
 ments effected in these arts that the soundness 
 of his principles could be most speedily and 
 decisively brought to the test, and made mani- 
 fest to common understandings. He acted like 
 a wise commander who thins every other part 
 of his line to strengthen a point where the 
 enemy is attacking with peculiar fury, and on 
 the fate of which the event of the battle seems 
 likely to depend. In the Novum Organiun , 
 however, he distinctly and most truly declares 
 that his philosophy is no less a Moral than a 
 Natural Philosophy, that, though his illustra- 
 tions are drawn from physical science, the 
 principles which those illustrations are intended 
 to explain are just as applicable to ethical and 
 political inquiries as to inquiries into the nature 
 of heat and vegetation. f 
 * Cogitata,et Visa. The expression opinio It umida may 
 surprise a reader not accustomed to Bacon's style. The 
 allusion is to the maxim of Heraclitus, the obscure: 
 “Dry light is the best” By dry light, Bacon under- 
 stood the light of the intellect, not obscured by the mists 
 of passion, interest, or prejudice, 
 
 t Noviim Organum, Lib, i, Aph, 127, 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 127 
 
 He frequently treated of moral subjects ; 
 and he brought to those subjects that spirit 
 which was the essence of his whole system. 
 He has left us many admirable practicable ob- 
 servations on what he somewhat quaintly called 
 the Georgies of the mind, on the mental cult- 
 ure which tends to produce good dispositions. 
 Some persons, he said, might accuse him of 
 spending labor on a matter so simple that his 
 predecessors had passed it by with contempt. 
 He desired such persons to remember that he 
 had from the first announced the objects of his 
 search to be not the splendid and the surpris- 
 ing, but the useful and the true ; not the de- 
 luding dreams which go forth through the shin- 
 ing portals of ivory, but the humbler realities 
 of the gate of horn.* 
 
 True to this principle, he indulged in no 
 rants about the fitness of things, the all-suffi- 
 ciency of virtue, and the dignity of human 
 nature. He dealt not at all in resounding 
 nothings, such as those with which Bolingbroke 
 pretended to comfort himself in exile, and in 
 which Cicero vainly sought consolation after 
 the loss of Tullia. The casuistical subtilties 
 which occupied the attention of the keenest 
 spirits of his age had, it should seem, no at- 
 tractions for him. The doctors whom Escobar 
 afterwards compared to the four beasts and 
 the four-and-twenty elders in the Apocalypse 
 Bacon dismissed with most contemptuous 
 brevity. “Inanes plferumque evadunt et 
 futiles.”f Nor did he ever meddle with those 
 enigmas which have puzzled hundreds of gen- 
 erations, and will puzzle hundreds more. He 
 said nothing about the grounds of moral obli- 
 gation, or the freedom of the human will. He 
 had no inclination to empluy himsc t in labors 
 resembling those of the damned in the Grecian 
 Tartarus, to spin forever on the same wheel 
 round the same pivot, to gape forever after the 
 
 * De Augmentis, Lib. 7, Cap. 3, 
 t Lib, 7. Cap, 3, 
 
128 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 same deluding clusters, to pour water forever 
 into the same bottomless buckets, to pace forever 
 to and fro on the same wearisome path after 
 the same recoiling stone. He exhorted his 
 desciples to prosecute researches of a very dif- 
 ferent description, to consider moral science 
 as a practical science of which the object was 
 to cure the diseases and perturbations of the 
 mind, and which could be improved only by a 
 method analogous to that which has improved 
 medicine and surgery. Moral philosophers 
 ought, he said, to set themselves vigorously to 
 work for the purpose of discovering what are the 
 actual effects produced on the human character 
 by particular modes of education, by the in- 
 dulgence of particular habits, by the study of 
 particular books, by society, by emulation, by 
 imitation. Then we might hope to find out 
 what mode of training was most likely to pre- 
 serve and restore moral health.* 
 
 What he was as a natural philosopher and a 
 moral philosopher, that he w'as also as a theo- 
 logian. He was, we are convinced, a sincere 
 believer in the divine authority of the Christian 
 revelation. Nothing can be found in his writ- 
 ings, or in any other writings, more eloquent and 
 pathetic than some passages wl ich were ap- 
 parently written under the influence of strong 
 devotional feeling. He loved to dwell on the 
 power of the Christian religion to effect much 
 that the ancient philosophers could only pro- 
 mise. He loved to consider that religion as 
 a bond of charity, the curb of evil passions, 
 the consolation of the w'retched, the support of 
 the timid, the hope of the dying. But contro- 
 versies on speculative points of theology seem 
 to have engaged scarcely any portion of his 
 attention. In what hi wrote on Church Gov- 
 ernment he showed, as far as he dared, - toler- 
 ant and charitable spirit. He troubled him- 
 self not at all about Homoousians and Homoi- 
 pqsians, Monothelites and Nestorians, He 
 * P« A ugmentis. Lib. 7, Cap. 3, 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 129 
 
 lived in an age in which disputes on the most 
 subtle points of divinity excited an intense in- 
 terest throughout Europe, and nowhere more 
 than in England. He was placed in the very 
 thick of the conflict. He was in power at the 
 time of the Synod of Dort, and must for months 
 have been daily deafened with talk about elec- 
 tion, reprobation, and final perseverance. Yet 
 we do not remember a line in his works from 
 which it can be inferred that he was either a 
 Calvinist or an Arminian. While the world 
 was resounding with the noise of a disputatious 
 philosophy and a disputatious theology, the 
 Baconian school, like Alworthy seated between 
 Square and Thwackum, preserved a calm neu- 
 trality half scornful, half benevolent, and, con- 
 tent with adding to the sum of practical good, 
 left the war of words to those who liked it. 
 
 We have dwelt long on the end of the Ba- 
 conian philosophy, because from this peculiari- 
 ty all the other peculiarities of that philosophy 
 necessarily arose. Indeed, scarcely any person 
 who proposed to himself the same end with 
 Bacon could fail to hit upon the same means. 
 
 The vulgar notion about Bacon we take to 
 be this, that he invented a new method of ar- 
 riving at truth, which method is called Induc- 
 tion, and that he detected some fallacy in the 
 syllogistic reasoning which had been in vogue 
 before his time. This notion is about as well 
 founded as that of the people who, in the middle 
 ages, imagined that Virgil was a great con- 
 jurer. Many who are far too well informed to 
 talk such extravagant nonsense entertain what 
 we think incorrect notions as to what Bacon 
 really effected in this matter. 
 
 The inductive method has been practised 
 ever since the beginning of the world by every 
 human being. It is constantly practised by 
 the most ignorant clown, by the most thought- 
 less schoolboy, by the very child at the breast. 
 That method leads the clown to the conclusion 
 that if he sows barley he shall not reap wheat. 
 
130 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 By that method the schoolboy learns that a 
 cloudy day is the best for catching trout. The 
 very infant, we imagine, is led by induction to 
 expect milk from his mother or nurse, and none 
 from his father. 
 
 Not only is it not true that Bacon invented 
 the inductive method ; but it is not true that 
 he was the first person who correctly analyzed 
 that method and explained its uses. Aristotle 
 had long before pointed out the absurdity of 
 supposing that the syllogistic reasoning could 
 ever conduct men to the discovery of any new 
 principle, had shown that such discoveries must 
 be made by induction, and by induction alone, 
 and had given the history of the inductive pro- 
 cess, concisely indeed, but with great perspi- 
 cuity and precision. 
 
 Again, we are not inclined to ascribe much 
 practical value to that analysis of the inductive 
 method which Bacon has given in the second 
 book of the Novum Organnm. It is indeed an 
 elaborate and correct analysis. But it is an 
 analysis of that which we are all doing from 
 morning to night, and which we continue to do 
 even in our dreams. A plain man finds his 
 stomach out of order. He never heard Lord 
 Bacon’s name. But he proceeds in the strictest 
 conformity with the rules laid down in the 
 second book of the Novum Organnm , and satis- 
 fies himself that minced pies have done the 
 mischief. “ I ate minced pies on Monday and 
 Wednesday, and I was kept awake by indiges- 
 tion all night.” This is the comparentia ad in- 
 telledum instantiarum convenientium. “ I did 
 not eat any'on Tuesday and Friday, and I was 
 quite well.” This is the comparentia instanti- 
 arum in proximo qua natura data privantur. 
 “ I ate very sparingly of them on Sunday, and 
 was very slightly indisposed in the evening. 
 But on Christmas-day I almost dined on them, 
 and was so ill that I was in great danger.” 
 This is the comparentia instantiarum secundum 
 magis et minus . “ It cannot have been the 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 *3 * 
 
 brandy which I took with them. For I have 
 drunk brandy daily for years without being the 
 worse for it.” This is the rejectio naturarum. 
 Our invalid then proceeds to what is termed by 
 Bacon the Vindemiatio , and pronounces that 
 minced pies do not agree with him. 
 
 We repeat that we dispute neither the in- 
 genuity nor the accuracy of the theory con- 
 tained in the second book of the Novum Or- 
 ganum ; but we think that Bacon greatly over- 
 rated its utility. We conceive that the induc- 
 tive process, like many other processes, is not 
 likely to be better performed merely because 
 men know how they perform it. William Tell 
 would not have been one whit more likely to 
 cleave the apple if he had known that his arrow 
 would describe a parabola under the influence 
 of the attraction of the earth. Captain Barclay 
 would not have been more likely to walk a 
 thousand miles in a thousand hours, if he had 
 known the name and place of every muscle in 
 his legs. Monsieur Jourdain probably did not 
 pronounce D and F more correctly after he 
 had been apprised that D is pronounced by 
 touching the teeth with the end of the tongue, 
 and F by putting the upper teeth on the lower 
 lip. We cannot perceive that the study of 
 Grammar makes the smallest difference in the 
 speech of people who have always lived in good 
 society. Not one Londoner in ten thousand 
 can lay down the rules for the proper use of 
 will and shall. Yet not one Londoner in a 
 million ever misplaces his will and shall. 
 Doctor Robertson could, undoubtedly, have 
 written a luminous dissertation on the use of 
 those words. Yet, even in his latest work, he 
 sometimes misplaced them ludiorously. No 
 man uses figures of speech with more propriety 
 because he knows that one figure is called a 
 metonymy and another a synecdoche. A dray- 
 man in a passion calls out, “ You are a pretty 
 fellow,” without suspecting that he is uttering 
 irony, and that irony is one of the four primary 
 
132 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 tropes. The old systems of rhetoric were never 
 regarded by the -most experienced and discern- 
 ing judges as of any use for the purpose of 
 forming an orator. “ Ego hanc vim intelligo,” 
 said Cicero, “ esse in praeceptis omnibus, non 
 ut ea secuti oratores eloquentiae laudem sint 
 adepti, sed qute sua sponte homines eloquentes 
 facerent, ea quosdam observasse, atque id 
 egisse ; sic esse non eloquentiam ex artificio, 
 sed artificium ex eloquentia natum.’ : We must 
 own that we entertain the same opinion con- 
 cerning the study of Logic which Cicero enter- 
 tained concerning the study of Rhetoric. A 
 man of sense syllogizes in celarent and sesare 
 all day long without suspecting it ; and, though 
 he may not know what an ignoratio elenchi is, 
 has no difficulty in exposing it whenever he falls 
 in with it ; which is likely to be as often as he 
 falls in with a Reverend Master of Arts nour- 
 ished on mode and figure in the cloisters of 
 Oxford. Considered merely as an intellectual 
 feat, the Organum of Aristotle can scarcely be 
 admired too highly. But the more we compare 
 individual with individual, school with school, 
 nation with nation, generation with generation, 
 the more we do lean to the opinion that the 
 knowledge of the theory of logic has no ten- 
 dency whatever to make men good reasoners. 
 
 What Aristotle did for the syllogistic process 
 Bacon has, in the second book of the Novum 
 Organum , done for the inductive process ; that 
 is to say, he has analyzed it well. His rules 
 are quite proper ; but we do not need them, 
 because they are drawn from our own constant 
 practice. 
 
 But, though everybody is constantly per- 
 forming the process described in the second 
 book of the Novum Organum , some men per- 
 form it well and some perform it ill. Some 
 are led by it to truth, and some to error. It 
 led Franklin to discover the nature of light- 
 ning. It led thousands, who had less brains 
 than Franklin, to believe in animal magnetism. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 133 
 
 But this was not because Franklin went through 
 the process described by Bacon, and the 
 dupes of Mesmer through a different process. 
 The comparentice and rejectiones of which we 
 have given examples will be found in the most 
 unsound inductions. We have heard that an 
 eminent judge of the last generation was in 
 the habit of jocosely propounding after dinner 
 a theory, that the cause of the prevalence of 
 Jacobinism was the practice of bearing three 
 names. He quoted on the one side Charles 
 James Fox, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, John 
 Horne Tooke, John Philpot Curran, Samuel 
 Taylor Coleridge, Theobald Wolfe Tone. 
 These were instantia co?ivenie?ites. He then 
 proceeded to cite instances absentia in proximo , 
 William Pitt, John Scott, William Windham, 
 Samuel Horsley, Henry Dundas, Edmund 
 Burke. He might have gone on to instances 
 secundum magis et minis. The practice of 
 giving children three names has been for some 
 time a growing practice, and Jacobinism has 
 also been growing. The practice of giving 
 children three names is more common in 
 America than in England. In England we 
 still have a King and a House of Lords ; but 
 the Americans are republicans. The rejectiones 
 are obvious. Burke and Theobald Wolfe 
 Tone are both Irishmen ; therefore the being 
 an Irishman is not the cause of Jacobinism. 
 Horsley and Horne Tooke are both clergy- 
 men ; therefore the being a clergyman is not 
 the cause of Jacobinism. Fox and Windham 
 were both educated at Oxford ; therefore the 
 being educated at Oxford is not the cause of 
 Jacobinism, Pitt and Horne Tooke were both 
 educated at Cambridge ; therefore the being 
 educated at Cambridge is not the cause of 
 Jacobinism. In this way, our inductive phil- 
 osopher arrives at what Bacon calls the Vin- 
 tage, and pronounces that the having three 
 names is the cause of Jacobinism. 
 
 Here is an induction corresponding with 
 
*34 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 Bacon’s analysis and ending in a monstrous 
 absurdity. In what then does this induction 
 differ from the induction which leads us to the 
 conclusion that the presence of the sun is the 
 cause of our having more light by day than by 
 night ? The difference evidently is not in the 
 kind of instances, but in the number of in- 
 stances ; that is to say, the difference is not in 
 that part of the process for which Bacon has 
 given precise rules, but in a circumstance for 
 which no precise rule can possibly be given. 
 If the learned author of the theory about Jaco- 
 binism had enlarged either of his tables a little, 
 his system would have been destroyed. The 
 name of Tom Paine and William Wyndham 
 Grenville would have been sufficient to do the 
 work. 
 
 It appears to us, then, that the difference 
 between a sound and unsound induction does 
 not lie in this, that the author of the sound in- 
 duction goes through the process analyzed in 
 the second book of the Novum Organnm, and 
 the author of the unsound induction through a 
 different process. They both perform the 
 same process. But one performs it foolishly 
 or carelessly; the other performs it with pa- 
 tience, attention, sagacity, and judgment. Now 
 precepts can do little towards making men 
 patient and attentive, and still less towards 
 making them sagacious and judicious. It is 
 very well to tell men to be on their guard 
 against prejudices, not to believe facts on 
 slight evidence, not to be content with a scanty 
 collection of facts, to put out of their minds 
 the idola which Bacon has so finely described. 
 But these rules are too general to be of much 
 practical use. The question is, What is a prej- 
 udice ? How long does the incredulity with 
 which I hear a new theory propounded con- 
 tinue to be a wise and salutary incredulity ? 
 When does it become an idolum specus, the 
 unreasonable pertinacity of a too skeptical 
 mind ? What is slight evidence ? What col- 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 *35 
 
 lection of facts is scanty ? Will ten instances 
 do, or fifty, or a hundred ? In how many 
 months would the first human beings who set- 
 tled on the shores of the ocean have been 
 justified in believing that the moon had an in- 
 fluence on the tides ? After how many exper- 
 iments would Jenner have been justified in 
 believing that he had discovered a safeguard 
 against the small-pox ? These are questions 
 to which it would be most desirable to 
 have a precise answer ; but unhappily they are 
 questions to which no precise answer can be 
 returned. 
 
 We think then that it is possible to lay down 
 accurate rules, as Bacon has done, for the per- 
 forming of that part of the inductive process 
 which all men perform alike ; but that these 
 rules, though accurate, are not wanted, because 
 in truth they only tell us to do what we are all 
 doing. We think that it is impossible to lay 
 down any precise rule for the performing of 
 that part of the inductive process which a great 
 experimental philosopher performs in one way, 
 and a superstitious old woman in another. 
 
 On this subject, we think, Bacon was in an 
 error. He certainly attributed to his rules a 
 value which did not belong to them. He went 
 so far as to sav, that, if his method of making 
 discoveries were adopted, little would depend 
 on the degree of force or acuteness of any in- 
 tellect; that all minds would be reduced to one 
 level, that his philosophy resembled a compass 
 or a rule which equalizes all hands, and enables 
 the most unpractised person to draw a more 
 correct circle or line than the best draughts- 
 man can produce without such aid.* This 
 really seems to us as extravagant as it would 
 have been in Lindley Murray to announce that 
 everybody who should learn his Grammar 
 would write as good English as Drvden, or in 
 that very able writer, the Archbishop of Dul> 
 
 * Novu?n Organum Prref,. and Lib. i. Aph. 122. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 I3 6 
 
 lin, to promise that all the readers of his Logic 
 would reason like Chillingworth, and that all 
 the readers of his Rhetoric would speak like 
 Burke. That Bacon was altogether mistaken 
 as to this point will now hardly be disputed. 
 His philosophy has flourished during two hun- 
 dred years, and has produced none of this level- 
 ling. The interval between a man of talents 
 and a dunce is as wide as ever; and is never 
 more clearly discernible than when they engage 
 in researches which require the constant use of 
 induction. 
 
 It will be seen that we do not consider 
 Bacon’s ingenious analysis of the inductive 
 method as a very useful performance. Bacon 
 was not, as we have already said, the inventor 
 of the inductive method. He was not even the 
 person who first analyzed the inductive method 
 correctly, though he undoubtedly analyzed it 
 more minutely than any who preceded him. 
 He was not the person who first showed that 
 by the inductive method alone new truth could 
 be discovered. But he was the person who 
 first turned the minds of speculative men, long 
 occupied in verbal disputes, to the discovery of 
 new and useful truth ; and, by doing so, he at 
 once gave to the inductive method an impor- 
 tance and dignity which had never before be- 
 longed to it. He was not the maker of that 
 road; he was not the discoverer of that road; 
 he was not the person who first surveyed and 
 mapped that road. But he was the person who 
 first called the public attention to an inexhaus- 
 tible mine of wealth, which had been utterly 
 neglected, and which was accessible by that 
 road alone. By doing so, he caused that road, 
 which had previously been trodden only by 
 peasants and higglers, to be frequented by a 
 higher class of travellers. 
 
 That which was eminently his own in his 
 system was the end which he proposed to him- 
 self. The end being given, the means, as it 
 appears to us, could not well be mistaken. If 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 *37 
 
 others had aimed at the same object with 
 Bacon, we hold it to be certain that they would 
 have employed the same method with Bacon. 
 It would have been hard to convince Seneca 
 that the inventing of a safety-lamp was an em- 
 ployment worthy of a philosopher. It would 
 have been hard to persuade Thomas Aquinas 
 to descend from the making of syllogisms to 
 the making of gunpowder. But Seneca would 
 never have doubted for a moment that it was 
 only by means of a series of experiments that 
 a safety lamp could be invented. Thomas 
 Aquinas would never have thought that his Bar- 
 bara and baralipton would enable him to ascer- 
 tain the proportion which charcoal ought to 
 bear to saltpetre in a pound of gunpowder. 
 Neither common sense nor Aristotle would have 
 suffered him to fall into such an absurdity. 
 
 By stimulating men to the discovery of new 
 truth, Bacon stimulated them to employ the in- 
 ductive method, the only method, even the an- 
 cient philosophers and the schoolmen themselves 
 being judges, by which new truth can be dis- 
 covered. By stimulating men to the discovery 
 of useful truth, he furnished them with a mo- 
 tive to perform the inductive process well and 
 carefully. His predecessors had been, in his 
 phrase not interpreters, but anticipators of nat- 
 ure. They had been content with the first 
 principles at which they had arrived by the 
 most scanty and slovenly induction. And why 
 was this? It was, we conceive, because their 
 philosophy proposed to itself no practical end, 
 because it was merely an exercise of the mind. 
 A man who wants to contrive a new machine 
 or a new medicine has a strong motive to ob- 
 serve accurately and patiently, and to try ex- 
 periment after experiment. But a man who 
 merely wants a theme for disputation or decla- 
 mation has no such motive. He is therefore 
 content with premises grounded on assumption, 
 or on the most scanty and hasty induction. 
 Thus, we conceive, the schoolmen acted. On 
 
138 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 their foolish premises they often argued with 
 great ability; and as their object was “ assen- 
 sum subjugare, non res,”* to be victorious in 
 controversy, not to be victorious over nature, 
 they were consistent. For just as much logical 
 skill could be shown in reasoning on false as on 
 true premises. But the followers of the new 
 philosophy, proposing to themselves the dis- 
 covery of useful truth as their object, must 
 have altogether failed of attaining the object 
 if they had been content to build theories on 
 superficial induction. 
 
 Bacon has remarked t that in ages when 
 philosophy was stationary, the mechanical arts 
 went on improving. Why was this ? Evi- 
 dently because the mechanic was not content 
 with so careless a mode of induction as served 
 the purposes of the philosopher. And why 
 was the philosopher more easily satisfied than 
 the mechanic ? Evidently because the object 
 of the mechanic was to mould things, whilst 
 the object of the philosopher was only to mould 
 words. Careful induction is not at all neces- 
 sary to the making of a good syllogism. But 
 it is indispensable to the making of a good 
 shoe. Mechanics, therefore, have always 
 been, as far as the range of their humble but 
 useful callings extended, not anticipators but 
 interpreters of nature. And when a philos- 
 ophy arose, the object of which was to do on a 
 large scale what the mechanic does on a small 
 scale, to extend the power and to supply the 
 wants of man, the truth of the premises, which 
 logically is a matter altogether unimportant, 
 became a matter of the highest importance ; 
 and the careless induction with which men of 
 learning had previously been satisfied gave 
 place, of necessity, to an induction far more 
 accurate and satisfactory. 
 
 What Bacon did for inductive philosophy 
 may, we think, be fairly stated thus. The 
 
 * Novum Organum, Lib. I, Aph, 29. 
 
 t Do Augmentis, Lib. 1. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 x 39 
 
 objects of preceding speculators were objects 
 which could be attained without careful induc- 
 tion. Those speculators, therefore, did not 
 perform the inductive process carefully. Bacon 
 stirred up men to pursue an object which could 
 be attained only by induction, and by induc- 
 tion carefully performed ; and consequently 
 induction was more carefully performed. We 
 do not think that the importance of what 
 Bacon did for inductive philosophy has ever 
 been overrated. But we think that the nature 
 of his services is often mistaken, and was not 
 fully understood even by himself. It was not 
 by furnishing philosophers with rules for per- 
 forming the inductive process w<dl, but by 
 furnishing them with a motive for performing 
 it well, that he conferred so vast a benefit on 
 society. 
 
 To give to the human mind a direction which 
 it shall retain for ages is the rare prerogative 
 of a few imperial spirits. It cannot, therefore, 
 be uninteresting to inquire what was the moral 
 and intellectual constitution which enabled 
 Bacon to exercise so vast an influence on the 
 world. 
 
 In the temper of Bacon, — we speak of Bacon 
 the philosopher, not of Bacon the lawyer and 
 politician, — there was a singular union of 
 audacity and sobriety. The promises which 
 he made to mankind might, to a superficial 
 reader, seem to resemble the rants which a 
 great dramatist has put into the mouth of an 
 Oriental conqueror half-crazed by good fortune 
 and by violent passions. 
 
 “ He shall have chariots easier than air, 
 
 Which I will have invited ; and thyself 
 That art the messenger shall ride before him. 
 
 On a horse cut out of an entire diamond. 
 
 That shall be made to go with golden wheels, 
 
 I know not how yet.” 
 
 But Bacon performed what he promised. 
 In truth, Fletcher would not have dared to 
 
140 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL F.SSA VS. 
 
 make Arbaces promise, in his wildest fits of 
 excitement, the tithe of what the Baconian 
 philosophy has performed. 
 
 The true philosophical temperament may, 
 we think, be described in four words, much 
 hope, little faith ; a disposition to believe that 
 anything, however extraordinary, may be done ; 
 an indisposition to believe that anything ex- 
 traordinary has been done. In these points 
 the constitution of Bacon’s mind seems to us to 
 have been absolutely perfect. He was at once 
 the Mammon and the Surly of his friend Ben. 
 Sir Epicure did not indulge in visions more 
 magnificent and gigantic. Surly did not sift 
 evidence with keener and more sagacious 
 incredulity. 
 
 Closely connected with this peculiarity of 
 Bacon’s temper was a striking peculiarity of his 
 understanding. With great minuteness of 
 observation he had an amplitude of compre- 
 hension such as has never yet been vouchsafed 
 to any other human being. The small fine 
 mind of Labruybre has not a more delicate 
 tact than the large intellect of Bacon. The 
 Essays contain abundant proofs that no nice 
 feature of character, no peculiarity in the or- 
 dering of a house, a garden, or a court-masque, 
 could escape the notice of one whose mind was 
 capable of taking in the whole world of knowl- 
 edge, His understanding resembled the tent 
 which the fairy Paribanou gave to Prince 
 Ahmed. Fold it ; and it seemed a toy for the 
 hand of a lady. Spread it ; and the armies of 
 powerful Sultans might repose beneath its 
 shade. 
 
 In keenness of observation he has been 
 equalled though perhaps never surpassed. But 
 the largeness of his mind was all his own. The 
 glance with which he surveyed the intellectual 
 universe resembled that which the Archangel, 
 from the golden threshold of heaven, darted 
 down into the new creation. 
 
LORD BA COJV. 
 
 1 4i 
 
 “ Round he surveyed, — and well might, where he stood 
 So high above "the circling canopy 
 Of night’s extended shade, — from eastern point 
 Of Libra, to the fleecy star which bears 
 Andromeda far off Atlantic seas 
 Beyond the horizon.” 
 
 His knowledge differed from that of other 
 men as a terrestrial globe differs from an 
 Atlas which contains a different country on 
 every leaf. The towns and roads of England, 
 France, and Germany are better laid down in 
 the Atlas than on the globe. But while we are 
 looking at England we see nothing of France ; 
 and while we are looking at France we see 
 nothing of Germany. We may go to the Atlas 
 to learn the bearings and distances of York 
 and Bristol, or of Dresden and Prague. But 
 it is useless if we want to know the bearings 
 and distances of France and Martinique, or 
 of England and Canada. On the globe we 
 shall not find all the market towns in our own 
 neighborhood ; but we shall learn from it the 
 comparative extent and the relative position 
 of all the kingdoms of the earth. “ I have 
 taken,” said Bacon, in a letter written when he 
 was only thirty-one, to his uncle Lord Burleigh, 
 “ I have taken all knowledge to be my prov- 
 ince.” In any other young man, indeed in any 
 other man, this would have been a ridiculous 
 flight of presumption. There have been thou- 
 sands of better mathematicians, astronomers, 
 chemists, physicians, botanists, mineralogists, 
 than Bacon. No man would go to Bacon’s 
 works to learn any particular science or art, any 
 more than he would go to a twelve-inch globe 
 in order to find his way from Ivennington turn- 
 pike to Clapham Common. The art which Ba- 
 con taught was the art of inventing arts. The 
 knowledge in which Bacon excelled all men 
 was the knowledge of the mutual relations of 
 all departments of knowledge. 
 
 The mode in which he communicated his 
 thoughts was peculiar to him. He had no 
 
143 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA VS. 
 
 touch of that disputatious temper which he 
 often censured in his predecessors. He ef- 
 fected a vast intellectual revolution in opposi- 
 tion to a vast mass of prejudices ; yet he never 
 engaged in any controversy ; nay, we cannot 
 at present recollect, in all his philosophical 
 works, a single passage of a controversial char- 
 acter. All those works might with propriety 
 have been put into the form which he adopted 
 in the work entitled Cogitata et visa : “ Fran- 
 ciscus Baconus sic cogitavit.” These are 
 thoughts which have occurred to me : weigh 
 them well ; and take them or leave them. 
 
 Borgia said of the famous expedition of 
 Charles the Eighth, that the French had con- 
 quered Italy, not with steel, but with chalk ; 
 for that the only exploit which they had found 
 necessary for the purpose of taking military 
 occupation of any place had been to mark the 
 doors of the houses where they meant to quar- 
 ter. Bacon often quoted this saying and loved 
 to applv it to the victories of his own intellect.* 
 His philosophy, he said, came as a guest, not 
 as an enemy. She found no difficulty in gain- 
 ing admittance, without a contest, into every 
 understanding fitted by its structure and by its 
 capacity, to receive her. In all this we think 
 that he acted most judiciously ; first, because, 
 as he has himself remarked, the difference 
 between his school and other schools was a dif- 
 ference so fundamental that there was hardly 
 any common ground on which a controversial 
 battle could be fought ; and secondly, because 
 his mind, eminently observant, preeminently 
 discursive and capacious, was, we conceive, 
 neither formed by nature nor disciplined by 
 habit for dialectical combat. 
 
 Though Bacon did not arm his philosophy 
 with the weapons of logic, he adorned her pro- 
 fusely with all the richest decorations of 
 rhetoric. His eloquence, though not untainted 
 
 * Novum Organum, Lib. 4. Aph. 35. and elsewhere. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 *43 
 
 with the vicious taste of his age, would alone 
 have entitled him to a high rank in literature. 
 He had a wonderful talent for packing thought 
 close, and rendering it portable. In wit, if by 
 wit be meant the power of perceiving analogies 
 between things which appear to have nothing 
 in common, he never had an equal, not even 
 Cowley, not even the author of Hudibras. In- 
 deed, he possessed this faculty, or rather this 
 faculty possessed him, to a morbid degree. 
 When he abandoned himself to it without 
 reserve, as he did in the Sapientia Veterum, 
 and at the end of the second book of the De 
 Augme/itis , the feats which he performed were 
 not merely admirable, but portentous, and 
 almost shocking. On these occasions we mar- 
 vel at him as clowns on a fair-day marvel at a 
 juggler, and can hardly help thinking that the 
 devil must be in him. 
 
 These, however, were freaks in which his 
 ingenuity now and then wantoned, with scarcely 
 any other object than to astonish and amuse. 
 But it occasionally happened that, when he 
 was engaged in grave and profound investiga- 
 tions, his wit obtained the mastery over all his 
 other faculties, and led him into absurdities 
 into w’hich no dull man could possibly have 
 fallen. We will give the most striking instance 
 which at present occurs to us. In the third 
 book of De Augtnenti he tells us that there are 
 some principles which are not peculiar to one 
 science, but are common to several, That 
 part of philosophy which concerns itself with 
 these principles is, in his nomenclature, desig- 
 nated as philosophia prima. He then proceeds 
 to mention some of the principles with which 
 this philosophia prima is conversant. One of 
 them is this. An infectious disease is more 
 likely to be communicated while it is in prog- 
 ress than when it has reached its height. 
 This, says he, is true in medicine. It is also 
 true in morals ; for we see that the exam- 
 ple of very abandoned men injures public 
 
‘44 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 morality less than the example of men in 
 whom vice has not yet extinguished all good 
 qualities. Again, he tells us that in music 
 a discord ending in a concord is agreeable, 
 and that the same thing may be noted in the 
 affections. Once more he tells us, that in 
 physics the energy with which a principle acts 
 is often increased by the antiperistasis of its 
 opposite ; and that it is the same in the contests 
 of factions. If the making of ingenious and 
 sparkling similitudes like these be indeed the 
 philosophia prima , we are quite sure that the 
 greatest philosophical work of the nineteenth 
 century is Mr. Moore’s Lalla Rookh. The 
 similitudes which we have cited are very happy 
 similitudes. But that a man like Bacon should 
 have taken them for more, that he should have 
 thought the discovery of such resemblances as 
 these an important part of philosophy, has al- 
 ways appeared to us one of the most singular 
 facts in the history of letters. 
 
 The truth is that his mind was wonderfully 
 quick in perceiving analogies of all sorts. But, 
 like several eminent men whom we could name, 
 both living and dead, he sometimes appeared 
 strangely deficient in the power of distinguish- 
 ing rational from fanciful analogies, analogies 
 which are arguments from analogies which are 
 mere illustrations, analogies like that which 
 Bishop Butler so ably pointed out, between 
 natural and revealed religion, from analogies 
 like that which Addison discovered, between 
 the series of Grecian gods carved by Phidias 
 and the series of English kings painted by 
 Kneller. This w’ant of discrimination has led 
 to many strange political speculations. Sir 
 William Temple deduced a theory of govern- 
 ment from the properties of the pyramid. Mr. 
 Southey’s whole system of finance is grounded 
 on the phaenomena of evaporation and rain. 
 In theology, this perverted ingenuity has made 
 still wilder w : ork. From the time of Irenaeus 
 and Origen down to the present day, there has 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 *45 
 
 not been a single generation in which great 
 divines have not been led into the most absurd 
 expositions of Scripture, by mere incapacity to 
 distinguish analogies proper, to use the schol- 
 astic phrase, from analogies metaphorical.* It 
 is curious that Bacon has himself mentioned 
 this very kind of delusion among the idola 
 specus ; and has mentioned in language which, 
 we are inclined to think, shows that he knew 
 himself to be subject to it. It is the vice, he 
 tells us, of subtle minds to attach too much 
 importance to slight distinctions ; it is the vice, 
 on the other hand, of high and discursive in- 
 tellects to attach too much importance to slight 
 resemblances ; and he adds that when this last 
 propensity is indulged to excess, it leads men 
 to catch at shadows instead of substances.* 
 
 Yet we cannot wish that Bacon’s wit had 
 been less luxuriant. For, to say nothing of 
 the pleasure which it affords, it was in the vast 
 majority of cases emploved for the purpose of 
 making obscure truth plain, of making repul- 
 sive truth attractive, of fixing in the mind for- 
 ever truth which might otherwise have left but 
 a transient impression. 
 
 The poetical faculty was powerful in Bacon’s 
 mind, but not, like his wit, so powerful as oc- 
 casionally to usurp the place of his reason, and 
 to tyrannize over the whole man. No imagina- 
 tion was ever at once so strong and so thor- 
 oughly subjugated. It never stirred but at a 
 signal from good sense. Yet, though discip- 
 lined to such obedience, it gave noble proofs 
 of its vigor. In truth, much of Bacon’s life 
 was passed in a visionary world, amidst things 
 as strange as any that are described in the 
 Arabian Tales, or in those romances on which 
 the curate and barber of Don Quixote’s village 
 performed so cruel an auto-de-ft:, amidst build- 
 ings more sumptuous than the palace of 
 
 * See some interesting remarks on this subject in 
 Bishop Berkley’s Minute Philosopher, Dialogue IV. 
 t Novum Orgaitum, Lib. I, Aph. 55. 
 
146 B JOG PA PH JCAL ESS A VS. 
 
 Aladdin, fountains more wonderful than the 
 golden water of Parizade, conveyances more 
 rapid than the hippogryph of Ruggiero, arms 
 more formidable than the lance of Astolfo, 
 remedies more efficacious than the balsam of 
 Fierabras. Yet in his magnificent day-dreams 
 there was nothing wild, nothing but what sober 
 reason sanctioned. He knew that all the 
 secrets feigned by poets to have been written 
 in the books of enchanters are worthless when 
 compared with the mighty secrets which are 
 really written in the book of nature, and which, 
 with time and patience, will be read there. He 
 knew that all the wonders wrought by all the 
 talismans in fable were trifles when compared 
 to the wonders which might reasonably be ex- 
 pected from the philosophy of fruit, and that, 
 if his words sank deep into the minds of men, 
 they would produce effects such as supersti- 
 tion had never ascribed to the incantations of 
 Merlin and Michael Scot. It was here that 
 he loved to let his imagination loose. He 
 loved to picture to himself the world as it 
 would be when his philosophy should, in his 
 own noble phrase, “ have enlarged the bounds 
 of human empire.” We might refer to many 
 instances. But we will content ourselves with 
 the strongest, the description of the House of 
 Solomon in the New Atlantis. By most of 
 Bacon’s contemporaries, and by some people 
 of our time, this remarkable passage would, 
 we doubt not, be considered as an ingenious 
 rodomontade, a counterpart to the adventures 
 of Sinbad or Baron Munchausen. The truth 
 is, that there is not to be found in any human 
 composition a passage more eminently distin- 
 guished by profound and serene wisdom. The 
 boldness and originality of the fiction is far 
 less wonderful than the nice discernment 
 which carefully excluded from that long list of 
 prodigies everything that can be pronounced 
 
 * New Atlantis. 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 *47 
 
 impossible, everything that can be proved to 
 lie beyond the mighty magic of induction and 
 of time. Already some parts, and not the 
 least startling parts, of this glorious prophecy 
 have been accomplished, even according to the 
 letter ; and the whole, construed according to 
 the spirit, is daily accomplishing all around us. 
 
 One of the most remarkable circumstances 
 in the history of Bacon's mind is the order in 
 which its powers expanded themselves. With 
 him the fruit came first and remained till the 
 last ; the blossoms did not appear till late. In 
 general, the development of the fancy is to 
 the development of the judgment what the 
 growth of a girl is to the growth of a boy. 
 The fancy attains at an earlier period to the 
 perfection of its beauty, its power, and its 
 fruitfulness ; and, as it is first to ripen, it is 
 also first to fade. It has generally lost some- 
 thing of its bloom and freshness before the 
 sterner faculties have reached maturity ; and 
 it is commonly withered and barren while 
 those faculties still retain all their energy. It 
 rarely happens that the fancy and the judg- 
 ment grow together. It happens still more 
 rarely that the judgment grows faster than 
 the fancy. This seems, however, to have been 
 the case with Bacon. His boyhood and youth 
 appear to have been singularly sedate. His 
 gigantic scheme of philosophical reform is said 
 by some writers to have been planned before he 
 was fifteen, and was undoubtedly planned while 
 he was still young. He observed as vigilantly, 
 meditated as deeply, and judged as temperately 
 when he gave his first work to the world as at 
 the close of his long career. But in eloquence, 
 in sweetness and variety of expression, and in 
 richness of illustration, his later writings are 
 far superior to those of his youth. In this re- 
 spect the history of his mind bears some re- 
 semblance to the history of the mind of Burke. 
 The treatise on the Sublime and Beautiful, 
 though written on a subject which the coldest 
 
1 4 8 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 metaphysician could hardly treat without being 
 occasionally betrayed into florid writing, is the 
 most unadorned of all Burke’s works. It ap- 
 peared when he was twenty-five or twenty-six. 
 When, at forty, he wrote the Thoughts on the 
 Causes of the existing Discontents, his reason 
 and his judgment had reached their full 
 maturity ; but his eloquence was still in its 
 splendid dawn. At fifty his rhetoric was quite 
 as rich as good taste would permit ; and when 
 he died, at almost seventy, it had become un- 
 gracefully gorgeous. In his youth he wrote 
 on the emotions produced by mountains and 
 cascades, by the master-pieces of painting and 
 sculpture, by the faces and necks of beautiful 
 women, in the style of a Parliamentary report. 
 In his old age he discussed treaties and tariffs 
 in the most fervent and brilliant language of 
 romance. It is strange that the Essay on the 
 Sublime and Beautiful, and the Letter to a 
 Noble Lord, should be the productions of one 
 man. But it is far more strange that the 
 Essay should have been a production of his 
 youth, and the Letter of his old age. 
 
 We will give very short specimens of Bacon’s 
 two styles. In 1597, he wrote thus: “Crafty 
 men contemn studies ; simple men admire 
 them ; and wise men use them; for they teach 
 not their own use : that is a wisdom without 
 them, and won by observation. Read not to 
 contradict, nor to believe, but to weigh and 
 consider. Some books are to be tasted, others 
 to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed 
 and digested. Reading maketh a full man, con- 
 ference a ready man, and writing an exact man. 
 And therefore if a man write little, he had 
 need have a great memory ; if he confer little, 
 have a present wit ; and if he read little, have 
 much cunning to seem to know that he doth 
 not. Histories make men wise, poets witty, the 
 mathematics subtle, natural philosophy deep, 
 morals grave, logic and rhetoric able to con- 
 tend.” It will hardly be disputed that this is a 
 
LORD BACON. 
 
 149 
 
 passage to be “ chewed and digested.” We do 
 not believe that Thucydides himself has any- 
 where compressed so much thought into so small 
 a space. 
 
 In the additions which Bacon afterwards 
 made to the Essays, there is nothing superior 
 in truth or weight to what we have quoted. 
 But his style was constantly becoming richer 
 and softer. The following passage, first pub- 
 lished in 1625, will show the extent of the 
 change : Prosperity is the blessing of the old 
 Testament ; adversity is the blessing of the 
 New, which carrieth the greater benediction 
 and the clearer evidence of God’s favor. Yet, 
 even in the Old Testament, if you listen to 
 David’s harp you shall hear as many hearse-like 
 airs as carols ; and the pencil of the Holy 
 Ghost hath labored more in describing the 
 afflictions of Job than the felicities of Solomon. 
 Prosperity is not without many fears and dis- 
 tastes ; and adversity is not without comforts 
 and hopes. We see in needle-works and em- 
 broideries it is more pleasing to have a lively 
 work upon a sad and solemn ground, than to 
 have a dark and melancholy work upon a light- 
 some ground. Judge therefore of the pleasure 
 of the heart by the pleasure of the eye. Cer- 
 tainly virtue is like precious odors, most fra- 
 grant when they are incensed or crushed ; 
 for prosperity doth best discover vice, but ad- 
 versity doth best discover virtue.” 
 
 It is bv the Essays that Bacon is best known 
 to the multitude. The Novum Organum and 
 the De Augmentis are much talked of, but little 
 read. They have produced indeed a vast 
 effect on the opinions of mankind ; but they 
 have produced it through the operation of 
 intermediate agents. They have moved the 
 intellects which have moved the world. It is 
 in the Essays alone that the mind of Bacon is 
 brought into immediate contact with the minds 
 of ordinary readers. There he opens an ex- 
 oteric school, and talks to plain men, in lan- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 *50 
 
 guage which everybody understands, about 
 things in which everybody is interested. He 
 has thus enabled those who must otherwise 
 have taken his merits on trust to judge for them- 
 selves ; and the great body of readers have, 
 during several generations, acknowledged that 
 the man who has treated with such consum- 
 mate ability questions with which they are 
 familiar may well be supposed to deserve all 
 the praise bestowed on him by those who have 
 sat in his inner school. 
 
 Without any disparagement to the admirable 
 treatise De Augmentis , we must say that, in our 
 judgment, Bacon’s greatest performance is the 
 first book of the Novum Organum. All the 
 peculiarities of his extraordinary mind are found 
 there in the highest perfection. Many of the 
 aphorisms, but particularly those in which he 
 gives examples of the influence of the idola, 
 show a nicety of observation that has never 
 been surpassed. Every part of the book blazes 
 with wit, but with wit which is employed only 
 to illustrate and decorate truth. No book ever 
 made so great a revolution in the mode of 
 thinking, overthrew so many prejudices, 
 introduced so many new opinions. Yet no 
 book was ever written in a less contentious 
 spirit. It truly conquers with chalk and not 
 with steel. Proposition after proposition enters 
 into the mind, is received not as an invader, 
 but as a welcome friend, and though previous- 
 ly unknown, becomes at once domesticated. 
 But what we most admire is the vast capacity 
 of that intellect which, without effort, takes in 
 at once all the domains of science, all the past, 
 the present, and the future, all the errors of 
 two thousand years, all the encouraging signs 
 of the passing times, all the bright hopes of the 
 coming age. Cowley, who was among the 
 most ardent, and not among the least discern- 
 ing followers of the new philosophy, has, in 
 one of his finest poems, compared Bacon to 
 Moses standing on Mount Pisgah. It is to 
 
LORD BA COAT. 
 
 1 S 1 
 
 Bacon, we think, as he appears in the first 
 book of the Novum Organum , that the com- 
 parison applies with peculiar felicity. There 
 we see the great Lawgiver looking round from 
 his lonely elevation on an infinite expanse ; be- 
 hind him a wilderness of dreary sands and 
 bitter waters, in which successive generations 
 have sojourned, always moving, yet never ad- 
 vancing, reaping no harvest, and building no 
 abiding city ; before him a goodly land, a land 
 of promise, a land flowing with milk and honey. 
 While the multitude below saw only the flat 
 sterile desert in which they had so long wan- 
 dered, bounded on every side by a near hori- 
 zon, or diversified only by some deceitful mi- 
 rage, he was gazing from a far higher stand on 
 a far lovelier country, following with his eye, 
 the long course of fertilizing rivers, through 
 ample pastures, and under the bridges of great 
 capitals, measuring the distances of marts and 
 havens, and portioning out all those wealthy 
 regions from Dan to Beersheba. 
 
 It is painful to turn back from contemplat- 
 ing Bacon’s philosophy to contemplate his life. 
 Yet without so turning back it is impossible 
 fairly to estimate his powers. He left the Uni- 
 versity at an earlier age than that at which 
 most people repair thither. While yet a boy 
 he was plunged into the midst of diplomatic 
 business. Thence he passed to the study of a 
 vast technical system of law, and worked his 
 way up through a succession of laborious offices, 
 to the highest post in his profession. In the 
 meantime he took an active part in every Par- 
 liament ; he was an adviser of the Crown : he 
 paid court with the greatest assiduity and ad- 
 dress to all whose favor was likely to be of use 
 to him ; he lived much in society ; he noted the - 
 slightest peculiarities of character and the 
 slightest changes of fashion. Scarcely any man 
 has led a more stirring life than that which 
 Bacon led from sixteen to sixty. Scarcely any 
 man has been better entitled to be called a 
 
1 5 2 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 thorough man of the world. The founding of 
 a new philosophy, the imparting of a new di- 
 rection to the minds of speculators, this was 
 the amusement of his leisure, the work of hours 
 occasionally stolen from the Woolsack and the 
 Council Board. This consideration, while it 
 increases the admiration with which we regard 
 his intellect, increases also our regret that such 
 an intellect should so often have been unworth- 
 ily employed. He well knew the better course, 
 and had, at one time, resolved to pursue it. 
 “ I confess,” said he in a letter written when he 
 was still young, “ that I have vast contemplative 
 ends as I have moderate civil ends.” Had 
 his civil ends continued to be moderate, he 
 would have been, not only the Moses, put the 
 Joshua of philosophy. He would have ful- 
 filled a large part of his own magnificent pre- 
 dictions. He would have led his followers, 
 not only to the verge, but into the heart of the 
 promised land. He would not merely have 
 pointed out, but would have divided the spoil. 
 Above all, he would have left, not only a great, 
 but a spotless name. Mankind would then 
 have been able to esteem their illustrious bene- 
 factor. We should not then be compelled to 
 regard his character with mingled contempt 
 and admiration, with mingled aversion and gra- 
 titude. We should not then regret that there 
 should be so many proofs of the narrowness 
 and selfishness of a heart, the benevolence of 
 which was yet large enough to take in all races 
 and all ages. We should not then have to 
 blush for the disingenuousness of the most de- 
 voted worshipper of speculative truth, for the 
 servility of the boldest champion of intellectual 
 freedom. We should not then have seen the 
 same man at one time far in the van, at another 
 time far in the rear of his generation. We 
 should not then be forced to own that he who 
 first treated legislation as a science was among 
 the last Englishmen who used the rack, that he 
 who first summoned philosophers to the great 
 
LORD BA COAT. 
 
 *53 
 
 work of interpreting nature, was among the 
 last Englishmen who sold justice. And we 
 should conclude our survey of a life placidly, 
 honorably, beneficently passed, “ in industrious 
 observations, grounded conclusions, and profit- 
 able inventions and discoveries,” * with feelings 
 very different from those with which we now 
 turn away from the checkered spectacle of so 
 much glory and so much shame. 
 
 * From a Letter of Bacon to Lord Burleigh 
 
WARREN HASTINGS.* 
 
 {Edinburgh Review , October , 1841.) 
 
 We are inclined to think that we shall best 
 meet the wishes of our readers, if, instead of 
 minutely examining this book, we attempt to 
 give, in a way necessarily hasty and imperfect, 
 our own view of the life and character of Mr. 
 Hastings. Our feeling towards him is not 
 exactly that of the House of Commons which 
 impeached him in 1787; neither is it that of 
 the House of Commons which uncovered and 
 stood up to receive him in 1813. He had great 
 qualities and he rendered great services to the 
 State. But to represent him as a man of stain- 
 less virtue is to make him ridiculous ; and from 
 regard for his memory, if from no other feeling, 
 his friends would have done well to lend no 
 countenance to such adulation. We believe 
 that, if he were now living, he would have 
 sufficient judgment and sufficient greatness of 
 mind to wish to be shown as he was. He 
 must have known that there were dark spots on 
 his fame. He might also have felt with pride 
 that the splendor of his fame would bear many 
 spots. He would have wished posterity to 
 have a likeness of him, though an unfavorable 
 likeness, rather than a daub at once insipid 
 and unnatural, resembling neither him nor 
 
 * Memoirs of the Life of Warren Hastings , first Gcrver- 
 nor-General of Bengal. Compiled from Original Papers, 
 by the Rev. G. R.Gleig, M. A. 3 vols. 8vo. London: 
 1841. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 ^6 
 
 anybody else. “ Paint me as I am,” said 
 Oliver Cromwell, while sitting to young Lely 
 “ If you leave out the scars and wrinkles, 
 I will not pay you a shilling.” Even in 
 such a trifle, the great Protector showed both 
 his good sense and his magnanimity. He 
 did not wish all that was characteristic in his 
 countenance to be lost, in the vain attempt to 
 give him the regular features and smooth 
 blooming cheeks of the curl-pated minions of 
 James the First. He was content that his face 
 should go forth marked with all the blemishes 
 which had been put on it by time, by war, by 
 sleepless nights, by anxiety, perhaps by re- 
 morse; but with valor, policy, authority, and 
 public care written in all its princely lines. If 
 men truly great knew their own interest, it is 
 thus that they would wish their minds to be 
 portrayed. 
 
 Warren Hastings sprang from an ancient 
 and illustrious race. It has been affirmed that 
 his pedigree can be traced back to the great 
 Danish sea-king, whose sails were long the ter- 
 ror of both coasts of the British Channel, and, 
 who, after many fierce and doubtful struggles, 
 yielded at last to the valor and genius of 
 Alfred. But the undoubted splendor of the line 
 of Hastings needs no illustration from fable. 
 One branch of that line wore, in the fourteenth 
 century, the coronet of Pembroke. From an- 
 other branch sprang the renowned Chamber- 
 lain, the faithful adherent of the White Rose, 
 whose fate has furnished so striking a theme 
 both to poets and to historians. His family re- 
 ceived from the Tudors the earldom of Hunt- 
 ingdon, which, after long dispossession, was re- 
 gained in our time by a series of events scarcely 
 paralleled in romance. 
 
 The lords of the manor of Daylesford, in 
 Worcestershire, claimed to be considered as 
 the heads of this distinguished family. The 
 main stock, indeed, prospered less than some 
 of the younger shoots. But the Daylesford 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 t S7 
 
 family, though not ennobled, was wealthy and 
 highly considered, till, about two hundred years 
 ago, it was overwhelmed by the great ruin of 
 the civil war. The Hastings of that time was a 
 zealous cavalier. He raised money on his 
 lands, sent his plate to the mint at Oxford, 
 joined the royal army, and, after spending half 
 his property in the cause of King Charles, was 
 glad to ransom himself by making over most of 
 the remaining half to Speaker Lenthal. The 
 old seat at Daylesford still remained in the 
 family ; but it could no longer be kept up ; and 
 in the following generation it was sold to a 
 merchant of London. 
 
 Before this transfer took place, the last 
 Hastings of Daylesford had presented his 
 second son to the rectory of the parish in 
 which the ancient residence of the family stood. 
 The living was of little value; and the situa- 
 tion of the poor clergyman, after the sale of the 
 estate, was deplorable. He was constantly en- 
 gaged in lawsuits about his tithes with the new 
 lord of the manor, and was at length utterly 
 ruined. His eldest son, Howard, a well-con- 
 ducted young man, obtained a place in the 
 customs. The second son, Pynaston, an idle, 
 worthless boy, married before he was sixteen, 
 lost his wife in two years, and died in the West 
 Indies, leaving to the care of his unfortunate 
 father a little orphan destined to strange and 
 memorable vicissitudes of fortune. 
 
 Warren, the son of Pynaston, was born on 
 the sixth of December, 1732. His mother 
 died a few days later, and he was left depen- 
 dent on his distressed grandfather. The child 
 was early sent to the village school, where he 
 learned his letters on the same bench with the 
 sons of the peasantry ; nor did any thing in his 
 garb or fare indicate that his life was to take a 
 widely different course from that of the young 
 rustics with whom he studied and played. But 
 no cloud could overcast the dawn of so much 
 genius and so much ambition. The very 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 >S8 
 
 ploughmen observed, and long remembered, 
 how kindly little Warren took to his book. 
 The daily sight of the lands which his an- 
 cestors had possessed, and which had passed 
 into the hands of strangers, filled his young 
 brain with wild fancies and projects. He 
 loved to hear stories of the wealth and 
 greatness of his progenitors, of the-ir splendid 
 housekeeping, their loyalty, and their valor. 
 On one bright summer day, the boy, then just 
 seven years old, lay on the bank of the rivulet 
 which flows through the old domain of his 
 house to join the Isis. There, as threescore 
 and ten years later he told the tale, rose in his 
 mind a scheme which, through all the turns of 
 his eventful career, was never abandoned. He 
 would recover the estate which had belonged 
 to his fathers. He would be Hastings of Dav- 
 lesford. This purpose, formed in infancy and 
 poverty, grew stronger as his intellect expanded 
 and as his fortune rose. He pursued his plan 
 with that calm but indomitable force of will 
 which was the most striking peculiarity of his 
 character. When, under a tropical sun, he 
 ruled fifty millions of Asiatics, his hopes, 
 amidst all the cares of war, finance, and legisla- 
 tion, still pointed to Daylesford. And when 
 his long public life, so singularly checkered 
 with good and evil, with glory and obloquy, had 
 at length closed forever, it was to Daylesford 
 that he retired to die. 
 
 When he was eight years old, his uncle How- 
 ard determined to take charge of him, and to 
 give him a liberal education. The boy went 
 up to London, and was sent to a school at 
 Newington, where he was well taught but ill 
 fed. He always attributed the smallness of 
 his stature to the hard and scanty fare of this 
 seminarj'. At ten he was removed to West- 
 minster school, then flourishing under the care 
 of Dr. Nichols. Vinny Bourne, as his pupils 
 affectionately called him, was one of the mass 
 ters. Churchill, Colman, Lloyd, Cumberland, 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 »59 
 
 Cowper, were among the students. With Cow- 
 per, Hastings formed a friendship which neither 
 the lapse of time, nor a wide dissimilarity of 
 opinions and pursuits, could wholly dissolve. It 
 does not appear that they ever met after they 
 had grown to manhood. But forty years later, 
 when the voices of many great orators were 
 crying for vengeance on the oppressor of India, 
 the shy and secluded poet could image to him- 
 self Hastings the Governor-General only as the 
 Hastings with whom he had rowed on the 
 Thames and played in the cloister, and refused 
 to believe that so good-tempered a fellow could 
 have done anything very wrong. His own life 
 had been spent in praying, musing, and rhym- 
 ing among the water-lilies of the Ouse. He had 
 preserved in no common measure the innocence 
 of childhood. His spirit had indeed been 
 severely tried, but not by temptations which 
 impelled him to any gross violation of the rules 
 of social morality. He had never been at- 
 tacked by combinations of powerful and deadly 
 enemies. He had never been compelled to 
 make a choice between innocence and great- 
 ness, between crime and ruin. Firmly as he 
 held in theory the doctrine of human depravity, 
 his habits were such that he was unable to 
 conceive how far from the path of right even 
 kind and noble natures may be hurried by the 
 rage of conflict and the lust of dominion. 
 
 Hastings had another associate at West- 
 minster of whom we shall have occasion to 
 make frequent mention, Elijah Impey. We 
 know little about their school days. But we 
 think, we may safely venture to guess that, 
 whenever Hastings wished to play a trick more 
 than usually naughty, he hired Impey with a 
 tart or a ball to act as fag in the worse part of 
 the prank. 
 
 Warren was distinguished among his com- 
 rades as an excellent swimmer, boatman, and 
 scholar. At fourteen he was first in the ex- 
 amination for the foundation. His name in 
 
1 60 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 gilded letters on the walls of the dormitory 
 still attests his victory over many older com- 
 petitors. He stayed two years longer at the 
 school, and was looking forward to a student- 
 ship at Christ Church, when an event happened 
 which changed the whole course of his life. 
 Howard Hastings died, bequeathing his nephew 
 to the care of a friend and distant relation, 
 named Chiswick. This gentleman, though he 
 did not absolutely refuse the charge, was desir- 
 ous to rid himself of it as soon as possible. 
 Dr. Nichols made strong remonstrances against 
 the cruelty of interrupting the studies of a 
 youth who seemed likely to be one of the first 
 scholars of the age. He even offered to bear 
 the expense of sending his favorite pupil to 
 Oxford. But Mr. Chiswick was inflexible. 
 He thought the years which had already been 
 wasted on hexameters and pentameters quite 
 sufficient. He had it in his power to obtain 
 for the lad a writership in the service of the 
 East India Company. Whether the young 
 adventurer, when once shipped off, made a for- 
 tune, or died of a liver complaint, he equally 
 ceased to be a burden to anybody, Warren 
 was accordingly removed from Westminster 
 school, and placed for a few months at a com- 
 mercial academy, to study arithmetic and book- 
 keeping. In January, 1750, a few days after 
 he had completed his seventeenth year, he 
 sailed for Bengal, and arrived at his destination 
 in the October following. 
 
 He was immediately placed at a desk in the 
 Secretary’s office at Calcutta, and labored there 
 during two years. Fort William was then 
 purely a commercial settlement. In the south 
 of India the encroaching policy of Dupleix had 
 transformed the servants of the English Com- 
 pany, against their will, into diplomatists and 
 generals. The war of the succession was raging 
 in the Carnatic ; and the tide had been sud- 
 denly turned against the French by the genius 
 of young Robert Clive. But in Bengal the 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 161 
 
 European settlers, at peace with the natives 
 and with each other, were wholly occupied with 
 ledgers and bills of lading. 
 
 After two years passed in keeping accounts 
 at Calcutta, Hastings was sent up the country 
 to Cossimbazar, a town which lies on the 
 Hoogley, about a mile from Moorshedabad, 
 and which then bore to Moorshedabad a rela- 
 tion, if we may compare small things with great, 
 such as the city of London bears to West- 
 minster. Moorshedabad was the abode of the 
 prince who, by an authority ostensibly derived 
 from the Mogul, but really independent, ruled 
 the three great provinces of Bengal, Orissa, 
 and Bahar. At Moorshedabad were the court, 
 the harem, and the public offices. Cossinbazar 
 was a port and a place of trade, renowned for 
 the quantity and excellence of the silks which 
 were sold in its marts, and constantly receiving 
 and sending forth fleets of richlv laden barges. 
 At this important point the Company had 
 established a small factory subordinate to that 
 at Fort William. Here, during several years, 
 Hastings was employed in making bargains for 
 stuffs with native brokers. While he was thus 
 engaged, Surajah Dowlah succeeded to the 
 Government, and declared war against the 
 English. The defenceless settlement of Cos- 
 simbazar, lying close to the tyrant's capital, 
 was instantly seized. Hastings was sent a 
 prisoner to Moorshedabad, but, in consequence 
 of the humane intervention of the servants of 
 the Dutch Company, was treated with indul- 
 gence. Meanwhile the Nabob marched on 
 Calcutta ; the governor and the commandant 
 fled ; the town and citadel were taken, and 
 most of the English prisoners perished in the 
 Black Hole. 
 
 In these events originated the greatness of 
 Warren Hastings. The fugitive governor and 
 his companions had taken refuge on the dreary 
 islets of Fulda, near the mouth of the Hoog- 
 ley. They were naturally desirous to obtain 
 
162 biographical essays. 
 
 full information respecting the proceedings of 
 the Nabob ; and no person seemed so likely 
 to furnish it as Hastings, who was a prisoner 
 at large in the immediate neighborhood of the 
 court. He thus became a diplomatic agent, 
 and soon established a high character for abil- 
 ity and resolution. The treason which at a 
 later period was fatal to Surajah Dowlah was 
 already in progress ; and Hastings was admit- 
 ted to the deliberations of the conspirators. 
 But the time for striking had not arrived. It 
 was necessary to postpone the execution of the 
 design ; and Hastings, who was nowin extreme 
 peril, fled to Fulda. 
 
 Soon after his arrival at Fulda, the expedi- 
 tion from Madras, commanded by Clive, ar- 
 rived in the Hoogley. Warren, young, intrepid, 
 and excited probably by the example of the 
 Commander of the Forces who, having like 
 himself been a mercantile agent of the Com- 
 pany, had been turned by public calamities 
 into a soldier, determined to serve in the ranks. 
 During the early operations of the war he car- 
 ried a musket. But the quick eye of Clive 
 soon perceived that the head of the young vol- 
 unteer would be more useful than his arm. 
 When, after the battle of Plassy, Meer Jaffler 
 was proclaimed Nabob of Bengal, Hastings 
 was appointed to reside at the court of the 
 new prince as agent for the Company. 
 
 He remained at Moorshedabad till the year 
 1761, when he became a member of Council, 
 and was consequently forced to reside at Cal- 
 cutta. This was during the interval between 
 Clive’s first and second administration, an in- 
 terval which has left on the East India Com- 
 pany a stain not wholly effaced by many years 
 of just and humane government. Mr. Vansit- 
 tart, the Governor, was at the head of a new 
 and anomalous empire. On one side was a 
 band of English functionaries, daring, intelli- 
 gent, eager to be rich. On the other side was 
 a great native population, helpless, timid, ac- 
 
IVARREAT HASTINGS. 
 
 163 
 
 customecl to crouch under oppression. To 
 keep the stronger race from preying on the 
 weaker, was an undertaking which taxed to 
 the utmost the talents and energy of Clive. 
 Vansittart, with fair intentions, was a feeble 
 and inefficient ruler. The master caste, as was 
 natural, broke loose from all restraint : and 
 then was seen what we believe to be the most 
 frightful of all spectacles, the strength of civil- 
 ization without its mercy. To all other despo- 
 tism there is a check, imperfect indeed, and 
 liable to gross abuse, still sufficient to preserve 
 society from the last extreme of misery. A 
 time comes when the evils of submission are 
 obviously greater than those of resistance, 
 when fear itself begets a sort of courage, when 
 a convulsive burst of popular rage and despair 
 warns tyrants not to presume too far on the 
 patience of mankind. But against misgovern- 
 ment such as then afflicted Bengal, it was im- 
 possible to struggle. The superior intelligence 
 and energy of the dominant class made their 
 power irresistible. A war of Bengalees against 
 Englishmen was like a war of sheep against 
 wolves, of men against daemons. The only 
 protection which the conquered could find was 
 in the moderation, the clemency, and the en- 
 larged policy of the conquerors. That protec- 
 tion, at a later period, they found. But at first 
 English power came among them unaccom- 
 panied by English morality. There was an 
 interval between the time at which they be- 
 came our subjects, and the time at which they 
 began to reflect that we were bound to dis- 
 charge towards them the duties of rulers. 
 During that interval the business of a servant 
 of the Company was simply to wring out of the 
 natives a hundred or two hundred thousand 
 pounds as speedily as possible, that he might re- 
 turn home before his constitution had suffered 
 from the heat, to marry a peer’s daughter, to 
 buy rotten boroughs in Cornwall, and to give 
 balls in St. James’s Square. Of the conduct of 
 
164 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 Hastings at this time little is known ; but the 
 little that is known, must be considered as hon- 
 orable to him. Fie could not protect the natives ; 
 all that he could do was to abstain from plun- 
 dering and oppressing them ; and this he ap- 
 pears to have done. It is certain that at this 
 time he continued poor; and it is equally cer- 
 tain that by cruelty and dishonesty he might 
 easily have become rich. It is certain that he 
 was never charged with having borne a share 
 in the worst abuses which then prevailed ; and 
 it is almost equally certain that, if he had 
 borne a share in those abuses, the able and 
 bitter enemies who afterwards persecuted him 
 would not have failed to discover and to pro- 
 claim his guilt. The keen, severe, and even 
 malevolent scrutiny to which his whole life was 
 subjected, a scrutiny unparalleled, as we be- 
 lieve, in the history of mankind, is in one re- 
 spect advantageous to his reputation. It 
 brought many lamentable blemishes to light ; 
 but it entitles him to be considered pure from 
 every blemish which has not been brought to 
 light. 
 
 The truth is that the temptations to which 
 so many English functionaries yielded in the 
 time of Mr. Vansittart were not temptations 
 addressed to the ruling passions of Warren 
 Hastings. He was not squeamish in pecuniary 
 transactions; but he was neither sordid nor 
 rapacious. He was far too enlightened a man 
 to look on a great empire merely as a buc- 
 caneer would look on a galleon. Had his 
 heart been much worse than it was, his under- 
 standing would have preserved him from that 
 extremity of baseness. He was an unscrupu- 
 lous, perhaps an unprincipled statesman ; but 
 still he was a statesman, and not a free- 
 booter. 
 
 In 1764 Hastings returned to England. He 
 had realized only a very moderate fortune ; 
 and that moderate fortune was soon reduced 
 to nothing, partly by his praiseworthy liberality, 
 
WARREN -HASTINGS. 
 
 165 
 
 and partly by his mismanagement. Towards 
 his relations he appeared to have acted very 
 generously. The greater part of his savings he 
 left in Bengal, hoping probably to obtain the 
 high usury of India. But high usury and bad 
 security generally go together ; and Hastings 
 lost both interest and principal. 
 
 He remained four years in England. Of his 
 life at this time very little is known. But it 
 has been asserted, and is highly probable, that 
 liberal studies and the society of men of letters 
 occupied a great part of his time. It is to be 
 remembered to his honor that, in days when 
 the languages of the East were regarded by 
 other servants of the Company merely as 
 the means of communicating with weavers and 
 money-changers, his enlarged and accomplished 
 mind sought in Asiatic learning for new forms 
 of intellectual enjoyment, and for new views of 
 government and society. Perhaps, like most 
 persons who have paid much attention to de- 
 partments of knowledge which lie out of the 
 common track, he was inclined to overrate the 
 value of his favorite studies. He conceived 
 that the cultivation of Persian literature might 
 with advantage be made a part of the liberal 
 education of an English gentleman ; and he 
 drew up a plan with that view. It is said that 
 the University of Oxford, in which Oriental 
 learning had never, since the revival of letters, 
 been wholly neglected, was to be the seat of 
 the institution which he contemplated. An 
 endowment was expected from the munificence 
 of the Company ; and professors thoroughly 
 competent to interpret Hafiz and Ferdusi were 
 to be engaged in the East. Hastings called 
 on Johnson, with the hope, as it should seem, 
 of interesting in this project a man who enjoyed 
 the highest literary reputation, and who was 
 particularly connected with Oxford. The in- 
 terview appears to have left on Johnson’s 
 mind a most favorable impression of the talents 
 and attainments of his visitor, Long afte.r ? 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 1 66 
 
 when Hastings was ruling the immense popula- 
 tion of British India, the old philosopher wrote 
 to him, and referred in the most courtly terms, 
 though with great dignity, to their short but 
 agreeable intercourse. 
 
 Hastings soon began again to look towards 
 India. He had little to attach him to England ; 
 and his pecuniary embarrassments were great. 
 He solicited his old masters the Directors for 
 employment. They acceded to his request, 
 with high compliments both to his ability and 
 to his integrity, and appointed him a Member 
 of Council at Madras. It would be unjust not 
 to mention that, though forced to borrow money 
 for his outfit, he did not withdraw any portion 
 of the sum which he had appropriated to the 
 relief of his distressed relations. In the spring 
 of 1769 he embarked on board of the Duke of 
 Grafton, and commenced a voyage distinguished 
 by incidents which might furnish matter for a 
 novel. 
 
 Among the passengers in the Duke of Grafton 
 was a German by the name of Imhoff. He 
 called himself a Baron ; but he was in distressed 
 circumstances, and was going out to Madras as 
 a portrait-painter, in the hope of picking up 
 some of the pagodas which were then lightly 
 got and as lightly spent by the English in India. 
 The Baron was accompanied by his wife, a 
 native, we have somewhere read, of Archangel. 
 This young woman, who, born under the Arctic 
 circle, was destined to play the part of a Queen 
 under the tropic of Cancer, had an agreeable 
 person, a cultivated mind, and. manners in the 
 highest degree engaging. She despised her 
 husband heartily, and, as the s>tory which we 
 have to tell sufficiently proves, not without 
 reason. She was interested by the conversa- 
 tion and flattered by the attentions of Hastings. 
 The situation was indeed perilous. No place 
 is so propitious to the formation either of close 
 friendships or of deadly enmities as an India- 
 man, There are very few people who do not 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 167 
 
 find a voyage which lasts several months in- 
 supportably dull. Anything is welcome which 
 may break that long monotony, a sail, a shark, 
 albatross, a man overboard. Most pas- 
 sengers find some resource in eating twice as 
 many meals as on land. But the great devices 
 for killing the time are quarrelling and flirting. 
 The facilities for both these exciting pursuits 
 are great. The inmates of the ship are thrown 
 together far more than in any country-seat or 
 boarding-house. None can escape from the 
 rest except by imprisoning himself in a cell in 
 which he can hardly turn. All food, all 
 exercise, is taken in company. Ceremony is 
 to a great extent banished. It is every day in 
 the power of a mischievous person to inflict 
 innumerable annoyances. It is every day in 
 the power of an amiable person to confer little 
 services. It not seldom happens that serious 
 distress and danger call forth, in genuine 
 beauty and deformity, heroic virtues and abject 
 vices which, in the ordinary intercourse of good 
 society, might remain during many years un- 
 known even to intimate associates. Under 
 such circumstances met Warren Hastings and 
 the Baroness Imhoff, two persons whose accom- 
 plishments would have attracted notice in any 
 court of Europe. The gentleman had no 
 domestic ties. The lady was tied to a husband 
 for whom she had no regard, and who had no 
 regard for his honor. An attachment sprang 
 up, which was soon strengthened by events 
 such as could hardly have occurred on land. 
 Hastings fell ill. The Baroness nursed him 
 with womanly tenderness, gave him his medi- 
 cines with her own hand, and even set up in 
 his cabin while he slept. Long before the 
 Duke of Grafton reached Madras, Hastings 
 was in love. But his love was of a most 
 characteristic description. Like his hatred, 
 like his ambition, like all his passions, it was 
 strong but not impetuous. It was calm, deep, 
 earnest, patient of delay, unconquerable by 
 
i68 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 time. Imhoff was called into council by his 
 wife and his wife’s lover. It was arranged 
 that the Baroness should institute a suit for a 
 divorce in the courts of Franconia, that the 
 Baron should afford every facility to the pro- 
 ceeding, and that, during the years which might 
 elapse before the sentence should be pro- 
 nounced, they should continue to live together. 
 It was also agreed that Hastings should bestow 
 some very substantial marks of gratitude on 
 the complaisant husband, and should, when 
 the marriage was dissolved, make the lady his 
 wife, and adopt the children whom she had 
 already borne to Imhoff. 
 
 At Madras, Hastings found the trade of the 
 Company in a very disorganized state. His 
 own tastes would have led him rather to politi- 
 cal than to commercial pursuits: but he knew 
 that the favor of his employers depended chiefly 
 on their dividends, and that their dividends 
 depended chiefly on the investment. He, 
 therefore, with great judgment, determined to 
 apply his vigorous mind for a time to this de- 
 partment of business, which had been much 
 neglected, since the servants of the Company 
 had ceased to be clerks, and had become 
 warriors and negotiators. 
 
 In a very few months he effected an impor- 
 tant reform, The Directors notified to him 
 their high approbation, and were so much 
 pleased with his conduct that they determined 
 to place him at the head of the government of 
 Bengal. Early in 1772 he quitted Fort St. 
 George for his new post. The Imhoffs, who 
 were still man and wife, accompanied him, and 
 lived at Calcutta on the same plan which they 
 had already followed during more than two 
 years. 
 
 When Hastings took his seat at the head of 
 the council board Bengal was still governed 
 according to the system which Clive had de- 
 vised, a system which was, perhaps, skilfully 
 contrived for the purpose of facilitating and 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 169 
 
 concealing a great revolution, but which, when 
 that revolution was complete and irrevocable, 
 could produce nothing but inconvenience. 
 There were two governments, the real and the 
 ostensible. The supreme power belonged to 
 the Company, and was in truth the most des- 
 potic power that can be conceived. The only 
 restraint on the English masters of the country 
 was that which their own justice and humanity 
 imposed on them. There was no constitutional 
 check on their will, and resistance to them was 
 utterly hopeless. 
 
 But though thus absolute in reality, the 
 English had not yet assumed the style of sover- 
 eignty. They held their territories as vassals 
 of the throne of Delhi; they raised their 
 revenues as collectors appointed bv the imperial 
 commission ; the public seal was inscribed with 
 the imperial titles ; and their mint struck only 
 the imperial coin. 
 
 There was still a nabob of Bengal, who stood 
 to the English rulers of his country in the same 
 relation in which Augustulus stood to Odoacer, 
 or the last Merovingians to Charles Martel and 
 Pepin. He lived at Moorshedabad, surrounded 
 by princely magnificence. He was approached 
 with outward marks of reverence, and his name 
 was used in public instruments. But in the 
 government of the country he had less real 
 share than the youngest writer or cadet in the 
 Company’s service. 
 
 The English Council which represented the 
 Company at Calcutta was constituted on a very 
 different plan from that which has since been 
 adopted. At present the Governor is, as to all 
 executive measures, absolute. Pie can declare 
 war, conclude peace, appoint public function- 
 aries or remove them, in opposition to the 
 unanimous sense of those who sit with him in 
 council. They are, indeed, entitled to know 
 all that is done, to discuss all that is done, to 
 advise, to remonstrate, to send protests to 
 England. But it is with the Governor that the 
 
170 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 supreme power resides, and on him that the 
 whole responsibility rests. This system, which 
 was introduced by Mr. Pitt and Mr. Dundas in 
 spite of the strenuous opposition of Mr. Burke, 
 we conceive to be on the whole the best that 
 was ever devised for the government of a 
 country where no materials can be found for a 
 representative constitution. In the time of 
 Hastings the Governor had oniy one vote in 
 council, and, in case of an equal division a 
 casting vote. It therefore happened not un- 
 frequently that he was overruled in the gravest 
 questions ; and it was possible that he might 
 be wholly excluded, for years together, from 
 the real direction of public affairs. 
 
 The English functionaries at Fort William 
 had as yet paid little or no attention to the in- 
 ternal government of Bengal. The only branch 
 of politics about which they much busied them- 
 selves was negotiated with native princes. The 
 police, the administration of justice, the details 
 of the collection of revenue, were almost en- 
 tirely neglected. We may remark that the 
 phraseology of the Company’s servants still 
 bears the traces of this state of things. To 
 this day they always use the word “ political ” 
 as synonymous with “ diplomatic.” We could 
 name a gentleman still living, who was de- 
 scribed by the highest authority as an invalu- 
 able public servant, eminently fit to be at the 
 head of the internal administration of a whole 
 presidency, but unfortunately quite ignorant of 
 all political business. 
 
 The internal government of Bengal the Eng- 
 lish rulers delegated to a great native minister, 
 who was stationed at Moorshedabad. All mil- 
 itary affairs, and with the exception of what 
 pertains to mere ceremonial, all foreign affairs, 
 were withdrawn from his control ; but the other 
 departments of the administration were en- 
 tirely confided to him. His own stipend 
 amounted to near a hundred thousand pounds 
 sterling a year. The personal allowance of 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 171 
 
 the nabob, amounting to more than three hun- 
 dred thousand pounds a year, passed through 
 the minister’s hands and was, to a great ex- 
 tent, at his disposal. The collection of 
 the revenue, the administration of justice, 
 the maintenance of order, were left to this high 
 functionary ; and for the exercise of his im- 
 mense power he was responsible to none but 
 the British masters of the country. 
 
 A situation so important, lucrative, and 
 splendid, was naturally an object of ambition 
 to the ablest and most powerful natives. Clive 
 had found it difficult to decide between con- 
 flicting pretensions. Two candidates stood 
 out prominently from the crowd, each of them 
 the representative of a race and of a religion. 
 
 One of these was Mahommed Reza Khan, a 
 Mussulman of Persian extraction, able, active, 
 religious after the fashion of his people, and 
 highly esteemed by them. In England he 
 might perhaps have been regarded as a corrupt 
 and greedy politician. But, tried by the lower 
 standard of Indian morality, he might be con- 
 sidered as a man of integrity and honor. 
 
 His competitor was a Hindoo Brahmin 
 whose name has, by a terrible and melancholy 
 event, been inseparably associated with that of 
 Warren Hastings, the Maharajah Nuncomar. 
 This man had played an important part in all 
 the revolutions which, since the time of Sura- 
 jah Dowlah, had taken place in Bengal. To 
 the consideration which in that country be- 
 longs to high and pure caste, he added the 
 weight which is derived from wealth, talents, 
 and experience. Of his moral character it is 
 difficult to give a notion to those who are ac- 
 quainted with human nature onlv as it appears 
 in our island. What the Italian is to the Eng- 
 lishman, what the Hindoo is to the Italian, 
 what the Bengalee is to other Hindoos, that 
 was Nuncomar to other Bengalees. The phys- 
 ical organization of the Bengalee is feeble even 
 to effeminacy. He lives in a constant vapor 
 
172 
 
 B/OCRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 bath. His pursuits are sedentary, his limbs 
 delicate, his movements languid. During 
 many ages he has been trampled upon bv men 
 of bolder and more hardy breeds. Courage, 
 independence, veracity, aie qualities to which 
 his constitution and his situation are equally 
 unfavorable. His mind bears a singular anal- 
 ogy to his body. It is weak even to helpless- 
 ness for purposes of manly resistance ; but its 
 suppleness and its tact move the children of 
 sterner climates to admiration not unmingled 
 with contempt. All those arts which are the 
 natural defence of the weak are more familiar 
 to this subtle race than to the Ionian of the 
 time of Juvenal, or to the Jew of the dark ages. 
 What the horns are to the buffalo, what the 
 paw is to the tiger, what the sting is to the bee, 
 what beauty, according to the old Greek song, 
 is to woman, deceit is to the Bengalee. Large 
 promises, smooth excuses, elaborate tissues of 
 circumstantial falsehood, chicanery, perjury, 
 forgerv, are the weapons, offensive and defen- 
 sive, of the people of the Lower Ganges. All 
 those millions do not furnish one sepov to 
 the armies of the Company. But as usurers, 
 as monev-changers, as sharp legal practition- 
 ers, no class of human beings can bear a com- 
 parison to them. With all his softness, the 
 Bengalee is by no means placable in his enmi- 
 ties or prone to pity. The pertinacity with 
 which he adheres to his purposes yields only to 
 the immediate pressure of fear. Nor does he 
 lack a certain kind of courage which is often 
 wanting to his masters. To inevitable evils he 
 is sometimes found to oppose a passive forti- 
 tude, such as the Stoics attributed to their 
 ideal sage. An European warrior who rushes 
 on a battery of cannon with a loud hurrah, will 
 sometimes shriek under the surgeon’s knife, 
 and fall into an agony of despair at the sen- 
 tence of death. But the Bengalee, who would 
 see his country overrun, his house laid in ashes, 
 his children murdered or dishonored, without 
 
WARREN ’ HASTINGS. 
 
 *73 
 
 having the spirit to strike one blow, has yet 
 been known to endure torture with the firmness 
 of Mucius, and to mount the scatfold with the 
 steady step and even pulse of Algernon Sid- 
 ney. 
 
 In Nuncomar, the national character was 
 strongly and with exaggeration personified. 
 The company’s servants had repeatedly de- 
 tected him in the most criminal intrigues. On 
 one occasion he brought a false charge against 
 another Hindoo, and tried so substantiate it by 
 producing forged documents. On another oc- 
 casion it was discovered that while professing 
 the strongest attachment to the English, he 
 was engaged in several conspiracies against 
 them, and in particular that he was the medium 
 of a correspondence between the court of Delhi 
 and the French authorities in the Carnatic. 
 For these and similar practices he had been 
 long detained in confinement. But his talents 
 and influence had not only procured his liber- 
 ation, but had obtained for him a certain de- 
 gree of consideration even among the British 
 rulers of his country. 
 
 Clive was extremely unwilling to place a Mus- 
 sulman at the head of the administration of 
 Bengal. On the other hand, he could not bring 
 himself to confer immense power on a man to 
 whom everv sort of villany had been repeatedly 
 brought home. Therefore, though the nabob, 
 over whom Nuncomar had by intrigue acquired 
 great influence, begged that the artful Hindoo 
 might be intrusted with the government, Clive, 
 after some hesitation, decided honestly and 
 wisely in favor of Mahommed Reza Khan. 
 When Hastings became Governor, Mahommed 
 Reza Khan had held power seven years. An 
 infant son of Meer Jaffier was now- nabob; and 
 the guardianship of the young prince’s person 
 had been confided to the minister. 
 
 Nuncomar. stimulated at once by cupidity and 
 malice, had been constantly attempting to hurt 
 the reputation of his successful rival. This 
 
174 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 was not difficult. ~ The revenues of Bengal, 
 under the administration established by Clive, 
 did not yield such a surplus as had been anti- 
 cipated by the Company ; for, at that time, the 
 most absurd notions were entertained in Eng- 
 land respecting the wealth of India. Palaces 
 of porphyry, hung with the richest brocade, 
 heaps of pearls and diamonds, vaults from which 
 pagodas of gold and mohurs were measured out 
 by the bushel, filled the imagination even of 
 men of business. Nobody seemed to be aware 
 of what nevertheless was most undoubtedly the 
 truth, that India was a poorer country than 
 countries which in Europe are reckoned poor, 
 than Ireland, for example, or than Portugal. 
 It was confidently believed by Lords of the 
 Treasury and members for the city that Bengal 
 would not only defray its own charges, but 
 would afford an increased dividend to the pro- 
 prietors of India stock, and large relief to the 
 English finances. These absurd expectations 
 were disappointed ; and the Directors, natur- 
 ally enough, chose to attribute the disappoint- 
 ment rather to the mismanagement of Mahom- 
 med Reza Kahn than to their own ignorance of 
 the country intrusted to their care. They were 
 confirmed in their error by the agents of Nunco- 
 mar ; for Nuncomar had agents even in Lead- 
 enhall Street. Soon after Hastings reached 
 Calcutta, he received a letter addressed by the 
 Court of Directors, not to the Council generally, 
 but to himself in particular. He was directed 
 to remove Mahommed Reza Kahn, to arrest 
 him together with all his family and all his 
 partisans, and to institute a strict inquiry into 
 the whole administration of the province. It 
 was added that the Governor would do well to 
 avail himself of the assistance of Nuncomar in 
 the investigation. The viceS of Nuncomar 
 were acknowledged. But even from his vices, 
 it was said, much advantage might at such a 
 conjuncture be derived ; and, though he could 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 *75 
 
 not be safely trusted, it might still be proper 
 to encourage him by hopes of reward. 
 
 The Governor bore no good will to Nun- 
 comar. Many years before they had known 
 each other at Moorshedabad ; and then a quar- 
 rel had arisen between them which all the 
 authority of their superiors could hardly com- 
 pose. Widely as they differed in most points, 
 they resembled each other in this, that both 
 were men of unforgiving natures. To Mahom- 
 med Reza Kahn, on the other hand, Hastings 
 had no feelings of hostility. Nevertheless he 
 proceeded to execute the instructions of the 
 Company with an alacrity which he never 
 showed, except when instructions were in perfect 
 conformity with his own views. He had wisely 
 as we think, determined to get rid of the system 
 of double government in Bengal. The orders 
 of the directors furnished him with the means 
 of effecting his purpose, and dispensed him 
 from the necessity of discussing the matter 
 with his Council. He took his measures with 
 his usual vigor and dexterity. At midnight, the 
 palace of Mahommed Reza Khan at Moorsheda- 
 bad was surrounded by a battalion of sepoy. The 
 minister was roused from his slumbers and in- 
 formed that he was a prisoner. With the Mus- 
 sulman gravity, he bent his head and submitted 
 himself to the will of God. He fell not alone. 
 A chief named Schitab Roy had been intrusted 
 with the government of Bahar. His valor and 
 his attachment to the English had more than 
 once been signally proved. On that memorable 
 dav on which the people of Patna saw from their 
 wall the whole army of the Mogul scattered by 
 the little band of Captain Knox, the voice of 
 the British conquerors assigned the palm of 
 gallantry to the brave Asiatic. “ I never,” 
 said Knox, when he introduced Schitab Roy, 
 covered with blood and dust, to the English 
 functionaries assembled in the factory, “ I 
 never saw a native fight so before.” Schitab 
 Roy was involved in the ruin of Mahommed 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 176 
 
 Reza Kahn, was removed from office and was 
 placed under arrest. The members of the 
 Council received no intimation of these meas- 
 ures till the prisoners were on their road to 
 Calcutta. j 
 
 The inquiry into the conduct of the min-/ 
 ister was postponed on different pretences, 
 he was detained in an easy confinement during 
 many months. In the mean time, the great 
 revolution which Hastings had planned was 
 carried into effect. The office of minister was 
 abolished. The internal administration was 
 transferred to the servants of the Companv. 
 A system, a very imperfect system, it is true, 
 of civil and criminal justice, under English 
 superintendence, was established. The nabob 
 was no longer to have even an ostensible share 
 in the government; but he was still to receive 
 a considerable annual allowance, and to be 
 surrounded with the state of sovereignty. As 
 he was an infant, it was necessary to provide 
 guardians for his person and property. His 
 person was intrusted to a lady of his father’s 
 harem, known by the name of Munny Begum. 
 The office of treasurer of the household was 
 bestowed on a son of Nuncomar, named Goor- 
 das. Nuncomar’s services were wanted; yet 
 he could not safely be trusted with power ; 
 and Hastings thought it a masterstroke of pol- 
 icy to reward the able and unprincipled parent 
 by promoting the inoffensive child. 
 
 The revolution completed, the double gov- 
 ernment dissolved, the Company installed in 
 the full sovereignty of Bengal, Hastings had no 
 motive to treat the late ministers with rigor. 
 Their trial had been put off on various pleas 
 till the new organization was complete. They 
 were then brought before a committee, over 
 which the Governor presided. Schitab Roy 
 was speedily acquitted with honor. A formal 
 apology was made to him for the restraint to 
 which he had been subjected. All the Eastern 
 marks of respect were bestowed on him. He 
 
WARREN NAS TINGS. 
 
 *77 
 
 was clothed in a robe of state, presented with 
 jewels and with a richly harnessed elephant, 
 and sent back to his government at Patna. 
 But his health had suffered from confinement ; 
 his high spirit had been cruelly wounded ; and 
 soon after his liberation he died of a broken 
 heart. 
 
 The innocence of Mahommed Reza Kahn 
 was not so clearly established. But the Gov- 
 ernor was not disposed to deal harshly. After 
 a long hearing, in which Nuncomar appeared 
 as the accuser, and displayed both the art and 
 the inveterate rancor which distinguished him, 
 Hastings pronounced that the charge had not 
 been made out, and ordered the fallen minister 
 to be set at liberty. 
 
 Nuncomar had purposed to destroy the Mus- 
 sulman administration, and to rise on its ruin. 
 Both his malevolence and his cupidity had been 
 disappointed. Hastings had made him a 
 tool, had used him for the purpose of accom- 
 plishing the transfer of the government from 
 Moorshedabad to Calcutta, from native to 
 European hands. The rival, the enemy, so 
 long envied, so implacably persecuted, had 
 been dismissed unhurt. The situation so long 
 and ardently desired had been abolished. It 
 was natural that the Governor should be from 
 that time an object of the most intense hatred 
 to the vindictive Brahmin. As yet, however, 
 it was necessary to suppress such feelings. The 
 time was coming when that long animosity was 
 to end in a desperate and deadly struggle. 
 
 In the mean time, Hastings was compelled 
 to turn his attention to foreign affairs. The 
 object of his diplomacy was at this time simply 
 to get money. The finances of his govern- 
 ment were in an embarrassed state, and this 
 embarrassment he was determined to re- 
 lieve bv some means, fair or foul. The prin 
 ciple which directed all his dealings with 
 his neighbors is fully expressed by the old 
 motto of one of the great predatory families of 
 
I7 g BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 Teviotdale, “ Thou shalt want ere I want.” 
 He seems to have laid it down, as a funda- 
 mental proposition which could not be dis- 
 puted, that, when he had not as many lacs of 
 rupees as the public service required, he was 
 to take them from anybody who had. One 
 thing, indeed, is to be said in excuse for him. 
 The pressure applied to him by his employers 
 at home, was such that only the highest virtue 
 could have withstood, such as left him no choice 
 except to commit great wrongs, or to resign 
 his high post, and with that post all his hopes 
 of fortune and distinction. The Directors, it 
 is true, never enjoined or applauded any crime. 
 Far from it. Whoever examines their letters 
 written at that time will find there many just 
 and humane sentiments, many excellent pre- 
 cepts, in short, an admirable code of political 
 ethics. But every exhortation is modified or 
 nullified by a demand of money. “ Govern 
 leniently, and send more money ; practice strict 
 justice and moderation towards neighboring 
 powers, and send more money ; ” this is in 
 truth the sum of almost all the instructions 
 that Hastings ever received from home. Now 
 these instructions, being interpreted, mean 
 simply, “ Be the father and the oppressor of 
 the people ; be just and unjust, moderate and 
 rapacious.” The Directors dealt with India, 
 as the church, in the good old times, dealt with 
 a heretic. They delivered the victim over to 
 the executioners, with an earnest request that 
 all possible tenderness might be shown. We 
 by no means accuse or suspect those who 
 framed these despatches of hypocrisy. It is 
 probable that, writing fifteen thousand miles 
 from the place where their orders were to be 
 carried into effect, they never perceived the 
 gross inconsistency of which they were guilty. 
 But the inconsistency was at once manifest to 
 their vicegerent at Calcutta, who, with an 
 empty treasury, with an unpaid army, with his 
 own salary often in arrear, with deficient crops, 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 179 
 
 with government tenants daily running away, 
 was called upon to remit home another half 
 million without fail. Hastings saw that it was 
 absolutely necessary for him to disregard either 
 the moral discourses or the pecuniary requisi- 
 tions of his employers. Being forced to dis- 
 obey them in something, he had to consider 
 what kind of disobedience they would most 
 readily pardon ; and he correctly judged that 
 the safest course would be to neglect the ser- 
 mons and find the rupees. 
 
 A mind so fertile as his, and so little re- 
 strained by conscientious scruples, speedily dis- 
 covered several modes of relieving the financial 
 embarrassments of the government. The allow- 
 ance of the Nabob of Bengal was reduced at a 
 stroke from three hundred and twenty thousand 
 pounds a year to half that sum. The Company 
 had bound itself to pay near three hundred 
 thousand pounds a year to the Great Mogul, 
 as a mark of homage for the provinces which 
 he had intrusted to their care ; and they had 
 ceded to him the districts of Corah and Alla- 
 habad. On the plea that the Mogul was not 
 really independent, but merely a tool in the 
 hands of others, Hastings determined to re- 
 tract these concessions. He accordingly de- 
 clared that the English would pay no more 
 tribute, and sent troops to occupy Allahabad 
 and Corah. The situation of these places was 
 such, that there would be little advantage and 
 great expense in retaining them. Hastings, 
 who wanted money and not territory, deter- 
 mined to sell them. A purchaser was not 
 wanting. The rich province of Oude had, in 
 the general dissolution of the Mogul Empire, 
 fallen to the share of the great Mussulman 
 house by which it is still governed. About 
 twenty years ago, this house, by the permission 
 of the British government, assumed the royal 
 title ; but in the time of Warren Hastings such 
 an assumption would have been considered by 
 the Mahommedans of India as a monstrous im- 
 
i8o 
 
 biographical essays. 
 
 piety. The Prince of Oude, though he held 
 the power, did not venture to use the stvle of 
 sovereignty. To the appellation of Nabob or 
 Viceroy, he added that of Vizier of the mon- 
 archy of Hindostan, just as in the last century 
 the Electors of Saxony and Brandenburg, 
 though independent of the Emperor, and often 
 in arms against him were proud to style them- 
 selves his Grand Chamberlain and Grand Mar- 
 shal. Sujah Dowlah, then Nabob Vizier, was 
 on excellent terms with the English. He had 
 a large treasure. Allahabad and Corah were 
 so situated that they might be of use to him 
 and could be of none to the Company. The 
 buyer and seller soon came to an understand- 
 ing ; and the provinces which had been torn from 
 the Mogul were made over to the government 
 of Oude for about half a million sterling. 
 
 But there was another matter still more im- 
 portant to be settled by the Vizier and the 
 Governor. The fate of a brave people was to 
 be decided. It was decided in a manner 
 which has left a lasting stain on the fame of 
 Hastings and of England. 
 
 The people of Central Asia had always been 
 to the inhabitants of India what the warriors of 
 the German forests were to the subject of the 
 decaving monarchy of Rome. The dark, slender, 
 and timid Hindoo shrank from a conflict with 
 the strong muscle and resolute spirit of the fair 
 race, which dwelt beyond the passes. There is 
 reason to believe that, at a period anterior to 
 the dawn of regular history, the people who 
 spoke the rich and flexible Sanscrit came from 
 regions lying far beyond the Hyphasis and the 
 Hvstaspes, and imposed their yoke on the 
 children of the soil. It is certain that, during 
 the last ten centuries, a-succession of invaders 
 descended from the west on Hindostan ; nor 
 was the course of conquest ever turned back 
 towards the setting sun, till that memorable 
 campaign in which the cross of Saint George 
 was planted on the walls of Ghizni. 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 181 
 
 The Emperors of Hindostan themselves came 
 from the other side of the Great Mountain 
 ridge ; and it had always been their practice to 
 recruit their army from the hardy and valiant 
 race from which their own illustrious house 
 sprang. Among the military adventurers who 
 were allured to the Mogul standards from the 
 neighborhood of Cabul and Candahar, were 
 conspicuous several gallant bands, known by 
 the name of Rohillas. Their services had been 
 rewarded with large tracts of land, fiefs of the 
 spear, if we may use an expression drawn frem 
 an analogous state of things, in that fertile 
 plain through which the Ramgunga flows from 
 the snowy heights of Kumaon to join the 
 Ganges. In the general confusion which 
 followed the death of Aurungzebe, the warlike 
 colony became virtually independent. The 
 Rohillas were distinguished from the other in- 
 habitants of India by .a peculiarly fair com- 
 plexion. They were more honorably distin- 
 guished by courage in war, and by skill in the 
 arts of peace. While anarchy raged from 
 Lahore to Cape Comorin, their little territory 
 enjoyed the blessings of repose under the 
 guardianship of valor. Agriculture and com- 
 merce flourished among them ; nor were they 
 negligent of rhetoric and poetry. Many persons 
 now living have heard aged men talk with 
 regret of the golden days when the Afghan 
 princes ruled in the vale cf Rohilcund. 
 
 Sujah Dowlah had set his heart on adding 
 this rich district to his own principality. Right, 
 or show of right, he had absolutely none. His 
 claim was in no respect better founded than 
 that of Catherine to Poland, or that of the 
 Bonaparte family to Spain. The Rohillas held 
 their country by exactly the same tide by which 
 he held his, and had governed their country far 
 better than his had ever been governed. Nor 
 were they a people whom it was perfectly safe 
 to attack. Their land was indeed an open 
 plain destitute of natural defences ; but their 
 
1 82 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 veins were full of the high blood of Afghanis- 
 tan. As soldiers, they had not the steadiness 
 which is seldom found except in company with 
 strict discipline ; but their impetuous valor had 
 been proved on many fields of battle. It was 
 said that their chiefs, when united by common 
 peril, could bring eighty thousand men into the 
 field. Sujah Dowlah had himself seen them 
 fight, and wisely shrank from a conflict with 
 them. There was in India one army, and only 
 one, against which even those proud Caucasian 
 tribes could not stand. It had been abundantly 
 proved that neither tenfold odds, nor the 
 martial ardor of the boldest Asiatic nations, 
 could avail aught against English science and 
 resolution. Was it possible to induce the 
 Governor of Bengal to let out to hire the irre- 
 sistible energies of the imperial people, the skill 
 against which the ablest chiefs of Hindostan 
 were helpless as infants, the discipline which 
 had so often triumphed over the frantic strug- 
 gles of fanaticism and despair, the unconquer- 
 able British courage which is never so sedate 
 and stubborn as toward the close of a doubtful 
 and murderous day? 
 
 This was what the Nabob Vizier asked, and 
 what Hastings granted. A bargain was soon 
 struck. Each of the negotiators had what the 
 other wanted. Hastings was in need of funds 
 to carry on the government of Bengal, and to 
 send remittances to London ; and Sujah Dow- 
 lah had an ample revenue. Sujah Dowlah was 
 bent on subjugating the Rohillas ; and Hast- 
 ings had at his disposal the only force by which 
 the Rohillas could be subjugated. It was 
 agreed that an English army should be lent to 
 the Nabob Vizier, and that, for the loan, he 
 should pay four hundred thousand pounds 
 sterling, besides defraying all the charge of 
 the troops while employed in his service. 
 
 “ I really cannot see,” says Mr. Gleig, “ upon 
 what grounds, either of political or moral jus- 
 tice, this proposition deserves to be stigmatized 
 
WARREN 7 HA S TINGS. ^3 
 
 as infamous.” If we understand the meaning 
 of words, it is infamous to commit a wicked 
 action for hire, and it is wicked to engage in 
 war without provocation. In this particular 
 war, scarcely one aggravating circumstance was 
 wanting. The object of the Rohilla war was 
 this, to deprive a large population, who had 
 never done us the least harm, of a good govern- 
 ment, and to place them, against their will, 
 under an execrably bad one. Nay, even this 
 is not all. England now descended far below 
 the level even of those petty German princes 
 who, about the same time, sold us troops to 
 fight the Americans. The hussar-mongers of 
 Hesse and Anspach had at least the assurance 
 that the expeditions on which their soldiers 
 were to be employed would be conducted in 
 conformity with the humane rules of civilized 
 warfare. Was the Rohilla war likely to be 
 so conducted ? Did the Governor stipulate 
 that it should be so conducted ? He well knew 
 what Indian warfare was. He well knew that 
 the power which he covenanted to put into 
 Sujah Dowlah’s hands would, in all probability 
 be atrociously abused ; and he required no 
 guarantee, no promise that it should not be so 
 abused. He did not even reserve to himself 
 the right of withdrawing his aid in case of 
 abuse, however gross. We are almost ashamed 
 to notice Major Scott’s plea, that Hastings was 
 justified in letting out English troops to 
 slaughter the Rohillas, because the Rohillas 
 were not of Indian race, but a colony from a 
 distant country. What were the English them- 
 selves ? Was it for them to proclaim a crusade 
 for the expulsion of all intruders from the 
 countries watered by the Ganges ? Did it lie 
 in their mouths to contend that a foreign settler 
 who establishes an empire in India is a caput 
 Ittpinum 1 What would they have said if any 
 other power had, on such a ground, attacked 
 Madras or Calcutta, without the slightest pro- 
 vocation ? Such a defence was wanting to 
 
!$4 biographical essays. 
 
 make the infamy of the transaction complete. 
 The atrocity of the crime, and the hypocrisy of 
 the apology, are worthy of each other. 
 
 One of the three brigades of which the Ben- 
 gal army consisted was sent under Colonel 
 Champion to join Sujah Dowlah’s forces. The 
 Rohillas expostulated, entreated, offered a large 
 ransom, but in vain. They then resolved to 
 defend themselves to the last. A bloody battle 
 was fought. “The enemy,” says Colonel 
 Champion, “ gave proof of a good share of 
 military knowledge ; and it was impossible to 
 describe a more obstinate firmness of resolu- 
 tion than they displayed.” The dastardly 
 sovereign of Oude fled from the field. The 
 English were left unsupported; but their fire 
 and their charge were irresistible. It was not, 
 however, till the most distinguished chiefs had 
 fallen, fighting bravely at the head of their 
 troops, that the Rohilla ranks gave way. Then 
 the Nabob Vizier and his rabble made their 
 appearance, and hastened to plunder the camp 
 of the valiant enemies, whom they had never 
 dared to look in the face. The soldiers of the 
 Company, trained in an exact discipline, kept 
 unbroken order, while the tents were pillaged 
 by these worthless allies. But many voices 
 were heard to exclaim, “We have had all the 
 fighting, and those rogues are to have all the 
 profit.” 
 
 Then the horrors of Indian war were let 
 loose on the fair valleys and cities of Rohil- 
 cund. The whole country was in a blaze. 
 More than a hundred thousand people fled 
 from their homes to pestilential jungles, pre- 
 ferrinsr famine, and fever, and the haunts of 
 tigers, to the tyranny of him, to whom an Eng- 
 lish and a Christian government had, for shame- 
 ful lucre, sold their substance, and their blood, 
 and the honor of their wives and daughters. 
 Colonel Champion remonstrated with the 
 Nabob Vizier, and sent strong representations 
 to Fort William ; but the Governor had made 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 185 
 
 no conditions as to the mode in which the war 
 was to be carried on. He had troubled him- 
 self about nothing but his forty lacs ; and, 
 though he might disapprove of Sujah Dow lairs 
 wanton barbarity, he did not think himself en- 
 titled to interfere, except by offering advice. 
 This delicacy excites the admiration of the 
 biographer. “Mr. Hastings.” he says, “could 
 not himself dictate to the Nabob, nor permit 
 the commander of the company’s troops to 
 dictate how the war was to be carried on.” 
 No, to be sure. Mr. Hastings had only to put 
 down by main force the brave struggles of in- 
 nocent men fighting for their liberty. Their 
 military resistance crushed, his duties ended ; 
 and he had then only to fold his arms and look 
 on, while their villages were burned, their chil- 
 dren butchered, and their women violated. 
 Will Mr. Gleig seriously maintain this opinion ? 
 Is any rule more plain than this, that whoever 
 voluntarily gives to another irresistible power 
 over human beings is bound to take order that 
 such power shall not be barbarously abused ? 
 But we beg pardon of our readers for arguing 
 a point so clear. 
 
 We hasten to the end of this sad and dis- 
 graceful story. The war ceased. The finest 
 population in India was subjected to a greedy, 
 cowardly, cruel tyrant. Commerce and agri- 
 culture languished. The rich province which 
 had tempted the cupidity of Sujah Dowlah 
 became the most miserable part of his misera- 
 ble dominions. Yet is the injured nation not 
 extinct. At long intervals gleams of its an- 
 cient spirit have flashed forth ; and even at 
 this day, valor, and self-respect, and a chival- 
 rous feeling rare among Asiatics, and a bitter 
 remembrance of the great crime of England, 
 distinguish that noble Afghan race. To this 
 day they are regarded as the best of all sepoys 
 at the cold steel ; and it was very recently re- 
 marked, by one who had enjoyed great oppor- 
 tunities of observation, that the only natives of 
 
i86 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 India, to whom the word “ gentleman ” can 
 with perfect propriety be applied, are to be 
 found among the Rohillas. 
 
 Whatever we may think of the morality of 
 Hastings, it cannot be denied that the finan- 
 cial results of his policy did honor to his tal- 
 ents. In less than two years after he assumed 
 the government, he had, without imposing any 
 additional burdens on the people subject to 
 his authority, added about four hundred and 
 fifty thousand pounds to the annual income of 
 the Company, besides procuring about a mil- 
 lion in ready money. He had also relieved 
 the finances of Bengal from military expendi- 
 ture, amounting to near a quarter of a million 
 a year, and had thrown that charge on the 
 Nabob of Oude. There can be no doubt that 
 this was a result which, if it had been obtained 
 by honest means, would have entitled him to the 
 warmest gratitude of his country, and which, 
 by whatever means obtained, proved that he 
 possessed great talents for administration. 
 
 In the mean time, Parliament had been en- 
 gaged in long and grave discussions on Asiatic 
 affairs. The ministry of Lord North, in the 
 session of 1773, introduced a measure which 
 made a considerable change in the constitution 
 of the Indian government. This law, known 
 by the name of the Regulating Act, provided 
 that the presidency of Bengal should exercise 
 a control over the other possessions of the 
 Company; that the chief of that presidency 
 should be styled Governor-General ; that he 
 should be assisted by four Councillors ; and 
 that a supreme court of judicature, consisting 
 of a chief justice and three inferior judges, 
 should be established at Calcutta. This court 
 was made independent of the Governor-Gen- 
 eral and Council, and was intrusted with a civil 
 and criminal jurisdiction of immense and, at 
 the same time, of undefined extent. 
 
 The Governor-General and Councillors were 
 named in the act, and were to hold their situa- 
 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 187 
 
 tions for five years. Hastings was to be the 
 first Governor-General. One of the four new 
 Councillors, Mr. Barwell, an experienced ser- 
 vant of the Company, was then in India. The 
 other three, General Clavering, Mr. Monson, 
 and Mr. Francis, were sent out from England. 
 
 The ablest of the new Councillors was, be- 
 yond all doubt, Philip Francis. His acknowl- 
 edged compositions proved that he possessed 
 considerable eloquence and information. Sev- 
 eral years passed in the public offices had 
 formed him to habits of business. His enemies 
 have never denied that he had a fearless and 
 manly spirit; and his friends, we are afraid, 
 must acknowledge that his estimate of himself 
 was extravagantly high, that his temper was 
 irritable, that his deportment was often rude 
 and petulant, and that his hatred was of in- 
 tense bitterness and long duration. 
 
 It is scarcely possible to mention this emi- 
 nent man without adverting for a moment to 
 the question which his name at once suggests 
 to every mind. Was he the author of the Let- 
 ters of Junius ? Our own firm belief is that he 
 was. The evidence is, we think, such as would 
 support a verdict in a civil, nay, in a criminal 
 proceeding. The handwriting of Junius is the 
 very peculiar handwriting of Francis, slightly 
 disguised. As to the position, pursuits, and 
 connections of Junius, the following are the 
 most important facts which can be considered 
 as clearly proved ; first that he was acquainted 
 with the technical forms of the secretary of 
 state’s office ; secondly, that he was intimately 
 acquainted with the business of the war office ; 
 thirdly, that he, during the year 1770 attended 
 debates in the House of Lords, and took notes 
 of speeches, particularly of the speeches of 
 Lord Chatham ; fourthly, that he bitterly re- 
 sented the appointment of Mr. Chamier to the 
 place of deputy secretary-at-war ; fifthly, that 
 he was bound by some strong tie to the first 
 Lord Holland. Now, Francis passed some 
 
i88 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 years in the secretary of state’s office. He 
 was subsequently chief clerk of the war office. 
 He repeatedly mentioned that he had himself, 
 in 1770, heard speeches of Lord Chatham; 
 and some of these speeches were actually 
 printed from his notes. He resigned his clerk- 
 ship at the war-office from resentment at the 
 appointment of Mr. Chamier. It was by Lord 
 Holland that he was first introduced into the 
 pnblic service. Now, here are five marks, all 
 of which ought to be found in Junius. They 
 are all five found in Francis. We do not be- 
 lieve that more than two of them can be found 
 in any other person whatever. If this agree- 
 ment does not settle the question, there is an 
 end of all reasoning on circumstantial evi- 
 dence. 
 
 The internal evidence seems to us to point 
 the same way. The style of Francis bears a 
 strong resemblance to that of Junius ; nor 
 are we disposed to admit, what is generally 
 taken for granted, that the acknowledged com- 
 positions of Francis are very decidedly in- 
 ferior to the anonymous letters. The argu- 
 ment from inferiority, at all events, is one which 
 may be urged with at least equal force against 
 every claimant that has ever been mentioned, 
 with the single exception of Burke ; and it 
 would be a waste of time to prove that Burke 
 was not Junius. And what conclusion, after 
 all, can be drawn from mere inferiority ? 
 Every writer must produce his best work ; 
 and the interval between his best work and 
 his second best work may be very wide indeed. 
 Nobody will say that the best letters of Junius 
 are more decidedly superior to the acknowl- 
 edged works of Francis than three or four of 
 Corneille’s tragedies to the rest, than three or 
 four of Ben Jonson’s comedies to the rest, than 
 the Pilgrim’s Progress to the other worksof 
 Bunyan, than Don Quixote to the other works 
 of Cervantes. Nay, it is certain that Junius, 
 whoever he may have been, was a most un- 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 189 
 
 equal writer. To go no further than the let- 
 ters which bear the signature of Junius; the 
 letter to the king, and the letters to Horne 
 Tooke, have little in common, except the 
 asperity ; and asperity was an ingredient seldom 
 wanting either in the writings or in the speeches 
 of Francis. 
 
 Indeed one of the strongest reasons for 
 believing that Francis was Junius is the moral 
 resemblance between the two men. It is net 
 difficult, from the letters which, under various 
 signatures, are known to have been written by 
 Junius and from his dealings with Woodfall 
 and others, to form a tolerably correct notion 
 of his character. He was clearly a man not 
 destitute of real patriotism and magnanimity, a 
 man whose vices were not of a sordid kind. 
 But he must also have been a man in the 
 highest degree arrogant and insolent, a man 
 prone to malevolence, and prone to the error 
 of mistaking his malevolence for public virtue. 
 “ Doest thou well to be angry?” was the 
 question asked in old time of the Hebrew 
 prophet. And he answered, “ I do well.” 
 This was evidently the temper of Junius; and 
 to this cause we attribute the savage cruelty 
 which disgraces several of his letters. No 
 man is so merciless as he who, under a strong 
 self-delusion, confounds his antipathies with 
 his duties. It may be added that Junius, 
 though allied with the democratic party by 
 common enmities, was the very opposite of a 
 democratic politician. While attacking indi- 
 viduals with a ferocity which perpetually 
 violated all the laws of literary warfare, he 
 regarded the most defective parts of old in- 
 -stitutions with a respect amounting to pedan- 
 try, pleaded the cause of Old Sarum with fer- 
 vor, and contemptuously told the capitalists of 
 Manchester and Leeds that, if they wanted 
 votes, they might buy land and become free- 
 holders of Lancashire and Yorkshire, All 
 
190 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 this, we believe, might stand, with scarcely any 
 change, for a character of Philip Francis. 
 
 It is not strange that the great anonymous 
 writer should have been willing at that time to 
 leave the country which had been so power- 
 fully stirred by his eloquence. Everything 
 had gone against him. That party which he 
 clearly preferred to every other, the party of 
 George "Grenville, had been scattered by the 
 death of its chief ; and Lord Suffolk had led 
 the greater part of it over to the ministerial 
 benches. The ferment produced by the Mid- 
 dlesex election had gone down. Every faction 
 must have been alike an object of aversion to 
 Junius. His opinions on domestic affairs 
 separated him from the ministry ; his opinions 
 on colonial affairs from the opposition. Under 
 such circumstances, he had thrown down his 
 pen in misanthropical despair. His farewell 
 letter to Woodfall bears date the nineteenth of 
 January, 1773. In that letter, he declared that 
 he must be an idiot to write again ; that he had 
 meant well by the cause and the public ; that 
 both were given up ; that there were not ten 
 men who would act steadily together on any 
 question. “ But it is all alike,” he added,” vile 
 and contemptible. You have never flinched 
 that I know of ; and I shall always rejoice to 
 hear of your prosperity.” These were the 
 last words of Junius. In a year from that 
 time, Philip Francis was on his voyage to 
 Bengal. 
 
 With the three new Councillors came out 
 the judges of the Supreme Court. The chief 
 justice was Sir Elijah Impey. He was an old 
 acquaintance of Hastings; and it is probable 
 that the Governor-General, if he had searched 
 through all the inns of court, could not have 
 found an equally serviceable tool. But the 
 members of Council were by no means in an 
 obsequious mood. Hastings greatly disliked 
 the new form of government, and had no very 
 high opinion of his coadjutors, They had 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 191 
 
 heard this, and were disposed to be suspicious 
 and punctilious. When men are in such a 
 frame of mind, any trifle is sufficient to give 
 occasion for dispute. The members of Coun- 
 cil expected a salute of twenty-one guns from 
 the batteries of Fort William. Hastings 
 allowed them only seventeen. They landed 
 in ill humor. The first civilities were ex- 
 changed with cold reserve. On the morrow 
 commenced that long quarrel which, after dis- 
 tracting British India, was renewed in England, 
 and in which all the most eminent statesmen 
 and orators of the age took active part on one 
 or the other side. 
 
 Hastings was supported by Barwell. They 
 had not always been friends. But the arrival 
 of the new members of Council from England 
 naturally had the effect of uniting the old ser- 
 vants of the Company. Clavering, Monson, 
 and Francis formed the majority. They in- 
 stantly wrested the government out of the 
 hands of Hastings, condemned, certainly not 
 without justice, his late dealings with the Nabob 
 Vizier, recalled the English agent from Oude, 
 and sent thither a creature of their own, order- 
 ed the brigade which had conquered the un- 
 happy Rohillas, to return to the Company’s 
 territories, and instituted a severe inquiry into 
 the conduct of the war. Next, in spite of the 
 Governor-General’s remonstrances, they pro- 
 ceeded to exercise, in the most indiscreet 
 manner, their new authority over the subordi- 
 nate presidencies ; threw all the affairs of 
 Bombay into confusion ; and interfered, with 
 an incredible union of rashness and feebleness, 
 in the intestine disputes of the Mahratta gov- 
 ernment. At the same time, they fell on the 
 internal administration of Bengal, and attacked 
 the whole fiscal and judicial system, a system 
 which was undoubtedly defective, but which it 
 was very improbable that gentlemen fresh from 
 England would be competent to amend. The 
 effect of their reforms was that all protection 
 
BIOGliA PHICA L ESS A VS. 
 
 1 9 2 
 
 to life and property was withdrawn, and that 
 gangs of robbers plundered and slaughtered 
 with impunity in the very suburbs of Calcutta. 
 Hastings continued to live in the Government- 
 house, and to draw the salary of Governor- 
 General. He continued even to take the lead 
 at the council-board in the transaction of 
 ordinary business; for his opponents could 
 not but feel that he knew much of which they 
 were ignorant, and that he decided both surely 
 and speedily, many questions which to them 
 would have been hopelessly puzzling. But the 
 higher powers of government and the most 
 valuable patronage had been taken from him. 
 
 The natives soon found this out. They con- 
 sidered him as a fallen man ; and they acted 
 after their kind. Some of our readers may 
 have seen, in India, a crowd of crows pecking 
 a sick vulture to death, no bad type of what 
 happens in that country, as often as fortune 
 deserts one who has been great and dreaded. 
 In an instant all the sycophants who had lately 
 been ready to lie for him, to forge for him, to 
 pander for him, to poison for him, hasten to 
 purchase the favor of his victorious enemies by 
 accusing him. An Indian government has 
 only to let it be understood that it wishes a 
 particular man to be ruined ; and in twenty- 
 four hours it will be furnished with grave 
 charges, supported by depositions so full and 
 circumstantial that any person unaccustomed 
 to Asiatic mendacity would regard them as de- 
 cisive. It is well if the signature of the des- 
 tined victim is not counterfeited at the foot of 
 some illegal compact, and if some treasonable 
 paper is not slipped into a hiding-place in his 
 house. Hastings was now regarded as help- 
 less. The power to make or mar the fortune 
 of every man in Bengal had passed, as it 
 seemed, into the hands of the new Councillors. 
 Immediately charges against the Governor- 
 General began to pour in. They were eagerly 
 welcomed by the majority, who, to do them 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 *93 
 
 justice, were men of too much honor knowing- 
 ly to countenance false accusations, but who 
 were not sufficiently acquainted with the East 
 to be aware that, in that part of the world, a 
 very little encouragement from power will call 
 forth, in a week, more Oateses, and Eedloes. 
 and Dangerfields, than Westminster Hall sees 
 in a century. 
 
 It would have been strange indeed if, at 
 such a juncture, Nuncomar had remained quiet. 
 That bad man was stimulated at once by mal- 
 ignity, by avarice, and by ambition. Now was 
 the time to be avenged on his old enemy, to 
 wreak a grudge of seventeen years, to establish 
 himself in the favor of the majority of 
 the Council, to become the greatest native 
 in Bengal. From the time of the arrival 
 of the new Councillors, he had paid the most 
 marked court to them, and had in consequence 
 been excluded, with all indignity, from the 
 Government-house. He now put into the hands 
 of Francis, with great ceremony, a paper, con- 
 taining several charges of the most serious 
 description. By this document Hastings was 
 accused of putting offices up to sale, and of 
 receiving bribes for suffering offenders to 
 escape. In particular, it was alleged that 
 Mahommed Reza Khan had been dismissed 
 with impunity, in consideration of a great sum 
 paid to the Governor-General. 
 
 Francis read the paper in Council. A vio- 
 lent altercation followed. Hastings complained 
 in bitter terms of the way in which he was 
 treated, spoke with contempt of Nuncomar and 
 of Nuncomar’s accusation, and denied the right 
 of the Council to sit in judgment on the Gov- 
 ernor. At the next meeting of the Board, 
 another communication from Nuncomar was 
 produced. He requested that he might be 
 permitted to attend the Council, and that 
 he might be heard in support of his assertions. 
 Another tempestuous debate took place. The 
 Governor-General maintained that the council- 
 
i 9 4 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA YS\ 
 
 room was not a proper place for such an inves- 
 tigation ; that from persons who were heated 
 by daily conflict with him he could not expect 
 the fairness of judges ; and that he could not, 
 without betraying the dignity of his post, sub- 
 mit to be confronted with a such man as Nun- 
 cornar. The majority, however, resolved to go 
 into the charges. Hastings rose, declared the 
 sitting at an end, and left the room followed 
 by Barwell. The other members kept their 
 seats, voted themselves a council, put Clavering 
 in the chair, and ordered Nuncomar to be 
 called in. Nuncomar not only adhered to the 
 original charges, but, after the fashion of the 
 East, produced a large supplement. He stated 
 that Hastings had received a great sum for 
 appointing Rajah Goordas treasurer of the 
 Nabob’s household, and for committing the 
 care of his Highness’s person to the Munny 
 Begum. He put in a letter purporting to bear 
 the seal of the Munny Begum, for the purpose 
 of establishing the truth of his story. The 
 seal, whether forged, as Hastings affirmed, or 
 genuine, as we are rather inclined to believe, 
 proved nothing. Nuncomar, as everybody 
 knows, who knows India, had only to tell the 
 Munny Begum that such a letter would give 
 pleasure to the majority of the Council, in 
 order to procure her attestation. The major- 
 ity, however, voted that the charge was made 
 out ; that Hastings had corruptly received 
 between thirty and forty thousand pounds ; and 
 that he ought to be compelled to refund. 
 
 The general feeling among the English in 
 Bengal was strongly in favor of the Governor- 
 General. In talents for business, in knowledge 
 of the country, in general courtesy of demeanor, 
 he was decidedly superior to his persecutors. 
 The servants of the Company were naturally 
 disposed to side with the most distinguished 
 member of their own body against a clerk from 
 the war-office, who, profoundly ignorant of the 
 native languages and of the native character, 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 195 
 
 took on himself to regulate every department 
 of the administration. Hastings however, in 
 spite of the general sympathy of his country- 
 men, was in a most painful situation. There 
 was still an appeal to higher authority in Eng- 
 land. If that authority took part with his en- 
 emies, nothing was left to him but to throw up 
 his office. He accordingly placed his resigna- 
 tion in the hands of his agent at London, 
 Colonel Mackleane. But Macleane was in- 
 structed not to produce the resignation, unless 
 it should be fully ascertained that the feeling 
 at the India House was adverse to the Gov- 
 ernor-General. 
 
 The triumph of Nuncomar seemed to be 
 complete. He held a daily levee, t~ which his 
 countrymen resorted in crowds, and to which, 
 on one occasion, the majority of the Council 
 condescended tu repair. His house was an 
 office for the purpose of receiving charges 
 against the Govern. .‘-General. It was said 
 that, partly by threats, and partly by wheedling, 
 th; villainous Brahmin had induced many of 
 the w • lthiest men of the province to send in 
 complaints. But he was playing a perilous 
 game. It was not safe to drive to despair a 
 man of such resources and of such determi- 
 ation as Hastings. Nuncomar, with all his 
 acuteness, did not understand the nature of 
 the institutions under which he lived. He saw 
 that he had with him the majority of the body 
 which made treaties, gave places, raised taxes. 
 The separation between political and judicial 
 functions was a thing of which he had no con- 
 ception. It had probably never occurred to 
 him that there was in Bengal an authority per- 
 feetty independent of the Council, an authority 
 which could protect one whom the Council 
 wished to destroy, and send to the gibbet one 
 whom the Council wished to protect. Yet such 
 was the fact. The Supreme Court was, within 
 the sphere of its own duties, altogether in- 
 dependent of the Government. Hastings, with 
 
196 
 
 biographical essa ys. 
 
 his usual sagacity, had seen how much advan- 
 tage he might derive from possessing himself 
 of this stronghold ; and he had acted accor- 
 dingly. The Judges, especially the Chief Jus- 
 tice, were hostile to the majority of the Council. 
 The time had now come for putting this for- 
 midable machinery into action. 
 
 On a sudden, Calcutta was astounded by 
 the news that Nuncomar had been taken up 
 on a charge of felony, committed, and thrown 
 into the common jail. The crime imputed to 
 him was that six years before he had forged a 
 bond. The ostensible prosecutor was a na- 
 tive. But it was then, and still is, the opinion 
 of everybody, idiots and biographers excepted, 
 that Hastings was the real mover in the busi- 
 ness. 
 
 The rage of the majority rose to the highest 
 point. They protested against the proceedings 
 of the Supreme Court, and sent several urgent 
 messages to the Judges, demanding that 
 Nuncomar should be admitted to bail. The 
 Judges returned haughty and resolute answers. 
 All that the Council could do was to heap 
 honors and emoluments on the family of Nun- 
 comar ; and this they did. In the mean time 
 the assizes commenced ; a true bill was found ; 
 and Nuncomar was brought before Sir Elijah 
 Impey and a jury composed of Englishmen. 
 A great quantity of contradictory swearing, 
 and the necessity of having every word of the 
 evidence interpreted, protracted the trial to a 
 most unusual length. At last a verdict of guilty 
 was returned, and the Chief Justice pronounced 
 sentence of death on the prisoner. 
 
 That Impey ought to have respited Nun- 
 comar we hold to be perfectly clear. Whether 
 the whole proceeding was not illegal, is a ques- 
 tion. But it is certain, that whatever may 
 have been, according to technical rules of con- 
 struction, the effect of the statute under which 
 the trial took place, it was most unjust to hang 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 197 
 
 a Hindoo for forgery. The law which made 
 forgery capital in England was passed without 
 the smallest reference to the state of society 
 in India. It was unknown to the natives of 
 India. It had never been put in execution 
 among them, certainly not for want of delin- 
 quents. It was in the highest degree shock- 
 ing to all their notions. They were not accus- 
 tomed to the distinction which many circum- 
 stances, peculiar to our own state of society, 
 have led us to make between forgery and other 
 kinds of cheating. The counterfeiting of a 
 seal was, in their estimation, a common act of 
 swindling; nor had it ever crossed their minds 
 that it was to be punished as severely as gang- 
 robbery or assassination. A just judge would, 
 beyond all doubt, have reserved the case for 
 the consideration of the sovereign. But Im- 
 pey would not hear of mercy or delay. 
 
 The excitement among all classes was great. 
 Francis and Francis’s few English adherents 
 described the Governor-General and the Chief 
 Justice as the worst of murderers. Clavering, 
 it was said, swore that, even at the foot of the 
 gallows, Nuncomar should be rescued. The 
 bulk of the European society, though strongly 
 attached to the Governor-General, could not 
 but feel compassion for a man who, with all 
 his crimes, had so long filled so large a space 
 in their sight, who had been great and power- 
 ful before the British empire in India began to 
 exist, and to whom, in the old times, governors 
 and members of council, then mere commer- 
 cial factors, had paid court for protection. 
 The feeling of the Hindoos was infinitely 
 stronger. They were, indeed, not a people to 
 strike one blow for their countryman. But his 
 sentence filled them with sorrow and dismay. 
 Tried even by their low standard of morality, 
 he was a bad man. But bad as he was, he 
 was the head of their race and religion, a 
 Brahmin of the Brahmins. He had inherited 
 the purest and highest caste. He had prac- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA VS. 
 
 198 
 
 tised with the greatest punctuality all those 
 ceremonies to which the superstitious Benga- 
 lees ascribe far more importance than to the 
 correct discharge of the social duties. They 
 felt, therefore, as a devout Catholic in the 
 dark ages would have felt, at seeing a prelate 
 of the highest dignity sent to the gallows by a 
 secular tribunal. According to their old na- 
 tional laws, a Brahmin could not be put to 
 death for any crime whatever. And the crime 
 for which Nuncomar was about to die was re- 
 garded by them in much the same light in 
 which the selling of an unsound horse, for 
 a sound price, is regarded by a Yorkshire 
 jockey. 
 
 The Mussulmans alone appear to have seen 
 with exultation the fate of the powerful Hindoo, 
 who had attempted to rise by means of the 
 ruin of Mahommed Reza Khan. The Mahom- 
 medan historian of those times takes delight 
 in aggravating the charge. He assures us 
 that in Nuncomar’s house a casket was found 
 containing counterfeits of the seals of all the 
 richest men of the province. We have never 
 fallen in with any other authority for this story 
 which in itself is by no means improbable. 
 
 The day drew near ; and Nuncomar prepared 
 himself to die with that quiet fortitude with 
 which the Bengalee, so effeminately timid in 
 personal conflict, often encounters calamities 
 for which there is no remedy. The sheriff, 
 with the humanity which is seldom wanting in 
 an English gentleman, visited the prisoner on 
 the eve of the execution, and assured him that 
 no indulgence, consistent with law, should be 
 refused to him. Nuncomar expressed his 
 gratitude with great politeness and unaltered 
 composure. Not a muscle of his face moved. 
 Not a sigh broke from him. He put his finger 
 to his forehead, and calmly said that fate 
 would have its way, and that there was no re- 
 sisting the pleasure of God. He sent his com- 
 pliments to Francis, Clavering, and Monson, 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 199 
 
 and charged them to protect Rajah Goordas, 
 who was about to become the head of the 
 Brahmins of Bengal. The sheriff withdrew, 
 greatly agitated by what had passed, and 
 Nuncomar sat composedly down to write notes 
 and examine accounts. 
 
 The next morning, before the sun was in his 
 power, an immense concourse assembled round 
 the place where the gallows had been set up. 
 Grief and horror were on every face ; yet to 
 the last the multitude could hardly believe that 
 the English really purposed to take the life of 
 the great Brahmin. At length the mournful 
 procession came through the crowd. Nun- 
 comar sat up in his palanquin, and looked 
 round him with unaltered serenity. He had 
 just parted from those who were most nearly 
 connected with him. Their cries and contor- 
 tions had appalled the European ministers of 
 justice, but had not produced the smallest ef- 
 fect on the iron stoicism of the prisoner. The 
 only anxiety which he expressed was that men 
 of his own priestly caste might be in attendance 
 to take charge of his corpse. He again de- 
 sired to be remembered to his friends in the 
 Council, mounted the scaffold with firmness, 
 and gave the signal to the executioner. The 
 moment that the drop fell, a howl of sorrow 
 and despair rose from the innumerable specta- 
 tors. Hundreds turned away their faces from 
 the polluting sight, fled with loud wailings to- 
 wards the Hooglev, and plunged into its holy 
 waters, as if to purify themselves from the 
 guilt of having looked on such a crime. These 
 feelings were not confined to Calcutta. The 
 whole province was greatly excited ; and the 
 population of Dacca, in particular, gave strong 
 signs of grief and dismay. 
 
 Of Impev’s conduct it is impossible to speak 
 too severely. We have already said that, in 
 our opinion, he acted unjustly in refusing to 
 respite Nuncomar. No rational man can 
 doubt that he took this course in order to 
 
200 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 gratify the Governor-General. If we had ever 
 had any doubts on that point, they would have 
 been dispelled by a letter which Mr. Gleig has 
 published. Hastings, three or four years later, 
 described Impey as the man to whose sup- 
 port he was at one time indebted for the safety 
 of his fortune, honor, and reputation.” These 
 strong words can refer only to the case of 
 Nuncomar; and they must mean that Impey 
 hanged Nuncomar in order to support Hast- 
 ings. It is, therefore, our deliberate opinion 
 that Impey, sitting as a judge, put a man un- 
 justly to death in order to serve a political 
 purpose. 
 
 But we look on the conduct of Hastings in 
 a somewhat different light. He was struggling 
 for fortune, honor, liberty, all that makes life 
 valuable. He was beset by rancorous and un- 
 principled enemies. From his colleagues he 
 could expect no justice. He cannot be blamed 
 for wishing to crush his accusers. He was 
 indeed bound to use only legitimate means for 
 that end. But it was not strange that he 
 should have thought any means legitimate 
 which were pronounced legitimate by the sages 
 of the law, by men whose peculiar duty it was 
 to deal justly between adversaries, and whose 
 education might be supposed to have peculiarly 
 qualified them for the discharge of that duty. 
 Nobody demands from a party the unbending 
 equity of a judge. The reason that judges 
 are appointed is, that even a good man can- 
 not be trusted to decide a cause in which he 
 is himself concerned. Not a day passes on 
 which an honest prosecutor does not ask for 
 what none but a dishonest tribunal would 
 grant. It is too much to expect that any man, 
 when his dearest interests are at stake, and his 
 strongest passions excited, will, as against 
 himself, be more just than the sworn dis- 
 pensers of justice. To take an analogous case 
 from the history of our own island ; suppose 
 that Lord Stafford, when in the lower on 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 201 
 
 suspicion of being concerned in the Popish 
 plot, had been apprised that Titus Oates had 
 done something which might, by a questionable 
 construction, be brought under the head of 
 felony. Should we severely blame Lord Staf- 
 ford, in the supposed case, for causing a prose- 
 cution to be instituted, for furnishing funds, 
 for using all his influence to intercept the 
 mercy of the Crown ? We think not. If a 
 judge, indeed, from favor to the Catholic lords, 
 were to strain the law in order to hang Oates, 
 such a judge would richly deserve impeach- 
 ment. But it does not appear to us that the 
 Catholic lord, by bringing the case before the 
 judge for decision, would materially overstep 
 the limits of a just self-defence. 
 
 While, therefore, we have not the least doubt 
 that this memorable execution is to be at- 
 tributed to Hastings, we doubt whether it can 
 with justice be reckoned among his crimes. 
 That his conduct was dictated by a profound 
 policy is evident. He was in a minority in 
 Council. It was possible that he might long 
 be in a minority. He knew the native character 
 well. He knew in what abundance accusations 
 are certain to flow in against the most innocent 
 inhabitant of India who is under the from of 
 power. There was not in the whole black 
 population of Bengal, a place-holder, a place- 
 hunter, a government tenant, who did not 
 think that he might better himself by sending 
 up a deposition against the Governor-General. 
 Under these circumstances, the persecuted 
 statesman resolved to teach the whole crew of 
 accusers and witnesses, that, though in a min- 
 ority at the council-board, he was still to be 
 feared. The lesson which he gave them was 
 indeed a lesson not to be forgotten. The head 
 of the combination which had been formed 
 against him, the richest, the most powerful, the 
 most artful of the Hindoos, distinguished by 
 the favor of those who then held the govern- 
 ment, fenced round by the superstitious rever- 
 
202 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 ence of millions, was hanged in broad day 
 before many thousands of people. Everything 
 that could make the warning impressive, dignity 
 in the sufferer, solemnity in the proceeding, 
 was found in this case. The helpless rage and 
 vain struggles of the Council made the triumph 
 more signal. From that moment the convic- 
 tion of every native was that it was safer to 
 take the part of Hastings in a minority than 
 that of Francis in a majority, and that he 
 who was so venturous as to join in running 
 down the Governor-General might chance, in 
 the phrase of the Eastern poet, to find a tiger, 
 while beating the jungle for a deer. The 
 voices of a thousand informers were silenced 
 in an instant. From that time, whatever diffi- 
 culties Hastings might have to encounter, he 
 was never molested by accusations from natives 
 in India. 
 
 It is a remarkable circumstance that one of 
 the letters of Hastings to Dr. Johnson bears 
 date a very few hours after the death of Nun- 
 comar. While the whole settlement was in 
 commotion, while a mighty and ancient priest- 
 hood were weeping over the remains of their 
 chief, the conqueror in that deadly grapple sat 
 down, with characteristic self-possession, to 
 write about the Tour to the Hebrides, Jones’s 
 Persian Grammar, and the history, traditions, 
 arts, and natural productions of India. 
 
 In the mean time, intelligence of the Rohilla 
 war, and of the first disputes between Hastings 
 and his colleagues, had reached London. The 
 Directors took partw'ith the majority, and sent 
 out a letter filled with severe reflections on 
 the conduct of Hastings. They condemned, 
 in strong but just terms, the iniquity of under- 
 taking offensive wars merely for the sake of 
 pecuniary advantage. But they utterly forgot 
 that, if Hastings had by illicit means obtained 
 pecuniary advantages’, he had done so, not for 
 his own benefit, but in order to meet their de- 
 mands. To enjoin honesty, and to insist on 
 
WARREN NAS TINGS. 
 
 20 3 
 
 having what could not be honestly got, was 
 then the constant practice of the Company. 
 As Lady Macbeth says of her husband, they 
 “ would not play false, and yet would wrongly 
 win.” 
 
 The Regulating Act, by which Hastings had 
 been appointed Governor-General for five 
 years, empowered the Crown to remove him on 
 an address from the Company. Lord North 
 was desirous to procure such an address. The 
 three members of Council who had been sent 
 out from England were men of his own choice. 
 General Clavering, in particular, was supported 
 by a large parliamentary connection, such as 
 no cabinet could be inclined to disoblige. The 
 wish of the minister was to displace Hastings, 
 and to put Clavering at the head of the govern- 
 ment. In the Court of Directors parties were 
 very nearly balanced. Eleven voted against 
 Hastings ; ten for him. The Court of Pro- 
 prietors was then convened. The great sale- 
 room presented a singular appearance. Letters 
 had been sent by the Secretary of the Trea- 
 sury, exhorting all the supporters of govern- 
 ment who held India stock to be in attendance. 
 Lord Sandwich marshalled the friends of the 
 administration with his usual dexterity and 
 alertness. Fifty peers and privy councillors, 
 seldom seen so far eastward, were counted in 
 the crowd. The debate lasted till midnight. 
 The opponents of Hastings had a small 
 superiority on the division ; but a ballot was 
 demanded ; and the result was that the Gover- 
 nor-General triumphed by a majority of above 
 a hundred votes over the combined efforts of 
 the Directors and the Cabinet. The ministers 
 were greatly exasperated by this defeat. Even 
 Lord North lost his temper, no ordinary occur- 
 rence with him, and threatened to convoke 
 parliament before Christmas, and to bring in a 
 bill for depriving the Company of all political 
 power, and for restricting it to its old business 
 of trading in silks and teas. 
 
204 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 Colonel Macleane, who through all his con- 
 flict had zealously supported the cause of 
 Hastings, now thought that his employer was 
 in imminent danger of being turned out, 
 branded with parliamentary censure, perhaps 
 prosecuted. The opinion of the crown lawyers 
 had already been taken respecting some parts 
 of the Governor-General’s conduct. It seemed 
 to be high time to think of securing an honor- 
 able retreat. Under these circumstances, 
 Macleane thought himself justified in produc- 
 ing the resignation with which he had been in- 
 trusted. The instrument was not in very ac- 
 curate form ; but the Directors were too eager 
 to be scrupulous. They accepted the resigna- 
 tion, fixed on Mr. Wheler, one of their own 
 body, to succeed Hastings, and sent out orders 
 that General Clavering, as senior member of 
 Council, should exercise the functions of Gov- 
 ernor-General till Mr. Wheler should arrive. 
 
 But while these things were passing in Eng- 
 land, a great change had taken place in Ben- 
 gal. Monson was no more. Only four mem- 
 bers of the government were left. Clavering 
 and Francis were on one side, Barwell and 
 the Governor-General on the other ; and the 
 Governor-General had the casting vote. Hast- 
 ings, who had been during two years destitute 
 of all power and patronage, became at once 
 absolute. He instantly proceeded to retaliate 
 on his adversaries. Their measures were re- 
 versed : their creatures were displaced. A 
 new valuation of the lands of Bengal, for the 
 purposes of taxation, was ordered: and it was 
 provided that the whole inquiry should be con- 
 ducted by the Governor-General, and that all 
 the letters relating to it should run in his name. 
 He began, at the same time, to revolve vast 
 plans of conquest and dominion, plans which 
 he lived to see realized, though not by himself. 
 His project was to form subsidiary alliances 
 with the native princes, particularly with those 
 of Oude and Berar, and thus to make Britain 
 
WAR RE K f/AST/VGS. 
 
 205 
 
 the paramount power in India. While he was 
 meditating these great designs, arrived the in- 
 telligence that he had ceased to be Governor- 
 General, that his resignation had been accept- 
 ed, that Wheeler was coming out immediately, 
 and that, till Wheelet arrived, the chair was to 
 be filled by Clavering. 
 
 Had Hastings still been in a minority, he 
 would probably have retired without a struggle ; 
 but he was now the real master of British 
 India, and he was not disposed to quit his high 
 place. He asserted that he had never given 
 any instructions which could warrant the steps 
 taken at home. What his instructions had 
 been, he owned he had forgotten. If he had 
 kept a copy of them he had mislaid it. But he 
 was certain that he had repeatedly declared 
 to the Directors that he would not resign. He 
 could not see how the court, possessed of that 
 declaration from himself, could receive his res- 
 ignation from the doubtful hands of an agent. 
 If the resignation were invalid, all the proceed- 
 ings which were founded on that resignation 
 were null, and Hastings was still Governor- 
 General. 
 
 He afterwards affirmed that, though his 
 agents had not acted in conformity with his 
 instructions, he would nevertheless have held 
 himself bound by their acts, if Clavering had 
 not attempted to seize the supreme power by 
 violence. Whether this assertion were or were 
 not true, it cannot be doubted that the impru- 
 dence of Clavering gave Hastings an advantage. 
 The General sent for the keys of the fort and 
 of the treasury, took possession of the records, 
 and held a council at which Francis attended. 
 Hastings took the chair in another apartment, 
 and Barwell sat with him. Each of the two 
 parties had a plausible show of right. There 
 was no authority entitled to their obedience 
 within fifteen thousand miles. It seemed that 
 there remained no way of settling the dispute 
 except an appeal to arms, and from such an 
 
2o6 biographical essays. 
 
 appeal Hastings, confident of his influence 
 over his countrymen in India, was not inclined 
 to shrink. He directed the officers of the 
 garrison at Fort William and of all the neigh- 
 boring stations to obey no orders but his. At 
 the same time, with admirable judgment, he 
 offered to submit the case to the Supreme 
 Court, and to abide by its decision. By mak- 
 ing this proposition he risked nothing ; yet it 
 was a proposition which his opponents could 
 hardly reject. Nobody could be treated as a 
 criminal for obeying what the judges should 
 solemnly pronounce to be the lawful govern- 
 ment. The boldest man would shrink from 
 taking arms in defence of what the judges 
 should pronounce to be usurpation. Clavering 
 and Francis, after some delay, unwillingly con- 
 sented to abide by the award of the court. 
 The court pronounced that the resignation was 
 invalid, and that therefore Hastings was still 
 Governor-General under the Regulating Act ; 
 and the defeated members of the Council, 
 finding that the sense of the whole settlement 
 was against them, acquiesced in the decision. 
 
 About this time arrived the news that, after 
 a suit which had lasted several years, the 
 Franconian courts had decreed a divorce 
 between Imhoff and his wife. The Baron left 
 Calcutta, carrying with him the means of buy- 
 ing an estate in Saxony. The lady became 
 Mrs. Hastings. The event was celebrated by 
 great festivities ; and all the most conspicuous 
 persons at Calcutta, without distinction of 
 parties, were invited to the Government-house. 
 Clavering, as the Mahommedan chronicler 
 tells the story, was sick in mind and body, and 
 excused himself from joining the splendid 
 assembly. But Hastings, whom, as it should 
 seem, success in ambition and in love had put 
 into high good humor, would take no denial. 
 He went himself to the General’s house, and 
 at length brought his vanquished rival in 
 triumph to the gay circle which surrounded the 
 
WARREN' HASTINGS. 
 
 i 07 
 
 bride. The exertion was too much for a frame 
 broken by mortification as well as by disease. 
 Clavering died a few days later. 
 
 Wheler, who came out expecting to be 
 Governor-General, and was forced to content 
 himself with a seat at the council-board, gen- 
 erally voted with Francis. But the Governor- 
 General, with Barwell’s help and his own cast- 
 ing vote, was still the master. Some change 
 took place at this time in the feeling both of 
 the Court Directors and of the Ministers of the 
 Crown. All designs against Hastings were 
 dropped ; and, when his original term of five 
 years expired, he was quietly reappointed. 
 The truth is. that the fearful dangers to which 
 the public interests in every quarter were now 
 exposed, made both Lord North and the Com- 
 pany unwilling to part with a Governor whose 
 talents, experience, and resolution, enmity 
 itself was compelled to acknowledge. • 
 
 The crisis was indeed formidable. That 
 great and victorious empire, on the throne of 
 which George the Third had taken his seat 
 eighteen years before, with brighter hopes than 
 had attended the accession of any of the long 
 line of English sovereigns, had, by the most 
 senseless misgovernment, been brought to the 
 verge of ruin. In America millions of English- 
 men were at war with the country from which 
 their blood, their language, their religion, and 
 their institutions were derived, and to which, 
 but a short time before, they had been as 
 strongly attached as the inhabitants of Norfolk 
 and Leicestershire. The great powers of 
 Europe, humbled to the dust by the vigor and 
 genius which had guided the counsels of George 
 the Second, now rejoiced in the prospect of a 
 signal revenge. The time was approaching 
 when our island, while struggling to keep down 
 the United States of America, and pressed 
 with a still nearer danger by the too just discon- 
 tents of Ireland, was to be assailed by France, 
 Spain, and Holland, and to be threatened by 
 
2o8 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 the armed neutrality of the Baltic ; when even 
 our maritime supremacy was to be in jeopardy; 
 when hostile fleets were to command the Straits 
 of Calpe and the Mexican Sea ; when the British 
 flag was to be scarcely able to protect the 
 British Channel. Great as were the faults of 
 Hastings, it was happy for our country that at 
 that conjuncture, the most terrible through 
 which she has ever passed, he was the ruler of 
 her Indian dominions. 
 
 An attack by sea on Bengal was little to 
 be apprehended. The danger was that the 
 European enemies of England might form an 
 alliance with some native power, might furnish 
 that power with troops, arms, and ammunition, 
 and might thus assail our possessions on the 
 side of the land. It was chiefly from the 
 Mahrattas that Hastings anticipated danger. 
 The original seat of that singular people was 
 the wild range of hills which runs along the 
 w'estern coast of India. In the reign of 
 Aurungzebe the inhabitants of those regions, 
 led by the great Sevajee, began to descend on 
 the possessions of their wealthier and less war- 
 like neighbors. The energy, ferocity, and cun- 
 ning of the Mahrattas, soon made them the 
 most conspicuous among the new powers which 
 were generated by the corruption of the decay- 
 ing monarchy. At first they were only robbers. 
 They soon rose to the dignity of conquerors. 
 Half the provinces of the empire were turned 
 into Mahratta principalities. Freebooters, 
 sprung from low castes, and accustomed to 
 menial employments, became mighty Rajahs. 
 The Bonslas, at the head of a band of plun- 
 derers, occupied the vast region of Berar. The 
 Guicowar, which is, being interpreted, the 
 Herdsman, founded that dynasty which still 
 reigns in Guzerat. The houses of Scindia 
 and Holkar w'axed great in Malwa. One ad- 
 venturous captain made his nest on the im- 
 pregnable rockt)f Gooti. Another became the 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 209 
 
 lord of the thousand villages which are scattered 
 among the green rice-fields cf Tanjore. 
 
 That was the time, throughout India, of 
 double government. The form and the power 
 were everywhere separated. The Mussulman 
 nabobs who had become sovereign princes, the 
 Vizier in Oude, and the Nizam at Hyderabad, 
 still called themselves the viceroys of the house 
 of Tamerlane. In the same manner the Mah- 
 ratta states, though really independent of each 
 other, pretended to be members of one empire. 
 They all acknowledged, by words and cere- 
 monies, the supremacy of the heir of Sevajee, 
 a roi faineant who chewed bang and toyed with 
 dancing girls in a state prison at Sattara, and 
 of his Peshwa or mayor of the palace, a great 
 hereditary magistrate, who kept a court with 
 kingly state at Poonah, and whose authority 
 was obeyed in the spacious provinces of Au- 
 rangabad and Bejapoor. 
 
 Some months before war was declared in 
 Europe the government of Bengal was alarmed 
 by the news that a French adventurer, who 
 passed for a man of quality, had arrived at 
 Poonah. It was said that he had been received 
 there with great distinction, that he had de- 
 livered to the Peshwa letters and presents 
 from Louis the Sixteenth, and that a treaty, 
 hostile to England, had been concluded between 
 France and the Mahrattas. 
 
 Hastings immediately resolved to strike the 
 first blow. The title of the Peshwa was not 
 undisputed. A portion of the Mahratta nation 
 was favorable to a pretender. The Governor- 
 General determined to espouse this pretender’s 
 interest, to move an army across the peninsula 
 of India, and to form a close alliance with the 
 chief of the House of Bonsla, who ruled Berar, 
 and who, in power and dignity, was inferior to 
 none of the M-ahratta princes. 
 
 The army had marched, and the negotiations 
 with Berar were in progress, when a letter from 
 the English consul at Cairo, brought the news 
 
2 10 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 that war had been proclaimed both in London 
 and Paris. All the measures which the crisis 
 required were adopted by Hastings without a 
 moment’s delay. The French factories in 
 Bengal were seized. Orders were sent to 
 Madras that Pondicherry should instantly be 
 occupied. Near Calcutta, works were thrown 
 up which thought to render the approach of a 
 hostile force impossible. A maritime estab- 
 lishment was formed for the defence of the 
 river. Nine new battalions of sepoys were 
 raised, and a corps of native artillery was 
 formed out of the hardy Lascars of the Bay of 
 Bengal. Having made these arrangements, the 
 Governor-General with calm confidence pro- 
 nounced his presidency secure from all attack, 
 unless the Mahrattas should march against it 
 in conjunction with the French. 
 
 The expedition which Hastings had sent 
 westward was not so speedily or completely 
 successful as most of his undertakings. The 
 commanding officer procrastinated. The autho- 
 rities at Bombay blundered. But the Governor- 
 General persevered. A new commander re- 
 paired the errors of his predecessor. Several 
 brilliant actions spread the military renown of 
 the English through regions where no European 
 flag had ever been seen. It is probable that, 
 if a new and more formidable danger had not 
 compelled Hastings to change his whole policy, 
 his plans respecting the Mahratta empire would 
 have been carried into complete effect. 
 
 - The authorities in England had wisely sent 
 out to Bengal, as commander of the forces and 
 member of the Council, one of the most dis- 
 tinguished soldiers of that time. Sir Eyre 
 Coote had, many years before, Jbeen conspic- 
 uous among the founders of the British empire 
 in the East. At the council of war which pre- 
 ceded the battle of Plassey, he earnestly recom- 
 mended, in opposition to the majority, that 
 daring course which, after some hesitation, was 
 adopted, and which was crowned with such 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 2 I X 
 
 splendid success. He subsequently commanded 
 in the south of India against the brave and un- 
 fortunate Lally, gained the decisive battle of 
 Wandewash over the French and their native 
 allies, took Pondicherry, and made the English 
 power supreme in the Carnatic. Since those 
 great exploits near twenty years had elapsed. 
 Coote had no longer the bodily activity which 
 he had shown in earlier days ; nor was the 
 vigor of his mind altogether unimpaired. He 
 was capricious and fretful, and required much 
 coaxing to keep him in good humor. It must, 
 we fear, be added that the love of money had 
 grown upon him, and that he thought more 
 about his allowances, and less about his duties, 
 than might have been expected from so eminent 
 a member of so noble a profession. Still he 
 was perhaps the ablest officer that was then to 
 be found in the British army. Among the na- 
 tive soldiers his name was great and his influ- 
 ence unrivalled. Nor is he yet forgotten bv 
 them. Now and then a white-bearded old 
 sepoy may still be found, who loves to talk of 
 Porto N'ovo and Pollilore. It is but a short 
 time since one of those aged men came to pre- 
 sent a memorial to an English officer, who holds 
 one of the highest employments in India. A 
 print of Coote hung in the room. The veteran 
 recognized at once that face and figure which 
 he had not seen for more than half a century, 
 and forgetting his saiam to the living, halted, 
 drew himself up, lifted his hand, and with 
 solemn reverence paid his military obeisance 
 to the dead. 
 
 Coote, though he did not, like Barwell, vote 
 constantly with the Governor- General, was by 
 no means inclined to join in systematic oppo- 
 sition, and on most questions concurred with 
 Hastings, who did his best, by assiduous court- 
 ship, and by readily granting the most exorbi- 
 tant allowances, to gratify the strongest pas- 
 sions of the old soldier. 
 
 It seemed likely at this time that a general 
 
212 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 reconciliation would put an end to the quarrels 
 which had, during some years, weakened and 
 disgraced the government of Bengal. The 
 dangers of the empire might well induce men 
 of patriotic feeling, — and of patriotic feeling 
 neither Hastings nor Francis was destitute, — 
 to forget private enmities, and to co-operate 
 heartily for the general good. Coote had 
 never been concerned in faction. Wheler was 
 thoroughly tired of it. Barwell had made an 
 ample fortune, and, though he had promised 
 that he would not leave Calcutta while his 
 help was needed in Council, was most desirous 
 to return to England, and exerted himself to 
 promote an arrangement which would set him 
 at liberty. 
 
 A compact was made, by which Francis 
 agreed to desist from opposition, and Hastings 
 engaged that the friends of Francis should be 
 admitted to a fair share of the honors and 
 emoluments of the service. During a few 
 months after this treaty there was apparent 
 harmony at the council-board. 
 
 Harmony, indeed, was never more neces- 
 sary; for at this moment internal calamities, 
 more formidable than war itself, menaced Ben- 
 gal. The authors of the Regulating Act of 
 1773 had established two independent powers, 
 the one judicial, the other political ; and, with 
 a carelessness scandalously common in English 
 legislation, had omitted to define the limits of 
 either. The judges took advantage of the in- 
 distinctness, and attempted to draw to them- 
 selves supreme authority, not only within Cal- 
 cutta, but through the whole of the great terri- 
 tory subject to the Presidency of Fort William. 
 There are few Englishmen who will not admit 
 that the English law, in spite of modern im- 
 provements, is neither so cheap nor so speedy 
 as might be wished. Still, it is a system which 
 has grown up among us. In some points it 
 has been fashioned to suit our feelings; in 
 others, it has gradually fashioned our feelings 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 2x3 
 
 to suit itself. Even to its worst evils we are 
 accustomed ; and therefore, though, we may 
 complain of them, they do not strike us with 
 the horror and dismay which would be pro- 
 duced by a new grievance of smaller severity. 
 In India the case is widely different. English 
 law, transplanted to that country, has all the 
 vices from which we suffer here ; it has them 
 all in a far higher degree ; and it has other 
 vices, compared with which the worst vices 
 from which we suffer are trifles. Dilatory here, 
 it is far more dilatory in a land where the help 
 of an interpreter is needed by every judge and 
 by every advocate. Costly here, it is far more 
 costly in a land into which the legal practi- 
 tioners must be imported from an immense 
 distance. All English labor in India, from the 
 labor of the Governor-general and the Com- 
 mander-in-Chief, down to that of a groom or a 
 watchmaker, must be paid for at a higher rate 
 than at home. No man will be banished, and 
 banished to the torrid zone, for nothing. The 
 rule holds good with respect to the legal pro- 
 fession. No English barrister will work, fif- 
 teen thousand miles from all his friends, with 
 the thermometer at ninety-six in the shade, for 
 the emoluments which will content him in 
 chambers that overlook the Thames. Accord- 
 ingly, the fees at Calcutta are about three times 
 as great as the fees of Westminster Hall; and 
 this, though the people of India are, beyond 
 all comparison, poorer than the people of Eng- 
 land. Yet the delay and the expense, grievous 
 as they are, form the smallest part of the evil 
 which English law, imported without modifica- 
 tions into India, could not fail to produce. 
 The strongest feelings of our nature, honor, 
 religion, female modesty, rose up against the 
 innovation. Arrest on mesne process was the 
 first step in most civil proceedings ; and to a 
 native of rank arrest was not merely a restraint, 
 but a foul personal indignity. Oaths were re- 
 quired in every stage of every suit ; and the 
 
214 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 feelings of a Quaker about an oath is hardly 
 stronger than that of a respectable native. 
 That the apartments of a woman of quality 
 should be entered by strange men, or that her 
 face should be seen by them, are, in the East, 
 intolerable outrages, outrages which are more 
 dreaded than death, and which can be expiated 
 only by the shedding of blood. To these out- 
 rages the most distinguished families of Ben- 
 gal, Bahar, and Orissa, were now exposed. 
 Imagine what the state of our own country 
 would be, if a jurisprudence were on a sudden 
 introduced among us, which should be to us 
 what our jurisprudence was to our Asiatic 
 subjects. Imagine what the state of our coun- 
 try would be, if it were enacted that any man, 
 by merely swearing that a debt was due to 
 him, should acquire a right to insult the per- 
 sons of men of the most honorable and sacred 
 callings and of women of the most shrinking 
 delicacy, to horsewhip a general officer, to put 
 a bishop in the stocks, to treat ladies in the 
 way which called forth the blow of Wat Tyler. 
 Something like this was the effect of the at- 
 tempt which the Supreme Court made to ex- 
 tend its jurisdiction over the whole of the 
 Company’s territory. 
 
 A reign of terror began, of terror heightened 
 by mystery ; for even that which was endured 
 was less horrible than that which was antici- 
 pated. No man knew what was next to be ex- 
 pected from this strange tribunal. It came 
 from beyond the black water, as the people of 
 India, with mysterious horror, call the sea. It 
 consisted of judges not one of whom was 
 familiar with the usages of the millions over 
 whom they claimed boundless authority. Its 
 records were kept in unknown characters ; its 
 sentences were pronounced in unknown sounds. 
 It had already collected round itself an army 
 of the worst part of the native population, in- 
 formers, and false witnesses, and common 
 barrators, and agents of chicane, and above 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 215 
 
 all, a banditti of bailiffs’ followers, compared 
 with whom the retainers of the worst English 
 spunging-houses, in the worst times, might be 
 considered as upright and tender-hearted. 
 Many natives, highly considered among their 
 countrymen, were seized, hurried up to Cal- 
 cutta, flung into the common jail, not for any 
 crime even imputed, not for any debt that had 
 been proved, but merely as a precaution till 
 their cause should come to trial. There were 
 instances in which men of the most venerable 
 dignity, persecuted without a cause by extor- 
 tioners, died of rage and shame in the gripe of 
 the vile alguazils of Impev. The harems of 
 noble Mahommedans, sanctuaries respected in 
 the East by governments which respected noth- 
 ing else, were burst open by gangs of bailiffs. 
 The Mussulmans, braver and less accustomed 
 to submission than the Hindoos sometimes 
 stood on their defence ; and there were in- 
 stances in which they shed their blood in the 
 doorway, while defending, sword in hand, the 
 sacred apartments of their women. Nay, it 
 seemed as if even the faint-hearted Bengalee, 
 who had crouched at the feet of Surajah 
 Dowlah, who had been mute during the ad- 
 ministration of Vansittart, would at length find 
 courage in despair. No Mahratta invasion had 
 ever spread through the province such dismay 
 as this inroad of English lawyers. All the in- 
 justice of former oppressors, Asiatic and Euro- 
 pean, appeared as a blessing when compared 
 with the Justice of the Supreme Court. 
 
 Every class of the population, English and 
 native, with the exception of the ravenous 
 pettifoggers who fattened on the misery and 
 terror of an immense community, cried out 
 loudly against this fearful oppression. But the 
 judges were immovable. If a bailiff was re- 
 sisted, they ordered the soldiers to be called 
 out. If a servant of the Company, in conform- 
 ity with the orders of the government, with- 
 stood the miserable catchpoles who, with 
 
2 1 6 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 Impey’s writs in their hands, exceeded die in- 
 solence and rapacity of gang- robbers, he was 
 flung into prison for a contempt. The lapse 
 of sixty years, the virtue and wisdom of many 
 eminent magistrates who have during that time 
 administered justice in the Supreme Court, 
 have not effaced from the minds of the people 
 of Bengal the recollection of those evil days. 
 
 The members of the government were, on 
 this subject, united as one man. Hastings had 
 courted the judges ; he had found them use- 
 ful instruments ; but he was not disposed to 
 make them his own masters, or the masters of 
 India. His mind was large; his knowledge 
 of the native character most accurate. He saw 
 that the system pursued by the Supreme Court 
 was degrading to the government and ruinous 
 to the people ; and he resolved to oppose it 
 manfully. The consequence was. that the 
 friendship, if that be the proper word for such 
 a connection, which had existed between him 
 and Impey, was for a time completely dissolved. 
 The government placed itself firmly between 
 the tyrannical tribunal and the people. The 
 Chief Justice proceeded to the wildest excesses. 
 The Governor-General and all the members of 
 Council were served with writs, calling on them 
 to appear before the King’s justices, and to 
 answer for their public acts. This was too 
 much. Hastings, with just scorn, refused to 
 obey the call, set at liberty the persons wrong- 
 fully detained by the Court, and took measures 
 for resisting the outrageous proceedings of the 
 sheriffs’ officers, if necessary, by the sword. 
 But he had in view another device, which 
 might prevent the necessity of an appeal to 
 arms. He was seldom at a loss for an ex- 
 pedient; and he knew Impey well. The ex- 
 pedient, in this case, was a very simple one, 
 neither more nor less than a bribe. Impey 
 was, by act of parliament, a judge, independent 
 of the government of Bengal, and entitled to a 
 salary of eight thousand a year. Hastings pro- 
 
WARREN- HASTINGS. 
 
 217 
 
 posed to make him also a judge in the com- 
 pany’s service, removable at the pleasure of 
 the government of Bengal ; and to give him, 
 in that capacity, about eight thousand a year 
 more. It was understood that, in consider- 
 ation of this new salary, Impey would desist 
 from urging the high pretensions of his court. 
 If he did urge these pretensions, the govern- 
 ment could, at a moment’s notice, eject him 
 from the new place which had been created for 
 him. The bargain was struck ; Bengal was 
 saved ; an appeal to force averted ; and the 
 Chief Justice was rich, quiet, and infamous. 
 
 Of Impey’s conduct it is unnecessary to 
 speak. It was of a piece with almost every 
 part of his conduct that comes under the notice 
 of history. No other such judge has dishon- 
 ored the English ermine, since Jefferies drank 
 himself to death in the Tower. But we cannot 
 agree with those who have blamed Hastings 
 for this transaction. The case stood thus. 
 The negligent manner in which the Regulating 
 Act had been framed put it in the power of the 
 Chief Justice to throw a great country into the 
 most dreadful confusion. He was determined 
 to use his power to the utmost, unless he was 
 paid to be still ; and Hastings consented to 
 pay him. The necessity was to be deplored. 
 It is also to be deplored that pirates should be 
 able to exact ransom, by threatening to make 
 their captives walk a plank. But to ransom a 
 captive from pirates has always been held a 
 humane and Christian act ; and it would be 
 absurd to charge the payer of the ransom with 
 corrupting the virtue of the corsair. This we 
 seriously think, is a not unfair illustration of 
 the relative position of Impey, Hastings, and 
 the people of India. Whether it was right in 
 Impey to demand or to accept a price for pow- 
 ers which, if they really belonged to him, he 
 could not abdicate, which, if they did not be- 
 long to him, he ought never to have usurped, and 
 which in neither case he could honestly sell, is 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 2 18 
 
 one question. It is quite another question, wheth 
 er Hastings was not right to give any sum, how- 
 ever large, to any man, however worthless, 
 rather than either surrender millions of human 
 beings to pillage, or rescue them by civil war. 
 
 Francis strongly opposed this arrangement. 
 It may, indeed, be suspected that personal 
 aversion to Impey was as strong a motive with 
 Francis as regard for the welfare of fhe prov- 
 ince. To a mind burning with resentment, it 
 might seem better to leave Bengal to the op- 
 pressors than to redeem it by enriching them. 
 It is not improbable, on the other hand, that 
 Hastings may have been the more willing to 
 resort to an expedient agreeable to the Chief 
 Justice, because that high functionary had al- 
 ready been so serviceable, and might, when 
 existing dissensions were composed, be service- 
 able again. 
 
 But it was not on this point alone that 
 Francis was now opposed to Hastings. The 
 peace between them proved to be only a short 
 and hollow truce, during which their mutual 
 aversion was constantly becoming stronger. 
 At length an explosion took place. Hastings 
 publicly charged Francis with having deceived 
 him, and with having induced Barwell to quit 
 the service bv insincere promises. Then came a 
 dispute, such as frequently arises even between 
 honorable men, when they may make import- 
 ant agreements by mere verbal communication. 
 An impartial historian will probably be of 
 opinion that they had misunderstood each 
 other ; but their minds were so much embit- 
 tered that they imputed to each other nothing 
 less than deliberate villanv. “ I do not,” said 
 Hastings, in a minute recorded on the Con- 
 sultations of the Government, “ I do not trust 
 to Mr. Francis’s promises of candor, convinced 
 that he is incapable of it. I judge of his pub- 
 lic conduct by his private, which I have found 
 to be void of truth and honor.” After the 
 Council had risen, Francis put a challenge 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 219 
 
 into the Governor-General’s hand. It was in- 
 stantly accepted. They met and fired. Fran- 
 cis was shot through the body. He was carried 
 to a neighboring house, where it appeared that 
 the wound, though severe, was not mortal. 
 Hastings inquired repeatedly after his enemy’s 
 health, and proposed to call on him; but Fran- 
 cis coldly declined the visit. He had a proper 
 sense, he said, of the Governor-General’s po- 
 liteness, but could not consent to any private 
 interview'. They could meet only at the coun- 
 cil-board. 
 
 In a very short time it was made signally 
 manifest to how great a danger the Governor- 
 General had, on this occasion, exposed his 
 country. A crisis arrived with which he, and 
 he alone, v'as competent to deal. It is not too 
 much to say that, if he had been taken from 
 the head of affairs, the years 1780 and 1781 
 would have been as fatal to our power in Asia 
 as to our power in America. 
 
 The Mahrattas had been the chief objects 
 of apprehension to Hastings. The measures 
 which he had adopted for the purpose of break- 
 ing their power, had at first been frustrated by 
 the errors of those whom he was compelled to 
 employ ; but his perseverance and ability 
 seemed likely to be crowned with success, 
 when a far more formidable danger showed 
 itself in another quarter. 
 
 About thirty years before this time, a Ma- 
 hommedan soldier had begun to distinguish 
 himself in the v'ars of Southern India. His 
 education had been neglected ; his extraction 
 was humble. His father had been a petty 
 officer of revenue ; his grandfather a w'andering 
 dervise. But though thus meanly descended, 
 though ignorant even of the alphabet, the ad- 
 venturer had no sooner been placed at the head 
 of a body of troops than he approved himself a 
 man born for conquest and command. Among 
 the crowd of chiefs who were struggling for a 
 share of India, none could compare with him 
 
220 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 in the qualities of the captain and the states* 
 man. He became a general ; he became a 
 sovereign. Out of the fragments of old princi- 
 palities, which had gone to pieces in the 
 general wreck, he formed for himself a great, 
 compact, and vigorous empire. That empire 
 he ruled with the ability, severity, and vigilance 
 of Lewis the Eleventh. Licentious in his 
 pleasures, implacable in his revenge, he had 
 yet enlargement of mind enough to perceive 
 how much the prosperity of subjects adds to 
 the strength of governments. He was an op- 
 pressor ; but he had at least the merit of pro- 
 tecting his people against all oppression except 
 his own. He was now in extreme old age ; 
 but his intellect was as clear, and his spirit as 
 high, as in the prime of manhood. Such was 
 the great Hyder Ali, the founder of the Ma- 
 hommedan kingdom of Mysore, and the most 
 formidable enemy with whom the English con- 
 querors of India have ever had to contend. 
 
 Had Hastings been governor of Madras, 
 Hyder would have been either made a friend, 
 or vigorously encountered as an enemy. Un- 
 happily the English authorities in the South 
 provoked their powerful neighbor’s hostility, 
 without being prepared to repel it. On a sud- 
 den, an army of ninety thousand men, far 
 superior in discipline and efficiency to any 
 other native force that could be found in India, 
 came pouring through those wild passes which, 
 worn by mountain torrents, and dark with 
 jungle, lead down from the table land of My- 
 sore to the plains of the Carnatic. This great 
 army was accompanied by a hundred pieces of 
 cannon ; and its movements were guided by 
 many French officers, trained in the best mili- 
 tary schools of Europe. 
 
 Hyder was everywhere triumphant. The 
 sepoys in many British garrisons flung down 
 their arms. Some forts were surrendered by 
 treachery, and some by despair. In a few days 
 the whole open country north of the Coleroon 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 22 1 
 
 had submitted. The English inhabitants of 
 Madras could already see by night, from the 
 top of Mount St. Thomas, the eastern sky red- 
 dened by a vast semicircle of blazing villages. 
 The white villas, to which our countrymen re- 
 tire after the daily labors of government and of 
 trade, when the cooi evening breeze springs up 
 from the bay, were now left without inhabitants ; 
 for bands of the fierce horsemen of Mysore had 
 already been seen prowling among the tulip- 
 trees, and near the gay verandas. Even the 
 town was not thought secure, and the British 
 merchants and public functionaries made haste 
 to crowd themselves behind the cannon of 
 Fort St. George. 
 
 There were the means, indeed, of assembling 
 an army which might have defended the presi- 
 dency, and even driven the invader back to his 
 mountains. Sir Elector Munro was at the 
 head of one considerable force ; Baillie was 
 advancing with another. United, they might 
 have presented a formidable front even to such 
 an enemy as Hvder. But the English com- 
 manders, neglecting those fundamental rules 
 of the military art of which the propriety is 
 obvious even to men who had never received a 
 military education, deferred their junction, and 
 were separately attacked. Baillie’s detach- 
 ment was destroyed. Munro was forced to 
 abandon his baggage, to fling his guns into the 
 tanks, and to save himself by a retreat which 
 might be called a flight. In three weeks from 
 the commencement of the war, the British em- 
 pire in Southern India had been brought to the 
 verge of ruin. Only a few fortified places re- 
 mained to us. The glory of our arms had de- 
 parted. It was known that a great French 
 expedition might soon be expected on the 
 coast of Coromandel. England, beset by 
 enemies on every side, was in no condition to 
 protect such remote dependencies. 
 
 Then it was that the fertile genius and serene 
 courage of Hastings achieved their most signal 
 
222 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 triumph. A swift ship, flying before the south- 
 west monsoon, brought the evil tidings in a few 
 days to Calcutta. In twenty-four hours the 
 Governor-General had framed a complete plan 
 of policy adapted to the altered state of affairs. 
 The struggle with Hyder was a struggle for 
 life and death. All minor objects must be 
 sacrificed to the preservation of the Carnatic. 
 The disputes with the Mahrattas must be ac- 
 commodated. A large military force and a 
 supply of money must be instantly sent to 
 Madras. But even these measures would be 
 insufficient, unless the war, hitherto so grossly 
 mismanaged, were placed under the direction 
 of a vigorous mind. It was no time for trifling. 
 Hastings determined to resort to an extreme 
 exercise of power, to suspend the incapable 
 governor of Fort St. George, to send Sir Eyre 
 Coote to oppose Hyder, and to intrust that 
 distinguished general with the whole adminis- 
 tration of the war. 
 
 In spite of the sulien opposition of Francis, 
 who had now recovered from his wound, and 
 had returned to the Council, the Governor- 
 General’s wise and firm policy was approved 
 by the majority of the board. The reinforce- 
 ments were sent off with great expedition, and 
 reached Madras before the French armament 
 arrived in the Indian seas. Coote, broken by 
 age and disease, was no longer the Coote of 
 Wandewash; but he was still a resolute and 
 skilful commander. The progress of Hyder 
 was arrested ; and in a few months the great 
 victory of Porto Novo retrieved the honor of 
 the English arms. 
 
 In the mean time Francis had returned to 
 England, and Hastings was now left perfectly 
 unfettered. VVheler had gradually been re- 
 laxing in his opposition, and, after the depart- 
 ure of his vehement and implacable colleague, 
 co-operated heartily with the Governor-General, 
 whose influence over the British in India, 
 always great, had, by the vigor and success of 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 223 
 
 his recent measures, been considerably in- 
 creased. 
 
 But, though the difficulties arising from 
 factions within the Council were at an end, 
 another class of difficulties had become more 
 pressing than ever. The financial embarrass- 
 ment was extreme. Hastings had to find the 
 means, not only of carrying on the government 
 of Bengal, but of maintaining a most costly 
 war against both Indian and European enemies 
 in the Carnatic, and of making remittances to 
 England. A few- years before this time he had 
 obtained relief by plundering the Mogul and 
 enslaving the Rohillas; nor were the resources 
 of his fruitful mind by any means exhausted. 
 
 His first design was on Benares, a city which 
 in wealth, population, dignity, and sanctity was 
 among the foremost in Asia. It was commonly 
 believed that half a million of human beings 
 was crowded into that labyrinth of lofty al- 
 leys rich with shrines, and minarets, and bal- 
 conies, and carved oriels, to which the sacred 
 apes clung by hundreds. The traveller could 
 scarcely make his way through the press of 
 holy mendicants and not less holy bulls. The 
 broad and stately flights of steps which descend- 
 ed from these swarming haunts to the bathing- 
 places along the Ganges were worn every day 
 by the footsteps of an innumerable multitude 
 of worshippers. The schools and temples drew 
 crowds of pious Hindoos from every province 
 where the Brahminical faith was known. 
 Hundreds of devotees came thither every 
 month to die ; for it was believed that a peculi- 
 arly happy fate awaited the man who should 
 pass from the sacred city into the sacred river. 
 Nor was superstition the only motive which al- 
 lured strangers to that great metropolis. Com- 
 merce had as many pilgrims as religion. All 
 along the shores of the venerable stream lay 
 great fleets of vessels laden with rich merchan- 
 dise. From the looms of Benares went forth 
 the most delicate silks that adorned the balls 
 
224 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 of St. James’s and of Versailles; and in the 
 bazars, the muslins of Bengal and the sabres 
 of Oude were mingled with the jewels of Gol- 
 conda and the shawls of Cashmere. This 
 rich capital, and surrounding tract, had long 
 been under the immediate rule of a Hindoo 
 prince, who rendered homage to the Mogul 
 emperors. During the great anarchy of India, 
 the lords of Benares became independent of 
 the court of Delhi, but were compelled to sub- 
 mit to the authority of the Nabob of Oude. 
 Oppressed by this formidable neighbor, they 
 invoked the protection of the English. The Eng- 
 lish protection was given ; and at length the 
 Nabob Vizier, by a solemn treaty, ceded all his 
 rights over Benares to the Company. From 
 that time the Rajah was the vassal of the 
 government of Bengal, acknowledged its su- 
 premacy, and engaged to send an annual trib- 
 ute to Fort William. This tribute Cheyte Sing, 
 the reigning prince, had paid with strict punct- 
 uality. 
 
 About the precise nature of the legal relation 
 between the Company and the Rajah of Bena- 
 res, there has been much warm and acute con- 
 troversy. On the one side it has been maintained 
 that Cheyte Sing was merely a great subject on 
 whom the superior power had a right to call for 
 aid in the necessities of the empire. On the 
 other side, it has been contended that he was 
 an independent prince, that the only claim 
 which the Company had upon him was for a 
 fixed tribute, and that, while the fixed tribute 
 was regularly paid, as it assuredly was, the 
 English had no more right to exact any further 
 contribution from him than to demand subsidies 
 from Holland or Denmark. Nothing is easier 
 than to find precedents and analogies in favor 
 of either view. 
 
 Our own impression is that neither view is 
 correct. It was too much the habit of English 
 politicians to take it for granted that there 
 was in India a known and definite constitution 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 225 
 
 by which questions of this kind were to be 
 decided. The truth is that, during the interval 
 which elapsed between the fall of the house of 
 Tamerlane and the establishment of the British 
 ascendency there was no such constitution. The 
 old order of things had passed away ; the new or- 
 der of things was not yet formed. All was transi- 
 tion confusion, obscurity. Everybody kept his as 
 head he best might, and scrambled for whatever 
 he could get. There have been similar seasons 
 in Europe. The time of the dissolution of the 
 Carlovingian empire is an instance. Who 
 would think of seriously discussing the question, 
 what extent of pecuniary aid and of obedience 
 Hugh Capet had a constitutional right to de- 
 mand from the Duke of Britanny or the Duke 
 of Normandy ? The words “ constitutional 
 right” had, in that state of society, no meaning. 
 If Hugh Capet laid hands on all’ the posses- 
 sions of the Duke of Normandy, this might 
 be unjust and immoral ; but it would not 
 be illegal, in the sense in which the ordin- 
 ances of Charles the Tenth w'ere illegal. If, on 
 the other hand, the Duke of Normandy made 
 war on Hugh Capet, this might be unjust and 
 immoral ; but it would not be illegal, in the 
 sense in which the expedition of Prince Louis 
 Bonaparte was illegal. 
 
 Very similar to this was the state of India 
 sixty years ago. Of the existing governments 
 not a single one could lay claim to legiti- 
 macy, or could plead any other title than 
 recent occupation. There w'as scarcely a prov- 
 ince in which the real sovereignty and the 
 nominal sovereignty were not disjoined. Titles 
 and forms were still retained which implied 
 that the heir of Tamerlane was an absolute 
 ruler, and that the Nabobs of the provinces 
 were his lieutenants. In reality he was a cap- 
 tive. The Nabobs were in some places indepen- 
 dent princes. In other places, as in Bengal 
 and the Carnatic, they had, like their master, 
 become mere phantoms, and the Company was 
 
226 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 supreme. Among the Mahrattas, again, the 
 heir of Sevajee still kept the title of Rajah ; 
 but he was a prisoner, and his prime minister, 
 the Peshwa, had become the hereditary chief 
 of the state. The Peshwa, in his turn, was 
 fast sinking into the same degraded situation 
 into which he had reduced the Rajah. It was, 
 we believe, impossible to find, from the Hima- 
 layas to Mysore, a single government which 
 was at once a government de facto , and a 
 government de jure, which possessed the physi- 
 cal means of making itself feared by its neigh- 
 bors and subjects, and which had at the same 
 time the authority derived from law and long 
 prescription. 
 
 Hastings clearly discerned what was hidden 
 from most of his contemporaries, that such a 
 state of things gave immense advantages to a 
 ruler of great talents and few scruples. In every 
 international question that could arise he had 
 his option between the de facto grounds and the 
 de ju?-c grounds ; and the probability was that 
 one of those grounds would sustain any claim 
 that it might be convenient for him to make, 
 and enable him to resist any claim made by 
 others. In every controversy, accordingly, he 
 resorted to the plea which suited his immediate 
 purpose, without troubling himself in the least 
 about consistency : and thus he scarcely ever 
 failed to find what, to persons of short memories 
 and scanty information, seemed to be a justifica- 
 tion for what he wanted to do. Sometimes the 
 Nabob of Bengal is a shadow, sometimes a 
 monarch. Sometimes the Vizier is a mere 
 deputy, sometimes an independent potentate. 
 If it is expedient for the Company to show 
 some legal title to the revenues of Bengal, the 
 grant under the seal of the Mogul is brought 
 forward as an instrument of the highest author- 
 ity. When the Mogul asks for the rents which 
 were reserved to him by that very grant, he is 
 told that he is a mere pageant, that the English 
 power rests on a very different foundation 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 227 
 
 from a charter given by hirn, that he is wel- 
 come to play at royalty as long as he likes, 
 but that he must expect no tribute from the 
 real masters of India. 
 
 It is true that it was in the power of others, 
 as well as of Hastings, to practise this legerde- 
 main ; but in the controversies of governments, 
 sophistry is of little use unless it be backed by 
 power. There is a principle which Hastings was 
 fond of asserting in ,the strongest terms, and 
 on which he acted with undeviating steadiness. 
 It is a principle which, we must own, though it 
 may be grossly abused, can hardly be dis- 
 puted in the present state of public law. It is 
 this, that where an ambiguous question arises 
 between two governments, there is, if they 
 cannot agree, no appeal except by force, and 
 that the opinion of the stronger must prevail. 
 Almost every question was ambiguous in 
 India. The English government was the 
 strongest in India. The consequences are 
 obvious. The English Government might do 
 exactly what it chose. 
 
 The English government now chose to wring 
 money out of Cheyte Sing. It had formerly 
 been convenient to treat him as a sovereign 
 prince ; it was now convenient to treat him as 
 a subject. Dexterity inferior to that of Hast- 
 ings could easily find, in the general chaos of 
 laws and customs, arguments for either course. 
 Hastings wanted a great supply. It was known 
 that Cheyte Sing had a large revenue, and it 
 was suspected that he had accumulated a 
 treasure. Nor was he a favorite at Calcutta. 
 He had, when the Governor-General was in 
 great difficulties, courted the favor of Francis 
 and Clavering. Hastings, who, less perhaps 
 from evil passions than from policy, seldom 
 left an injury unpunished, was not sorry that 
 the fate of Cheyte Sing should teach neighbor- 
 ing princes the same lesson which the fate of 
 Nuncomar had already impressed on the inhab- 
 itants of Bengal. 
 
228 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESS A VS. 
 
 In 1778, on the first breaking out of the war 
 with France, Cheyte Sing was called upon to 
 pay, in addition to his fixed tribute, an extra- 
 ordinary contribution of fifty thousand pounds. 
 In 1779, an equal sum was exacted. In 1780, 
 the demand was renewed. Cheyte Sing, in 
 the hope of obtaining some indulgence, se- 
 cretly offered the Governor-General a bribe of 
 twenty thousand pounds. Hastings took the 
 money, and his enemies have maintained that 
 he took it intending to keep it. He certainly 
 concealed the transaction, for a time, both 
 from the Council in Bengal and from the Di- 
 rectors at home ; nor did he ever give any sat- 
 isfactory reason for the concealment. Public 
 spirit, or the fear of detection, at last deter- 
 mined him to withstand the temptation. He 
 paid over the bribe to the Company’s treasury, 
 and insisted that the Rajah should instantly 
 comply with the demands of the English gov- 
 ernment. The Rajah, after the fashion of his 
 countrymen, shuffled, solicited, and pleaded 
 poverty. The grasp of Blastings was not to be 
 so eluded. He added to the requisition an- 
 other ten thousand pounds as a fine for delay, 
 and sent troops to exact the money. 
 
 The money was paid. But this was not 
 enough. The late events in the south of India 
 had increased the financial embarrassments of 
 the Company. Hastings was determined to 
 plunder Cheyte Sing, and, for that end, to 
 fasten a quarrel on him. Accordingly, the 
 Rajah was now required to keep a body of 
 cavalry for the service of the British govern- 
 ment. He objected and evaded. This was 
 exactly what the Governor-General wanted. 
 He had now a pretext for treating the wealthi- 
 est of his vassals as a criminal. “I resolved,” 
 — these are the words of Hastings himself, — 
 “ to draw from his guilt the means of relief of 
 the Company’s distresses, to make him pay 
 largely for his pardon, or to exact a severe 
 vengeance for past delinquency.” The plan 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 229 
 
 was simply this, to demand larger and larger 
 contributions till the Rajah should be driven 
 to remonstrate, then to call his remonstrance 
 a crime, and to punish him by confiscating all 
 his possessions. 
 
 Cheyte Sing was in the greatest dismay. 
 He offered two hundred thousand pounds to 
 propitiate the British government. But Hast- 
 ings replied that nothing less than half a mil- 
 lion would be accepted. Nay, he began to 
 think of selling Benares to Oude, as he had 
 formerly sold Allahabad and Rohilcund. The 
 matter was one which could not be well man- 
 aged at a distance ; and Hastings resolved to 
 visit Benares. 
 
 Cheyte Sing received his liege lord with 
 every mark of reverence, came near sixty miles, 
 with his guards, to meet and escort the illus- 
 trious visitor, and expressed his deep concern 
 at the displeasure of the English. He even 
 took off his turban, and laid it in the lap of 
 Hastings, a gesture which in India marks the 
 most profound submission and devotion. Hast- 
 ings behaved with cold and repulsive severity. 
 Having arrived at Benares, he sent to the 
 Rajah a paper containing the demands of the 
 government of Bengal. The Rajah, in reply, 
 attempted to clear himself from the accusa- 
 tions brought against him. Hastings, who 
 wanted money and not excuses, was not to be 
 put off by the ordinary artifices of Eastern ne- 
 gotiation. He instantly ordered the Rajah to 
 be arrested and placed under the custody of 
 two companies of sepoys. 
 
 In taking these strong measures, Hastings 
 scarcely showed his usual judgment. It is 
 possible that, having had little opportunity of 
 personally observing any part of the popula 
 tion of India, except the Bengalees, he was 
 not fully aware of the difference between their 
 character and that of the tribes which inhabit 
 the upper provinces. He was now in a land 
 far more favorable to the vigor of the human 
 
230 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA YS. 
 
 frame than the Delta of the Ganges ; in a land 
 fruitful of soldiers, who have been found wor- 
 thy to follow English battalions to the charge 
 and into the breach. The Rajah was popular 
 among his subjects. His administration had 
 been mild; and the prosperity of the district 
 which he governed presented a striking con- 
 trast to the depressed state of Bahar under 
 our rule, and a still more striking contrast to 
 the misery of the provinces which were cursed 
 by the tyranny of the Nabob Vizier. The 
 national and religious prejudices with which 
 the English were regarded throughout India 
 were peculiarly intense in the metropolis of 
 the Brahminical superstition. It can therefore 
 scarcely be doubted that the Governor-General, 
 before he outraged the dignity of Cheyte Sing 
 by an arrest, ought to have assembled a force 
 capable of bearing down all opposition. This 
 had not been done. The handful of Sepoys 
 who attended Hastings would probably have 
 been sufficient to overawe Moorshedabad, or 
 the Black Town of Calcutta. But they were 
 unequal to a conflict with the hardy rabble of 
 Benares. The streets surrounding the palace 
 were filled by an immense multitude, of whom 
 a large proportion, as is usual in Upper India, 
 wore arms. The tumult became a fight, and 
 the fight a massacre. The English officers de- 
 fended themselves with desperate courage 
 against overwhelming numbers, and fell, as 
 became them, sword in hand. The sepoys 
 were butchered. The gates were forced. 
 The captive prince, neglected by his jailers 
 during the confusion, discovered an outlet 
 which opened on the precipitous bank of the 
 Ganges, let himself down to the water by a 
 string made of the turbans of his attendants, 
 found a boat, and escaped to the opposite 
 shore. 
 
 If Hastings had, by indiscreet violence 
 brought himself into a difficult and perilous 
 situation, it is only just to acknowledge that 
 
WARREN NAS TINGS. 
 
 231 
 
 he extricated himself with even more than his 
 usual ability and presence of mind. He had 
 only fifty men with him. The building in 
 which he had taken up his residence was on 
 every side blockaded by the insurgents. But 
 his fortitude remained unshaken, The Rajah 
 from the other side of the river sent apologies 
 and liberal offers. They were not even an- 
 swered. Some subtle and enterprising men 
 w’ere fouud who undertook to pass through 
 the throng of enemies, and to convey the 
 intelligence of the late events to the English 
 cantonments. It is the fashion of the natives 
 of India to wear large ear-rings of gold. When 
 they travel, the rings are laid aside, lest the 
 precious metal should tempt some gang of rob- 
 bers ; and, in place of the ring, a quill or a 
 roll of paper is inserted in the orifice to pre- 
 vent it from closing. Hastings placed in the 
 ears of his messengers letters rolled up in the 
 smallest compass. Some of these letters were 
 addressed to the commanders of English 
 troops. One was written to assure his wife of 
 his safety. One was to the envoy whom he 
 had sent to negotiate with the Mahrattas. 
 Instructions for the negotiation were needed ; 
 and the Governor-General framed them in that 
 situation of extreme danger with as much com- 
 posure as if he had been writing in his palace 
 at Calcutta. 
 
 Things, however, were not yet at the worst. 
 An English officer of more spirit than judg- 
 ment, eager to distinguish himself, made a 
 premature attack on the insurgents beyond 
 the river. His troops were entangled in nar- 
 row streets, and assailed by a furious popula- 
 tion. He fell, with many of his men ; and the 
 survivors were forced to retire. 
 
 This event produced the effect which has 
 never failed to follow every check, however 
 slight, sustained in India by the English arms. 
 For hundreds of miles round, the whole country 
 Was in commotion, The entire population of 
 
2 3 2 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 the district of Benares took arms. The fields 
 were abandoned by the husbandmen, who 
 thronged to defend their prince. The infec- 
 tion spread to Oude. The oppressed people 
 of that province rose up against the Nabob 
 Vizier, refused to pay their imposts, and put 
 the revenue officers to flight. Even Bahar 
 was ripe for revolt. The hopes of Cheyte Sing 
 began to rise. Instead of imploring mercy in 
 the humble style of a vassal, he began to talk 
 the language of a conqueror, and threatened, 
 it was said, to sweep the white usurpers out of 
 the land. But the English troops were now 
 assembling fast. The officers, and even the 
 private men, regarded the Governor-General 
 with enthusiastic attachment, and flew to his 
 aid with an alacrity which, as he boasted, had 
 never been shown on any other occasion. 
 Major Popham, a brave and skilful soldier, 
 who had highly distinguished himself in the 
 Mahratta war, and in whom the Governor- 
 General reposed the greatest confidence, took 
 the command. The tumultuary army of the 
 Rajah was put to rout. His fastnesses were 
 stormed. In a few hours, above thirty thou- 
 sand men left his standard, and returned to 
 their ordinary avocations. The unhappy prince 
 fled from his country forever. His fair do- 
 main was added to the British dominions. 
 One of his relations indeed was appointed 
 rajah ; but the Rajah of Benares was hence- 
 forth to be, like the Nabob of Bengal, a mere 
 pensioner. 
 
 By this revolution, an addition of two hun- 
 dred thousand pounds a year was made to the 
 revenues of the Company. But the immediate 
 relief was not as great as had been expected. 
 The treasure laid up by Cheyte Sing had been 
 popularly estimated at a million sterling. It 
 turned out to be about a fourth part of that 
 sum ; and, such as it was, it was seized by the 
 army, and divided as prize-money. 
 
 Disappointed in his expectations from Bena-> 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 233 
 
 res, Hastings was more violent than he would 
 otherwise have been, in his dealings with Oude. 
 Sujah Dowlah, had long been dead. His son 
 and successor, Asaph-ul-Dowlab, was one of 
 the weakest and most vicious even of Eastern 
 princess. His life was divided between torpid 
 repose and the most odious forms of sensuality. 
 In his court there was boundless waste, through- 
 out his dominions wretchedness and disorder. 
 He had been, under the skilful management 
 of the English government, gradually sinking 
 from the rank of an independent prince to that 
 of a vassal of the Company. It was only by 
 the help of a British brigade that he could be 
 secure from the aggressions of neighbors who 
 despised his weakness, and from the vengeance 
 of subjects who detested his tyranny. A brig- 
 ade was furnished ; and he engaged to defray 
 the charge of paying and maintaining it. From 
 that time his independence was at an end. 
 Hastings was not a man to lose the advantage 
 which he had thus gained. The Nabob soon 
 began to complain of the burden which he had 
 undertaken to bear. His revenues, he said, 
 were falling off ; his servants were unpaid ; he 
 could no longer support the expense of the ar- 
 rangement which he had sanctioned. Hastings 
 would not listen to these representations. The 
 Vizier, he said, had invited the government of 
 Bengal to send him troops, and had promised 
 to pay for them. The troops had been sent. 
 How long the troops were to remain in Oude 
 was a matter not settled by the treaty. It re- 
 mained, therefore, to be settled between the 
 contracting parties. But the contracting par- 
 ties differed. Who then must decide ? The 
 stronger. 
 
 Hastings also argued that, if the English 
 force was withdrawn, Oude would certainly be- 
 come a prey to anarchy, and would probably be 
 overrun by a Mahratta army. That the finan- 
 ces of Oude were embarrassed he admitted. 
 But he contended, not without reason, that the 
 
234 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 embarrassment was to be attributed to the in- 
 capacity and vices of Asaph-ul-Dowlah himself, 
 and that, if less was spent on the troops, the 
 only effect would be that more would be squan- 
 dered on worthless favorites. 
 
 Hastings had intended, after settling the af- 
 fairs of Benares, to visit Lucknow, and there to 
 confer with Asaph-ul-Dowlah. But the obsequi- 
 ous courtesy of the Nabob Vizier prevented 
 this visit. With a small train he hastened to 
 meet the Governor-General. An interview 
 took place in the fortress, which, from the crest 
 of the precipitous rock of Chunar, looks down 
 on the waters of the Ganges. 
 
 At first sight it might appear impossible that 
 the negotiation should come to an amicable 
 close. Hastings wanted an extraordinary sup- 
 ply of money. Asaph-ul Dowlah wanted to ob- 
 tain a remission of what he already owed. 
 Such a difference seemed to admit of no com- 
 promise. There was, however, one course sat- 
 isfactory to both sides, one course by which it 
 was possible to relieve the finances both of 
 Oude and Bengal ; and that course was adopt- 
 ed. It was simply this, that the Governor- 
 General and the Nabob Vizier should join to 
 rob a third party ; and the third party whom 
 they determined to rob was the parent of one 
 of the robbers. 
 
 The mother of the late Nabob, and his wife, 
 who was the mother of the present Nabob, were 
 known as the Begums or Princesses of Oude. 
 They had possessed great influence over Sujah 
 Dowlah, and had, at his death, been left in pos- 
 session of a splendid dotation. The domains 
 of which they received the rents and ad- 
 ministered the government were of wide extent. 
 The treasure hoarded by the late Nabob, a 
 treasure which was popularly estimated at near 
 three millions sterling, was in their hands. 
 They continued to occupy his favorite palace 
 at Fyzabad, the Beautiful Dwelling ; while 
 Asaph-ul-Dowlah held his court in the stately 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. ' 
 
 235 
 
 Lucknow, which he had built for himself on 
 the shores of the Goomti, and had adorned 
 with noble mosques and colleges. 
 
 Asaph-ul-Dowlah had already extorted con- 
 siderable sums from his mother. She had at 
 length appealed to the English ; and the Eng- 
 lish had interfered. A solemn compact had been 
 made, by which she consented to give her son 
 some pecuniary assistance, and he in his turn, 
 promised never to commit any further invasion 
 of her rights. This compact was formally guar- 
 anteed by the government of Bengal. But 
 times had changed ; money was wanted ; and 
 the power which had given the guarantee was 
 not ashamed to instigate the spoiler to excesses 
 such that even he shrank from them. 
 
 It was necessary to find some pretext for a 
 confiscation inconsistent, not merely with 
 plighted faith, not merely with the ordi- 
 nary rules of humanity and justice, but also 
 with that great law of filial piety which, even 
 in the wildest tribes of savages, even in those 
 more degraded communities which whether 
 under the influence of a corrupt half-civiliza- 
 tion, retains a certain authority over the human 
 mind. A pretext was the last thing that Hast- 
 ings was likely to want. The insurrection at 
 Benares had produced disturbances in Oude. 
 These disturbances it was convenient to impute 
 to the Princesses. Evidence for the imputa- 
 tion there was scarcely any ; unless reports 
 wandering from one mouth to another, and 
 gaining something by every transmission, may 
 be called evidence. The accused were fur- 
 nished with no charge ; they were permitted to 
 make no defence ; for the Governor-General 
 wisely considered that, if he tried them, he 
 might not be able to find a ground for plunder- 
 ing them. It was agreed between him and the 
 Nabob Vizier that the noble ladies should, by 
 a sweeping act of confiscation, be stripped of 
 their domains and treasures for the benefit of 
 the Company, and that the sums thus obtained 
 
236 BIOGRA PHICAL ESS A YS. 
 
 should be accepted by the government of Ben- 
 gal in satisfaction of its claims on the govern- 
 ment of Oude. 
 
 While Asaph-ul-Dowlah was at Chunar, he 
 was completely subjugated by the clear and 
 commanding intellect of the English statesman. 
 But, when they had separated, the Vizier be- 
 gan to reflect with uneasiness on the engage- 
 ments into which he had entered. His mother 
 and grandmother protested and implored. 
 His heart, deeply corrupted by absolute power 
 and licentious pleasures, yet not naturally un- 
 feeling, failed him in this crisis. Even the 
 English resident at Lucknow, though hith- 
 erto devoted to Hastings, shrank from ex- 
 treme measures. But the Governor-General 
 was inexorable. He wrote to the resident, in 
 terms of the greatest severity, and declared 
 that, if the spoliation which had been agreed 
 upon were not instantly carried into effect, he 
 would himself go to Lucknow, and do that 
 from which feebler minds recoil with dismay. 
 The resident, thus menaced, waited on his 
 Highness, and insisted that the treaty of Chu- 
 nar should be carried into full and immediate 
 effect. Asaph-ul-Dowlah yielded, making at 
 the same time a solemn protestation that he 
 yielded to compulsion. The lands were re- 
 sumed ; but the treasure was not so easily ob- 
 tained. It was necessary to use violence. A 
 body of the Company’s troops marched to 
 Fyzabad, and forced the gates of the palace. 
 The Princesses were confined to their own 
 apartments. But still they refused to submit. 
 Some more stringent mode of coercion was to 
 be found. A mode was found of which, even 
 at this distance of time, we cannot speak with- 
 out shame and sorrow. 
 
 There were at Fyzabad too ancient men, 
 belonging to that unhappy class which a prac- 
 tice, of immemorial antiquity in the East, has 
 excluded from the pleasures of love and from 
 the hope of posterity. It has always been 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 237 
 
 held in Asiatic courts that beings thus es- 
 tranged from sympathy with their kind are 
 those whom princes may most safely trust. Su- 
 jah Dowlah had been of that opinion. He had 
 given his entire confidence to the two eunuchs ; 
 and after his death they remained at the head 
 of the household of his widow. 
 
 These men were, by the orders of the British 
 government, seized, imprisoned, ironed, starved 
 almost to death, in order to extort money 
 from the Princesses. After they had been 
 two months in confinement, their health gave 
 way. They implored permission to take a 
 little exercise in the garden of their prison. 
 The officer who was in charge of them stated 
 that, if they were allowed this indulgence, there 
 was not the smallest chance of their escaping, 
 and that their irons really added nothing to the 
 security of the custody in which they were kept. 
 He did not understand the plan of his super- 
 iors. Their object in these inflictions was not 
 security but torture ; and all mitigation was re- 
 fused. Yet this was net the worst. It was re- 
 solved by an English government that these 
 two infirm old men should, be delivered to the 
 tormentors. For that purpose they were re- 
 moved to Lucknow. What horrors their dun- 
 geon there witnessed can only be guessed. 
 But there remains on the records of Parliament, 
 this letter, written by a British resident to a 
 British soldier. 
 
 “ Sir, the Nabob having determined to in- 
 flict corporal punishment upon the prisoners 
 under your guard, this is to desire that his 
 officers, when they shall come, may have free 
 access to the prisoners, and be permitted to do 
 with them as they shall see proper.” 
 
 While these barbarities were perpetrated at 
 Lucknow, the Princesses were still under duress 
 at Fyzabad. Food was allowed to enter their 
 apartments only in such scanty quantities that 
 their female attendants were in danger of per- 
 ishing with hunger. Month after month this 
 
238 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 cruelty continued, till at length, after twelve 
 hundred thousand pounds had been wrung out 
 of the Princesses, Hastings began to think that 
 he had really got to the bottom of their coffers, 
 and that no rigor could extort more. Then at 
 length the wretched men who were detained at 
 Lucknow regained their liberty. Their irons 
 were knocked off, and the doors of their 
 prison opened, their quivering lips, the tears 
 which ran down their cheeks, and the thanks- 
 givings which they poured forth to the common 
 Father of Mussulmans and Christians, melted 
 even the stout hearts of the English warriors 
 who stood by. 
 
 But we must not forgot to do justice to Sir 
 Elijah Impey’s conduct on this occasion. It 
 was not indeed easy for him to intrude himself 
 into a business so entirely alien from all his 
 official duties. But there was something inex- 
 pressibly alluring, we must suppose, in the 
 peculiar rankness of the infamy which was then 
 to be got at Lucknow. He hurried thither as 
 fast as relays of palanquin-bearers could carry 
 him. A crowd of people came before him with 
 affidavits against the Begums, ready drawn in 
 their hands. Those affidavits he did not read. 
 Some of them, indeed, he could not read ; for 
 they were in the dialects of Northern India, 
 and no interpreter was employed. He ad- 
 ministered the oath to the deponents with all 
 possible expedition, and asked not a single 
 question, not even whether they had perused 
 the statements to which they swore. This 
 work performed, he got again into his palan- 
 quin, and posted back to Calcutta, to be in 
 time for the opening of term. The cause was 
 one which, by his own confession, lay altogether 
 out of his jurisdiction. Under the charter of 
 justice, he had no more right to inquire into 
 crimes committed by Asiatics in Oude, than the 
 Lord President of the Court of Sessions of 
 Scotland to hold an assize at Exeter. He had 
 no right to try the Begums, nor did he pretend 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 239 
 
 to try them. With what object, then, did he 
 undertake so long a journey ? Evidently in 
 order that he might give, in an irregular man- 
 ner, that sanction which in a regular manner 
 he could not give, to the crimes of those who 
 had recently hired him ; and in order that a 
 confused mass of testimony which he did not 
 sift, which he did not even read, might acquire 
 an authority not properly belonging to it, from 
 the signature of the highest judicial functionary 
 in Inda. 
 
 The time was approaching, however, when 
 he was to be stripped of that robe which has 
 never, since the Revolution, been disgraced so 
 foully as by him. The state of India had for 
 some time occupied much of the attention of 
 the British Parliament. Towards the close of 
 the American war, two committees of the Com- 
 mons sat on Eastern affairs. In one Edmund 
 Burke took the lead. The other was under the 
 presidency of the able and versatile Henry 
 Dundas, then Lord Advocate of Scotland. 
 Great as are the changes which during the last 
 sixty years have taken place in our Asiatic 
 dominions, the reports which those committees 
 laid on the table of the House will still be 
 found most interesting and instructive. 
 
 There was as yet no connection between the 
 Company and either of the great parties in the 
 state. The ministers had no motive to defend 
 Indian abuses. On the contrary, it was for 
 their interest to show, if possible, that the gov- 
 ernment and patronage of our Oriental empire 
 might, with, advantage, be transferred to them- 
 selves. The votes therefore, which, in con- 
 sequence of the reports made by the two com- 
 mittees, were passed by the Commons, breathed 
 the spirit of stern and indignant justice. The 
 severest epithets were applied to several of the 
 measures of Hastings, especially to the Rohilla 
 war ; and it was resolved, on the motion of Mr. 
 Dundas, that the Company ought to recall a 
 Governor-General who had brought such cal- 
 
240 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 amities on the Indian people, and such dis- 
 honor on the British name.. An act was passed 
 for limiting the jurisdiction of the Supreme 
 Court. The bargain which Hastings had made 
 with the Chief Justice was condemned in the 
 strongest terms ; and an address was presented 
 to the king, praying that Impey might be sum- 
 moned home to answer for his misdeeds. 
 
 Impey was recalled by a letter from the 
 Secretary of State. But the proprietors of 
 India Stock resolutely refused to dismiss Hast- 
 ings from their service, and passed a resolution, 
 affirming, what was undeniably true, that they 
 were intrusted by law with the right of naming 
 and removing their Governor-General, and that 
 they were not bound to obey the directions of 
 a single branch of the legislature with respect 
 to such nomination or removal. 
 
 Thus supported by his employers, Hastings 
 remained at the head of the government of 
 Bengal till the spring of 1785. His adminis- 
 tration, so eventful and stormy, closed in almost 
 perfect quiet. In the Council there was no 
 regular opposition to his measures. Peace 
 was restored to India. The Manratta war had 
 ceased. Hyder was no more. A treaty had 
 been concluded with his son, Tippoo ; and the 
 Carnatic had been evacuated by the armies of 
 Mysore. Since the termination of the Amer- 
 ican war, England had no European enemy or 
 rival in the Eastern seas. 
 
 On a general review of the long admin- 
 istration of Hastings, it is impossible to deny 
 that, against the great crimes by which it is 
 blemished, we have to set off great public ser- 
 vices. England had passed through a perilous 
 crisis. She still, indeed, maintained her place 
 in the foremost rank of European powers ; and 
 the manner in which she had defended herself 
 against fearful odds had inspired surrounding 
 nations with a high opinion both of her spirit 
 and of her strength. Nevertheless, in every 
 part of the world, except one, she had been a 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 241 
 
 loser. Not only had she been compelled to 
 acknowledge the independence of thirteen col- 
 onies peopled by her children, and to conciliate 
 the Irish by giving up the right of legislating 
 for them ; but, in the Mediterranean, in the 
 Gulf of Mexico, on the coast of Africa, on the 
 continent of America, she had been compelled 
 to cede the fruits of her victories in former 
 wars. Spain regained Minorca and Florida ; 
 France regained Senegal, Goree, and several 
 West Indian Islands. The only quarter of the 
 world, in which Britain had lost nothing was 
 the quarter in which her interests had been 
 committed to the care of Hastings. In spite of 
 the utmost exertions both of European and 
 Asiatic enemies, the power of our country in 
 the East had been greatly augmented. Benares 
 was subjected ; the Nabob Vizier reduced to 
 vassalage. That our influence had been thus 
 extended, nay, that Fort William and Fort St. 
 George had not been occupied by hostile armies, 
 was owing, if we may trust the general voice 
 of the English in India, to the skill and reso- 
 lution of Hastings. 
 
 His internal administration, with all its 
 blemishes, gives him a title to be considered 
 as one of the most remarkable men in our his- 
 tory. He dissolved the double government. 
 He transferred the direction of affairs to Eng- 
 lish hands. Out of a frightful anarchy, he 
 deduced at least a rude and imperfect order. 
 The whole organization by which justice was 
 dispensed, revenue collected, peace maintained 
 throughout a territory not inferior in population 
 to the dominions of Louis the Sixteenth or of 
 the Emperor Joseph, was formed and super- 
 intended by him. He boasted that every pub- 
 lic office, without exception, which existed when 
 he left Bengal, was his creation. It is quite 
 true that this system, after all the improve- 
 ments suggested by the experience of sixty 
 years, still needs improvement, and that it was 
 at first far more defective than it now is. But 
 
242 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 whoever seriously considers what it is to con- 
 struct from the beginning the whole of a ma- 
 chine so vast and complex as a government, will 
 allow that what Hastings effected deserves 
 high admiration. To compare the most cel- 
 ebrated European ministers to him seems to 
 us as unjust as it would be to compare the best 
 baker in London with Robinson Crusoe, who, 
 before he could bake a single loaf, had to make 
 his plough and his harrow, his fences and his 
 scarecrows, his sickle and his flail, his mill and 
 his oven. 
 
 The just fame of Hastings rises still higher, 
 when we reflect that he was not bred a states- 
 man ; that he was sent from school to a count- 
 ing house ; and that he was employed during 
 the prime of his manhood as a commercial 
 agent, far from all intellectual society. 
 
 Nor must we forget that all, or almost all. 
 to whom, when placed at the head of affairs, 
 he could apply for assistance, were persons 
 who owed as little as himself, or less than him- 
 self, to education, A minister in Europe finds 
 himself, on the first day on which he com- 
 mences his functions, surrounded by exper- 
 ienced public servants, the depositories of 
 official traditions. Hastings had no such help. 
 His own reflection, his own energy, were to 
 supply the place of all Downing Street and 
 Somerset House. Having had no facilities 
 for learning, he was forced to teach. He had 
 first to form himself, and then to form his in- 
 struments ; and this not in a single department, 
 but in all the departments of the administration. 
 
 It must be added that, while engaged in this 
 most arduous task, he was constantly tram- 
 melled by orders from home, and frequently 
 borne down by majority in council. The pre- 
 servation of an Empire from a formidable com- 
 bination of foreign enemies, the construction 
 of a government in all its parts, were accom- 
 plished by him, while every ship brought out 
 bales of censure from his employers, and while 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 2 43 
 
 the records of every consultation were filled 
 with acrimonious minutes by his colleagues. 
 We believe that there never was a public man 
 whose temper was so severely tried ; not Marl- 
 borough, when thwarted by the Dutch Deputies ; 
 not Wellington, when he had to deal at once 
 with the Portuguese Regency, the Spanish 
 Juntas, and Mr. Percival. But the temper of 
 Hastings was equal to almost any trial. It 
 was not sweet; but it was calm. Quick and 
 vigorous as his intellect was, the patience with 
 which he endured the most cruel vexations, 
 till a remedy could be found, resembled the 
 patience of stupidity. He seems to have beei 
 capable of resentment, bitter and long-ei wil- 
 ing ; yet his resentment so seldom hurried 
 him into any blunder, that it may be doubted 
 whether what appeared to be revenge was any- 
 thing but policy. 
 
 The effect of this singular equanimity was 
 that he always had the full command of all the 
 resources of one of the most fertile minds that 
 ever existed. Accordingly no complication of 
 perils and embarrassments could perplex him. 
 For every difficulty he had a contrivance ready ; 
 and, whatever may be thought of the justice 
 and humanity of some of his contrivances, it is 
 certain that they seldom failed to serve the 
 purpose for which they were designed. 
 
 Together with this extraordinary talent for 
 devising expedients, Hastings possessed, in a 
 very high degree, another talent scarcely less 
 necessary to a man in his situation ; we mean 
 the talent for conducting political controversy. 
 It is as necessary to an English statesman in 
 the East that he should be able to write, as it 
 is to a minister in this country that he should 
 be able to speak. It is chiefly by the oratory 
 of a public man here that the nation judges of 
 his powers. It is from the letters and reports 
 of a public man in India that the dispensers of 
 patronage form their estimate of him. In 
 each case, the talent which receives peculiar 
 
244 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 encouragement is developed, perhaps at the 
 expense of the other powers. In this country, 
 we sometimes hear men speak above their 
 abilities. It is not very unusual to find gentle- 
 men in the Indian service who write above their 
 abilities. The English politician is a little too 
 much of a debater; the Indian politician a 
 little too much of an essayist. 
 
 Of the numerous servants of the Company 
 who have distinguished themselves as framers 
 of minutes and despatches, Hastings stands at 
 the head. He was indeed the person who 
 gave to the official writing of the Indian govern- 
 ments the character which it still retains. He 
 was matched against no common antagonist. 
 But even Francis was forced to acknowledge, 
 with sullen and resentful candor, that there 
 was no contending against the pen of Hastings. 
 And in truth, the Governor-General’s power of 
 making out a case, of perplexing what it was 
 inconvenient that people should understand, 
 and of setting in the clearest point of view 
 whatever would bear the light, was incom- 
 parable. His style must be praised with some 
 reservation. It was in general forcible, pure 
 and polished ; but it was sometimes, though 
 not often, turgid, and, on one or two occasions, 
 even bombastic. Perhaps the fondness of 
 Hastings for Persian literature may have 
 tended to corrupt his taste. 
 
 And, since we have referred to his literary 
 tastes, it would be most unjust not to praise 
 the judicious encouragement which, as a ruler, 
 he gave to liberal studies and curious re- 
 searches. His patronage was extended, with 
 prudent generosity, to voyages, travels, experi- 
 ments ; publications. He did little, it is true, 
 towards introducing into India the learning of 
 the West. To make the young natives of 
 Bengal familiar with Milton and Adam Smith, 
 to substitute the geography, astronomy, and 
 surgery of Europe for the dotage of the Brah- 
 minical Superstition, or for the imperfect science 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 2 45 
 
 of ancient Greece transfused through Arabian 
 expositions, this was a scheme reserved to 
 crown the beneficent administration of a far 
 more virtuous ruler. Still it is impossible to 
 refuse high commendation to a man who, taken 
 from a ledger to govern an empire, overwhelmed 
 by public business, surrounded by people as 
 busy as himself, and separated by thousands of 
 leagues from almost all literary society, gave,, 
 both by his example and by his munificence, ai 
 great impulse to learning. In Persian and 
 Arabic literature he was deeply skilled. With 
 the Sanscrit he was not himself acquainted ; 
 but those who first brought that language to 
 the knowledge of the European students owed 
 much to his encouragement. It was under 
 his protection that the Asiatic Society com- 
 menced its honorable career. That distin- 
 guished body selected him to be its first presi- 
 dent ; but with excellent taste and feeling, he 
 declined the honor in favor of Sir William 
 Jones. But the chief advantage which the 
 students of Oriental letters derived from his 
 patronage remains to be mentioned. The 
 Pundits of Bengal had always looked with great 
 jealousy on the attempts of foreigners to pry 
 into those mysteries which were locked up in 
 the sacred dialect. The Brahminical religion 
 has been persecuted by the Mahommedans. 
 What the Hindoos knew of the spirit of the 
 Portuguese government might warrant them in 
 apprehending persecution from Christians. 
 That apprehension, the wisdom and moderation 
 of Hastings removed. He was the first foreign 
 ruler who succeeded in gaining the confidence 
 of the hereditary priests of India, and who in- 
 duced them to lay open to English scholars the 
 secrets of the old Brahminical theology and 
 jurisprudence. 
 
 It is indeed impossible to deny that, in the 
 great art of inspiring large masses of human 
 beings with confidence and attachment, no 
 ruler ever surpassed Hastings. If he had 
 
246 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 made himself popular with the English by giv- 
 ing up the Bengalees to extortion and oppres- 
 sion, or if, on the other hand, he had concili- 
 ated the Bengalees and alienated the English, 
 there would have been no cause for wonder. 
 What is peculiar to him is that, being the chief 
 of a small band of strangers, who exercised 
 boundless power over a great indigenous pop- 
 ulation, he made himself beloved both by the 
 subject many and by the dominant few. The 
 affection felt for him by the civil service was 
 singularly ardent and constant. Through all 
 his disasters and perils, his brethren stood by 
 him with steadfast loyalty. The army, at the 
 same time, loved him as armies had seldom 
 loved any but the greatest chiefs who have led 
 them to victory. Even in his disputes with 
 distinguished military men, he could always 
 count on the support of the military profession. 
 While such was his empire over the hearts of 
 of his countrymen, he enjoyed among the 
 natives a popularity, such as other governors 
 have perhaps better merited, but such as no 
 other governor has been able to attain. He 
 spoke their vernacular dialects with facility 
 and precision. He was intimately acquainted 
 with their feelings and usages. On one or 
 two occasions, for great ends, he deliberately 
 acted in defiance of their opinion ; but on such 
 occasions he gained more in their respect than 
 he lost in their love. In general, he carefully 
 avoided all that could shock their national or 
 religious prejudices. His administration was 
 indeed in many respects faulty ; but the Ben- 
 galee standard of good government was not 
 high. Under the Nabobs, the hurricane of 
 Mahratta cavalry had passed annually over the 
 rich alluvial plain. But even the Mahratta 
 shrank from a conflict with the mighty children 
 of the sea ; and the immense rice harvests of 
 the Lower Ganges were safely gathered in, 
 under the protection of the English sword. 
 The first English conquerors had been more 
 
WARREN- HASTINGS. 
 
 247 
 
 rapacious and merciless even than the Mah- 
 rattas ; but that generation had passed away. 
 Defective as was the police, heavy as were the 
 public burdens, it is probable that the oldest 
 man in Bengal could not recollect a season of 
 equal security and prosperity. For the first 
 time within living memory, the province was 
 placed under a government strong enough to 
 prevent others from robbing, and not inclined 
 to play the robber itself. These things inspired 
 good-will. At the same time the constant 
 success of Hastings and the manner in which 
 he extricated himself from every difficulty 
 made him an object of superstitious admira- 
 tion ; and the more than regal splendor which 
 he sometimes displayed dazzled a people who 
 have much in common with children. Even 
 now, after the lapse of more than fifty years, 
 the natives of India still talk of him as the 
 greatest of the English ; and nurses sing chil- 
 dren to sleep with a jingling ballad about the 
 fleet horses and richly caparisoned elephants 
 of Sahib Warren Hostein. 
 
 The gravest offence of u’hich Hastings was 
 guilty did not affect his popularity with the 
 people of Bengal ; for those offences were 
 committed against neighboring states. Those 
 offences, as our readers must have perceived, 
 we are not disposed to vindicate ; yet, in order 
 that the censure may be justly apportioned to 
 the transgression, it is fit that the motive of 
 the criminal should be taken into considera- 
 tion. The motive which prompted the worst 
 acts of Hastings was misdirected and ill-regu- 
 lated public spirit. The rules of justice, the 
 sentiments of humanity, the plighted faith of 
 treaties, were in his view as nothing, when op- 
 posed to the immediate interest of the state. 
 This is no justification, according to the prin- 
 ciples either of morality, or of what we believe 
 to be identical with morality, namely, far- 
 sighted policy. Nevertheless the common 
 sense of mankind, which in questions of this 
 
248 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 sort seldom goes far wrong, will always recog- 
 nize a distinction between crimes which origi- 
 nate in an inordinate zeal for the common- 
 wealth, and crimes which originate in selfish 
 cupidity. To the benefit of this distinction 
 Hastings is fairly entitled. There is, we con- 
 ceive, no reason to suspect that the Rohilla 
 war, the revolution of Benares, or the spolia- 
 tion of the Princesses of Oude. added a rupee 
 to his fortune. We will not affirm that, in all 
 pecuniary dealings, he showed that punctilious 
 integrity, that dread of the faintest appearance 
 of evil, which is now the glory of the Indian 
 civil service. But when the school in which 
 he had been trained and the temptations to 
 which he was exposed are considered, we are 
 more inclined to praise him for his general 
 uprightness with respect to money, than rigidly 
 to blame him for a few transactions which 
 would now be called indelicate and irregular, 
 but which even now would hardly be designated 
 as corrupt. A rapacious man he certainly was 
 not. Had he been so, he would infallibly 
 have returned to his country the richest sub- 
 ject in Europe. We speak within compass, 
 when we say that, without applying any ex- 
 traordinary pressure he might easily have ob- 
 tained from the zemindars of the Company’s 
 provinces and from the neighboring princes, 
 in the course of thirteen years, more than 
 three millions sterling, and might have out- 
 shone the splendor of Carlton House and of 
 the Palais Royal. He brought home a fortune 
 such as a Governor-General, fond of state, and 
 careless of thrift, might easily, during so long 
 a tenure of office, save out of his legal salary. 
 Mrs. Hastings, we are afraid, was less scrupu- 
 lous. It was generally believed that she ac- 
 cepted presents with great alacrity, and that 
 she thus formed, without the connivance of 
 her husband, a private hoard amounting to 
 several lacs of rupees. We are the more in- 
 clined to give credit to this story, because Mr, 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 249 
 
 Gleig, who cannot but have heard it, does 
 not, as far as we have observed, notice or 
 contradict it. 
 
 The influence of Mrs. Hastings over her 
 husband was indeed such that she might easily 
 have obtained much larger sums than she was 
 ever accused of receiving. At length her 
 health began to give way; and the Governor- 
 General, much against his will, was compelled 
 to send her to England. He seems to have 
 loved her with that love which is peculiar to 
 men of strong minds, to men whose affection 
 is not easily won or widely diffused. The 
 talk of Calcutta ran for some time on the 
 luxurious manner in which he fitted up the 
 round-house of an Indiaman for her accommo- 
 dation, on the profusion of sandal-wood and 
 carved ivory which adorned her cabin, and on 
 the thousands of rupees which had been ex- 
 pended in order to procure for her the society 
 of an agreeable female companion during the 
 voyage. We may remark here that the letters 
 of Hastings to his wife are exceedingly char- 
 acteristic. They are tender, and full of indica- 
 tions of esteem and confidence ; but at the 
 same time, a little more ceremonious than is 
 usual in so intimate a relation. The solemn 
 courtesy with which he compliments “ his 
 elegant Marian ” reminds us now and then of 
 the dignified air with which Sir Charles 
 Grandison bowed over Miss Byron’s hand in 
 the cedar parlor. 
 
 After some months, Hastings prepared to 
 follow his wife to England. When it was 
 announced that he was about to quit his office, 
 the feeling of the society which he had so long 
 governed manifested itself by many signs. 
 Addresses poured in from Europeans and 
 Asiatics, from civil functionaries, soldiers and 
 traders. On the day on which he delivered up 
 the keys of office, a crowd of friends and ad- 
 mirers formed a lane to the quay where he 
 embarked. Several barges escorted him far 
 
250 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 down the river ; and some attached friends 
 refused to quit him till the low coast of Bengal 
 was fading from the view, and till the pilot was 
 leaving the ship. 
 
 Of his voyage little is known except that he 
 amused himself with books and with his pen ; 
 and that, among the compositions by which he 
 beguiled the tediousness of that long leisure, 
 was a pleasing imitation of Horace’s Otium 
 Divos rogat. The little poem was inscribed 
 to Mr. Shore, afterwards Lord Teignmouth, a 
 man of whose integrity, humanity, and honor, 
 it is impossible to speak too highly, but who, 
 like some other excellent members of the civil 
 service, extended to the conduct of his friend 
 Hastings an indulgence of which his own con- 
 duct never stood in need. 
 
 The voyage was, for those times, very speedy. 
 Hastings was little more than four months on 
 the sea. In June, 17S5, he landed at Ply- 
 mouth. posted to London, appeared at Court, 
 paid his respects to Leadenhall Street, and 
 then retired with his wife to Cheltenham. 
 
 He was greatly pleased with his reception. 
 The King treated him with marked distiction. 
 The Queen, who had already incurred much 
 censure on account of the favor which, in spite 
 of the ordinary severity of her virtue, she had 
 shown to the “elegant Marian,” was not less 
 gracious to Hastings. The directors received 
 him in a solemn sitting; and their chairman 
 read to him a vote of thanks which they had 
 passed without one dissentient voice. “I find 
 myself,” said Hastings, in a letter written 
 about a quarter of a year after his arrival in 
 England, “ I find myself everywhere, and uni- 
 versally, treated with evidences, apparent eveo_ 
 to my own observation, that I possess the good 
 opinion of my country.” 
 
 The confident and exulting tone of his cor- 
 respondence about this time is the more re- 
 markable, because he had already received 
 ample notice of the attack which was in prep* 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 2SI 
 
 aration. Within a week after he landed at 
 Plymouth, Burke gave notice in the House of 
 Commons of a motion seriously affecting a 
 gentleman lately returned from India. The 
 session, however, was then so far advanced, 
 that it was impossible to enter on so extensive 
 and important a subject. 
 
 Hastings, it is clear, was not sensible of the 
 danger of his position. Indeed that sagacity, 
 that judgment, that readiness in devising ex- 
 pedients, which had distinguished him in the 
 East, seemed now to have forsaken him ; not 
 that his abilities were at all impaired ; not 
 that he was not still the same man who had 
 triumphed over Francis and Nuncomar, who 
 had made the Chief Justice and the Nabob 
 Vizier his tools, who had deposed Cheyte Sing, 
 and repelled Hyder Ali. But an oak, as Mr. 
 Grattan finely said, should not be transplanted 
 at fifty. A man who, having left England when 
 a boy, returns to it after thirty or forty years 
 passed in India, will find, be his talents what 
 they may, that he has much both to learn and 
 to unlearn before he can take a place among 
 English statesmen. The working of a repre- 
 sentative system, the war of parties, the arts of 
 debate, the influence of the press, are startling 
 novelties to him. Surrounded on every side by 
 new machines and new tactics he is as much 
 bewildered as Hannibal would have been at 
 Waterloo, or Themistocles at Trafalgar. His 
 very acuteness deludes him. His very vigor 
 causes him to stumble. The more correct his 
 maxims, when applied to the state of society to 
 which he is accustomed, the more certain they 
 are to lead him astray. This was strikingly the 
 case with Hastings. In India he had a bad 
 hand ; but he was master of the game, and he 
 won every stake. In England he held excellent 
 cards, if he had known how to play them ; and 
 it was chiefly by his own errors that he was 
 brought to the verge of ruin. 
 
 Of all his errors the most serious was per- 
 
252 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 haps the choice of a champion. Clive, in sim- 
 ilar circumstances, had made a singularly 
 happy selection. He put himself into the hands 
 of Wedderburne, afterwards Lord Loughbor- 
 ough, one of the few great advocates who have 
 also been great in the House of Commons. To 
 the defence of Clive, therefore, nothing was 
 wanting, neither learning nor knowledge of the 
 world, neither forensic acuteness nor that elo- 
 quence which charms political assemblies. 
 Hastings intrusted his interests to a very dif- 
 ferent person, a major in the Bengal army, 
 named Scott. This gentleman had been sent 
 over from India some time before as the agent 
 of the Governor-General. It was rumored that 
 his services were rewarded with Oriental mu- 
 nificence ; and we believe that he received 
 much more than Hastings could conveniently 
 spare. The Major obtained a seat in Parlia- 
 ment, and was there regarded as the organ of 
 his employer. It was evidently impossible that 
 a gentleman so situated could speak with the 
 authority which belongs to an independent 
 position. Nor had the agent of Hastings the 
 talents necessary for obtaining the ear of an 
 assembly which, accustomed to listen to great 
 orators, ha<^ .iaturally become fastidious. He 
 was always on his legs ; he was very tedious ; 
 and he had only one topic, the merits and 
 wrongs of Hastings. Everybody who knows 
 the House of Commons will easily guess what 
 follov/ed. The Major was soon considered as 
 the greatest bore of his time. His exertions 
 were not confined to Parliament. There was 
 hardly a day on which the newspapers did not 
 contain some puff upon Hastings, signed 
 Asiaticus or Bengalensis , but known to be 
 written by the indefatigable Scott ; and hardly 
 a month in which some bulky pamphlet on the 
 same subject, and from the same pen, did not 
 pass to the trunkmakers and the pastrycooks. 
 As to this gentleman’s capacity for conducting 
 a delicate question through Parliament, our 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 2 53 
 
 readers will want no evidence beyond that 
 which they will find in letters preserved in 
 these volumes. We will give a single specimen 
 of his temper and judgment. He designated 
 the greatest man then living as “ that reptile 
 Mr. Burke.” 
 
 In spite, however, of this unfortunate choice, 
 the general aspect of affairs was favorable to 
 Hastings. The King was on his side. The 
 Company and its servants were zealous in his 
 cause. Among public men he had many ardent 
 friends. Such were Lord Mansfield, who had 
 outlived the vigor of his bod} - , but not that of 
 his mind ; and Lord Lansdowne, who, though 
 unconnected with any party, retained the im- 
 portance which belongs to great talents and 
 knowledge. The ministers were generally be- 
 lieved to be favorable to the late Governor- 
 General. They owed their power to the clamor 
 which had been raised against Mr. Fox’s East 
 India Bill. The authors of that bill, when ac- 
 cused of invading vested rights, and of setting 
 up powers unknown to the constitution, had 
 defended themselves by pointing to the crimes 
 of Hastings, and by arguing that abuses so ex- 
 traordinary justified extraordinary measures, 
 Those who, by opposing that bill, had raised 
 themselves to the head of affairs, would natur- 
 ally be inclined to extenuate the evils which 
 had been made the plea for administering so 
 violent a remedy; and such, in fact, was their 
 general disposition. The Lord Chancellor Thur- 
 low, in particular, whose great place and force 
 of intellect gave him a weight in the government 
 inferior only to that of Mr. Pitt, espoused the 
 cause of Hastings with indecorous violence. 
 Mr. Pitt, though he had censured many parts 
 of the Indian system, had studiously abstained 
 from saying a word against the late chief of the 
 Indian government. To Major Scott, indeed, 
 the young minister had in private extolled 
 Hastings as a great, a wonderful man, who had 
 the highest claims on the government, There 
 
254 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 was only one objection to granting all that so 
 eminent a servant of the public could ask. The 
 resolution of censure still remained on the 
 journals of the house of Commons. That reso- 
 lution was, indeed, unjust; but, till it was re- 
 scinded, could the minister advise the King to 
 bestow any mark of approbation on the person 
 censured ? If Major Scott is to be trusted, Mr. 
 Pitt declared that this was the only reason 
 which prevented the advisers of the Crown 
 from conferring a peerage on the late Governor- 
 General. Mr. Dundas was the only important 
 member of the administration who was deeply 
 committed to a different view of the subject. 
 He had moved the resolution which created the 
 difficulty ; but even from him little was to be 
 apprehended. Since he had presided over the 
 committee on Eastern affairs, great changes had 
 taken place. He was surrounded by new allies ; 
 he had fixed his hopes on new objects ; and 
 whatever may have been his good qualities, — 
 and he had many, — flattery itself never reck- 
 oned rigid consistency in the number. 
 
 From the Ministry, therefore, Hastings had 
 every reason to expect support ; and the Min- 
 istry was very powerful. The Opposition was 
 loud and vehement against him. But the Op- 
 position, though formidable from the wealth 
 and influence of some of its members, and 
 from the admirable talents and eloquence of 
 others, was outnumbered in parliament, and 
 odious throughout the country. Nor, as far as 
 we can judge, was the Opposition generally 
 desirous to engage in so serious an undertak- 
 ing as the impeachment of an Indian Governor. 
 Such an impeachment must last for years. It 
 must impose on the chiefs of the party an im- 
 mense load of labor. Yet it could scarcely, in 
 any manner, affect the event of the great polit- 
 ical game. The followers of the coalition were 
 therefore more inclined to revile Hastings than 
 to prosecute him. They lost no opportunity of 
 coupling his name with the names of the most 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 255 
 
 hateful tyrants of whom history makes mention. 
 The wits of Brooks’s aimed their keenest sar- 
 casms both at his public and at his domestic 
 life. Some fine diamonds which he had pre- 
 sented, as it was rumored, to the royal family, * 
 and a certain richly carved ivory bed which the 
 Queen had done him the honor to accept from 
 him, were favorite subjects of ridicule. One 
 lively poet proposed, that the great acts of the 
 fair Marian’s present husband should be immor- 
 talized by the pencil of his predecessor ; and 
 that Imhoff should be employed to embellish 
 the House of Commons with paintings of the 
 bleeding Rohillas, of Nuncomar swinging, of 
 Cheyte Sing letting himself down to the Ganges. 
 Another, in an exquisitely humorous parody 
 of Virgil’s third eclogue, propounded the ques- 
 tion, what that mineral could be of which the 
 rays had power to make the most austere of 
 princesses the friend of a wanton. A third de- 
 scribed, with gay malevolence, the gorgeous 
 appearance of Mrs. Hastings at St. James’s, the 
 galaxy of jewels, torn from Indian Begums, 
 which adorned her head dress, her necklace 
 gleaming with future votes, and the depending 
 questions that shone upon her ears. Satirical 
 attacks of this description, and perhaps a mo- 
 tion for-a vote of censure, would have satisfied 
 the great body of the Opposition. But there 
 were two men whose indignation was not to 
 be so appeased, Philip Francis and Edmund 
 Burke. 
 
 Francis had recently entered the house of 
 Commons, and had already established a char- 
 acter there for industry and ability. He labor- 
 ed indeed under one most unfortunate defect, 
 want of fluency. But he occasionally expressed 
 himself with a dignity and energy worthy of the 
 greatest orators. Before he had been many 
 days in parliament, he incurred the bitter dis- 
 like of Pitt, who constantly treated him with as 
 much asperity as the laws of debate would 
 allow, Neither lapse of years nor change of 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 256 
 
 scene had mitigated the enmities which Francis 
 had brought back from the East. After his 
 usual fashion, he mistook his malevolence for 
 virtue, nursed it, as preachers tell us that we 
 ought to nurse our good dispositions, and 
 paraded it, on all occasions, with Pharisaical 
 ostentation. 
 
 The zeal of Burke was still fiercer, but it was 
 far purer. Men unable to understand the 
 elevation of his mind have tried to find out 
 some discreditable motive for the vehemence 
 and pertinacity which he showed on this occa- 
 sion. But they have altogether failed. The 
 idle story that he had some private slight to 
 revenge has long been given up, even by the 
 advocates of Hastings. Mr. Gleig supposes 
 that Burke was actuated by party spirit, that he 
 retained a bitter remembrance of the fall of the 
 coalition, that he attributed that fall to the ex- 
 ertions of the East India interest, and that he 
 considered Hastings as the head and the repre- 
 sentative of that interest. This explanation 
 seems to be sufficiently refuted by a reference 
 to dates. The hostility of Burke to Hastings 
 commenced long before the coalition ; and 
 lasted long after Burke had become a strenu- 
 ous supported of those by whom the coalition 
 had been defeated. It began when Burke and 
 Fox, closely allied together, were attacking the 
 influence of the crown, and calling for peace 
 with the American republic. It continued till 
 Burke, alienated from Fox, and loaded with 
 the favors of the crown, died, preaching a 
 crusade against the French republic. We 
 surely cannot attribute to the events of 1784 
 an enmity which began in 1781, and which re- 
 tained undiminished force long after persons 
 far more deeply implicated than Hastings in 
 the events of 1784 had been cordially forgiven. 
 And why should we look for any other explana- 
 tion of Burke’s conduct than that which we 
 find on the surface ? The plain truth is that 
 Hastings lrad committed some great crimes, 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 257 
 
 and that the thought of those crimes made the 
 blood of Burke boil in his veins. For Burke 
 was a man in whom compassion for suffering, 
 and hatred of injustice and tyranny, were as 
 strong as in Las Casas or Clarkson. And 
 although in him, as in Las Casas and in Clark- 
 son, these noble feelings were alloyed with the 
 infirmity which belongs to human nature, he is, 
 like them, entitled to this great praise, that he 
 devoted years of intense labor to the service of 
 a people with whom he had neither blood nor 
 language, neither religion nor manners in com- 
 mon, and from whom no requital, no thanks, 
 no applause could be expected. 
 
 His knowledge of India was such as few, 
 even of those Europeans who have passed 
 many years in that country, have attained, and 
 such as certainly was never attained by any 
 public man who had not quitted Europe. He 
 had studied the history, the laws, and the 
 usages of the East with an industry, such as is 
 seldom found united to so much genius and so 
 much sensibility. Others have perhaps been 
 equally laborious, and have collected an equal 
 mass of materials. But the manner in which 
 Burke brought his higher powers of intellect 
 to work on statements of facts, and on tables 
 of figures, was peculiar to himself. In every 
 part of those huge bales of Indian information 
 which repelled almost all other readers, his 
 mind, at once philosophical and poetical, found 
 something to instruct or to delight. His reason 
 analyzed and digested those vast and shapeless 
 masses ; his imagination animated and colored 
 them. Out of darkness and dulness, and con- 
 fusion, he formed a multitude of ingenious 
 theories and vivid pictures. He had, in the 
 highest degree, that noble faculty whereby man 
 is able to live in the past and in the future, in 
 the distant and in the unreal. India and its 
 inhabitants were not to him, as to most Eng- 
 lishmen, mere names and abstractions, but a 
 real country and a real people. The burning 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL RSSA YS. 
 
 258 
 
 sun, the strange vegetation of the palm and the 
 cocoa tree, the ricefield, the tank, the huge 
 trees, older than the Mogul empire, under 
 which the village crowds assemble, the thatched 
 roof of the peasant’s hut, the rich tracery of 
 the mosque where the imaum prays with his 
 face to Mecca, the drums, and banners, and 
 gaudy idols, the devotee swinging in the air, 
 the graceful maiden with the pitcher on her 
 head, descending the steps to the river-side, 
 the black faces, the long beards, the yellow 
 streaks of sect, the turbans and the flowing 
 robes, the spears and the silver maces, the 
 elephants with their canopies of state, the gor- 
 geous palanquin of the prince, and the close 
 litter of the noble lady, all these things were to 
 him as the objects amidst which his own life 
 had been passed, as the objects which lay on 
 the road between Beaconsfield and St. James’s 
 Street. All India was present to the eye of 
 his mind, from the halls where suitors laid gold 
 and perfumes at the feet of sovereigns to the 
 wild moor where the gypsy camp was pitched, 
 from the bazaar, humming like a bee-hive with 
 the crowd of buyers and sellers, to the jungle 
 where the lonely courier shakes his bunch of 
 iron rings to scare away the hyenas. He had 
 just as lively an idea of the insurrection at 
 Benares as of Lord George Gordon’s riots, and 
 of the execution of Nuncomar as of the execu- 
 tion of Dr. Dodd. Oppression in Bengal was 
 to him the same thing as oppression in the 
 streets of London. 
 
 He saw that Hastings had been guilty of 
 some most unjustifiable acts. All that followed 
 was natural and necessary in a mind like 
 Burke’s. His imagination and his passions, 
 once excited, hurried him beyond the bounds 
 of justice and good sense. His reason, powerful 
 as it was, became the slave of feelings which 
 it should have controlled. His indignation, 
 virtuous in its origin, acquired too much of the 
 character of personal aversion. He could see 
 
WARREJV HASTINGS. 
 
 259 
 
 no mitigating circumstance, no redeeming 
 merit. His temper, which, though generous 
 and affectionate, had always been irritable, 
 had now been made almost savage by bodily 
 infirmities and mental vexations. Conscious of 
 great powers and great virtues, he found him- 
 self, in age and poverty, a mark for the hatred 
 of a perfidious court and a deluded people. In 
 Parliament his eloquence was out of date. A 
 young generation, which knew him not, had 
 filled the House. Whenever he rose to speak, 
 his voice was drowned by the unseemly inter- 
 ruption of lads who were in their cradles when 
 his orations on the Stamp Act called forth the 
 applause of the great Earl of Chatham. These 
 things had produced on his proud and sensi- 
 tive spirit an effect at which we cannot wonder. 
 He could no longer discuss any question with 
 calmness, or made allowance for honest differ- 
 ences of opinion. Those who think that he was 
 more violent and acrimonious in debates about 
 India than on other occasions are ill informed 
 respecting the last years of his life. In the 
 discussions on the Commercial Treaty with the 
 Court of Versailles, on the Regency, on the 
 French Revolution, he showed even more 
 virulence than in conducting the impeachment. 
 Indeed it may be remarked that the very per- 
 sons who called him a mischievous maniac, 
 for condemning in burning words the Rohilla 
 war and the spoliation of the Begums, exalted 
 him into a prophet as soon as he began to de- 
 claim, with greater vehemence, and not with 
 greater reason, against the taking of the Bastile 
 and the insults offered to Marie Antoinette. 
 To us he appears to have been neither a 
 maniac in the former case, nor a prophet in the 
 latter, but in both cases a great and good man, 
 led into extravagance by a sensibility which 
 domineered over all his faculties. 
 
 It may be doubted whether the personal 
 antipathy of Francis, or the nobler indignation 
 of Burke, would have led their party to adopt 
 
2 6o BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 extreme measures against Hastings, if his own 
 conduct had been judicious. He should have 
 felt that, great as his public services had been, 
 he was not faultless, and should have been 
 content to make his escape, without aspiring to 
 the honors of a triumph. He and his agent 
 took a different view. They were impatient 
 for the rewards which, as they conceived, were 
 deferred only till Burke’s attack should be 
 over. They accordingly resolved to force on 
 a decisive action with an enemy for whom, if 
 they had been wise, they would have made a 
 bridge of gold. On the first day of the session 
 of 1786, Major Scott reminded Burke of the 
 notice given in the preceding year, and asked 
 whether it was seriously intended to bring any 
 charge against the late Governor-General. This 
 challenge left no course open to the Opposi- 
 tion, except to come forward as accusers, or to 
 acknowledge themselves calumniators. The 
 administration of Hastings had not been so 
 blameless, nor was the great party of Fox and 
 North so feeble, that it could be prudent to 
 venture on so bold a defiance. The leaders of 
 the Opposition instantly returned the only an- 
 swer which they could with honor return ; and 
 the whole party was irrevocably pledged to a 
 prosecution. 
 
 Burke began his operations by applying for 
 Papers. Some of the documents for which he 
 asked were refused by the ministers, who, in 
 the debate, held language such as strongly con- 
 firmed the prevailing opinion, that they in- 
 tended to support Hastings. In April, the 
 charges were laid on the table. They had 
 been drawn by Burke with great ability, though 
 in a form too much resembling that of a 
 pamphlet. Hastings was furnished with a copy 
 of the accusation ; and it was intimated to him 
 that he might, if he thought fit, be heard in his 
 own defence at the bar of the Commons. 
 
 Here again Hastings was pursued by the 
 same fatality which had attended him ever 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 261 
 
 since the day when he set foot on English 
 ground. It seemed to be decreed that this 
 man, so politic and so successful in the East, 
 should commit nothing but blunders in Europe. 
 Any judicious adviser would have told him that 
 the best thing which he could do would be to 
 make an eloquent, forcible, and affecting ora- 
 tion at the bar of the House : but that, if he 
 could not trust himself to speak, and found it 
 necessary to read, he ought to be as concise as 
 possible. Audiences accustomed to extem- 
 poraneous debating of the highest excellence 
 are always impatient of long written composi- 
 tions. Hastings, however, sat down as he 
 would have done at the Government-house in 
 Bengal, and prepared a paper of immense 
 length. That paper, if recorded on the con- 
 sultations of an Indian administration, would 
 have been justly praised as a very able minute. 
 But it was now out of place. It fell flat, as 
 the best written defence must have fallen flat, 
 on an assembly accustomed to the animated 
 and strenuous conflicts of Pitt and Fox. The 
 members, as soon as their curiosity about the 
 face and demeanor of so eminent a stranger 
 was satisfied, walked away to dinner, and left 
 Hastings to tell his story till midnight to the 
 clerks and the Serjeant-at-arms. 
 
 All preliminary steps having been duly taken, 
 Burke, in the beginning of June, brought for- 
 ward the charge relating to the Rohilla war. 
 He acted discreetly in placing this accusation 
 in the van ; for Dundas had formerly moved, 
 and the House had adopted, a resolution con- 
 demning, in the most severe terms, the policy 
 followed by Hastings with regard to Rohilcund, 
 Dundas had little, or rather, nothing to say in 
 defence of his own consistency ; but he put a 
 bold face on the matter, and opposed the 
 motion. Among other things, he declared that, 
 though he still thought the Rohilla war un- 
 justifiable, he considered the services which 
 Hastings had subsequently rendered to the 
 
262 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 state as sufficient to atone even for so great an 
 offence. Pitt did not speak, but voted with 
 Dundas : and Hastings was absolved by a hun- 
 dred and nineteen votes against sixty-seven. 
 
 Hastings was now confident of victory. It 
 seemed indeed, that he had reason to be so. The 
 Rohilla war was, of all his measures, that which 
 his accusers might with greatest advantage 
 assail. It had been condemned by the Court 
 of Directors. It had been condemned by the 
 House of Commons. It had been condemned 
 by Mr. Dundas, who had since become the 
 chief minister of the Crown for Indian affairs. 
 Yet Burke, having chosen this strong ground, 
 had been completely defeated on it. That 
 having failed here, he should succeed on any 
 point, was generally thought impossible. It 
 u'as rumored at the clubs and coffee houses that 
 one or perhaps two more charges would be 
 brought forward, that if, on those charges, 
 the sense of the House of Commons should be 
 against impeachment, the Opposition would 
 let the matter drop, that Hastings would be 
 immediately raised to the peerage, decorated 
 with the star of the Bath, sworn of the privy 
 council, and invited to lend the assistance of 
 his talents and experience to the India board. 
 Lord Thurlow, indeed, some months before, 
 had spoken with contempt of the scruples 
 which prevented Pitt from calling Hastings to 
 the House of Lords ; and had even said that, 
 if the Chancellor of the Exchequer was afraid 
 of the Commons, there was nothing to prevent 
 the Keeper of the Great Seal from taking the 
 royal pleasure about a patent of peerage. The 
 very title was chosen. Hastings was to be Lord 
 Daylesford. For, through all changes of scene 
 and changes of fortune, remained unchanged 
 his attachment to the spot which had witnessed 
 the greatness and the fall of his family, and 
 which had borne so great a part in the first 
 dreams of his young ambition. 
 
 But in a very few days these fair prospects 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 263 
 
 were overcast. On the thirteenth of June, Mr. 
 Fox brought forward, with great ability and 
 eloquence, the charge respecting the treatment 
 of Chevte Sing. Francis followed on the same 
 side. The friends of Hastings were in high 
 spirits when Pitt rose. With his usual abun- 
 dance and felicity of language, the Minister 
 gave his opinion on the case. He maintained 
 that the Governor-General was justified in call- 
 ing on the Rajah of Benares for pecuniary assis- 
 tance, and imposing a fine when that assistance 
 was contumaciously withheld. He also thought 
 that the conduct of the Governor-General dur- 
 ing the insurrection had been distinguished by 
 ability and presence of mind. He censured, 
 with great bitterness, the conduct of Fran- 
 cis, both in India and in Parliament, as most 
 dishonest and malignant. The necessary in- 
 ference from Pitt’s arguments seemed to be 
 that Hastings ought to be honorably acquitted ; 
 and both the friends and the opponents of the 
 Minister expected from him a declaration to 
 that effect. To the astonishment of all parties, 
 he concluded by saying that, though he thought 
 it right in Hastings to fine Chevte Sing for con- 
 tumacy, yet the amount of the fine was too great 
 for the occasion. On this ground, and on this 
 ground alone, did Mr. Pitt, applauding every 
 other part of the conduct of Hastings with re- 
 gard to Benares, declare that he should vote in 
 favor of Mr. Fox’s motion. 
 
 The House was thunderstruck ; and it well 
 might be so. For the wrong done to Chevte 
 Sing, even had it been as flagitious as Fox and 
 Francis contended, was a trifle when compared 
 with the horrors which had been inflicted on 
 Rohilcund. But if Mr. Pitt’s view of the case 
 of Chevte Sing were correct, there was no 
 ground for an impeachment, or even for a vote 
 of censure. If the offence of Hastings was 
 really no more than this, that, having a right 
 to impose a mulct, the amount of which mulct 
 was not defined, but was left to be settled by 
 
264 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 his discretion, he had, not for his own advan- 
 tage, but for that of the state, demanded too 
 much, was this an offence which required a 
 criminal proceeding of the highest solemnity, 
 a criminal proceeding, to which, during sixty 
 years, no public functionary had been sub- 
 jected ? We can see, we think, in what way a 
 man of sense and integrity might have been 
 induced to take any course respecting Hast- 
 ings, except the course which Mr. Pitt took. 
 Such a man might have thought a great ex- 
 ample necessary, for the preventing of injus- 
 tice, and for the vindicating of the national 
 honor, and might, on that ground, have voted 
 for impeachment both on the Rohilla charge, 
 and on the Benares charge. Such a man might 
 have thought that the offences of Hastings 
 had been atoned for by great services, and 
 might, on that ground, have voted against the 
 impeachment on both charges. With great 
 diffidence we give it as our opinion that the 
 most correct course would, on the whole, have 
 been to impeach on the Rohilla charge, and to 
 acquit on the Benares charge. Had theBenares 
 charge appeared to us in the same light in 
 which it appears to Mr. Pitt, we should, with- 
 out hesitation, have voted for acquittal on that 
 charge. The one course which it is inconceiv- 
 able that any man of a tenth part of Mr. Pitt’s 
 abilities can have honestly taken was the 
 course which he took. He acquitted Hastings 
 on the Rohilla charge. He softened down the 
 Benares charge till it became no charge at all ; 
 and then he pronounced that it contained 
 matter for impeachment. 
 
 Nor must it be forgotten that the principal 
 reason assigned by the ministry for not im- 
 peaching Hastings on account of the Rohilla 
 war was this, that the delinquencies of the 
 early part of his administration had been 
 atoned for by the excellence of the later part. 
 Was it not most extraordinary that men who 
 had held this language could afterwards vote 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 265 
 
 that the later part of his administration fur- 
 nished matter for no less than twenty articles 
 of impeachment ? They first represented the 
 conduct of Hastings in 1780 and 1781 as so 
 highly meritorious that, like works of superero- 
 gation in the Catholic theology, it ought to be 
 efficacious for the cancelling of former offences ; 
 and they then prosecuted him for his conduct 
 in 1780 and 1781. 
 
 The general astonishment was the greater, 
 because, only twenty-four hours before, the 
 members on whom the minister could depend 
 had received the usual notes from the Treasury, 
 begging them to be in their places and to vote 
 against Mr. Fox’s motion. It was asserted by 
 Mr. Hastings, that, early in the morning of the 
 very day on which the debate took place, Dun- 
 das called on Pitt, woke him, and was closeted 
 with him many hours. The result of this con- 
 ference was a determination to give up the 
 late Governor-General to the vengeance of the 
 Opposition. It was impossible even for the 
 most powerful minister to carry all his fol- 
 lowers with him in so strange a course. Sev- 
 eral persons high in office, the Attorney- 
 General, Mr. Grenville, and Lord Mulgrave, 
 divided against Mr. Pitt. But the devoted ad- 
 herents who stood by the head of the govern- 
 ment without asking questions were sufficiently 
 numerous to turn the scale. A hundred and 
 nineteen members voted for Mr. Fox’s mo- 
 tion ; seventy-nine against it. Dundas silently 
 followed Pitt. 
 
 That good and great man, the late William 
 Wilberforce, often related the events of this re- 
 markable night. He described the amazement 
 of the House, and the bitter reflections which 
 were muttered against the Prime Minister by 
 some of the habitual supporters of government. 
 Pitt himself appeared to feel that his con- 
 duct required some explanation. He left the 
 treasury bench, sat for some time next to Mr. 
 Wilberforce, and very earnestly declared that 
 
2b6 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA YS. 
 
 he had found it impossible, as a man of con- 
 science, to stand any longer by Hastings. 
 The business, he said, was too bad. Mr. Wil- 
 berforce, we are bound to add, fully believed 
 that his friend was sincere, and that the suspi- 
 cions to which this mysterious affair gave rise 
 were altogether unfounded. 
 
 Those suspicions, indeed, were such as it is 
 painful to mention. The friends of Hastings, 
 most of whom, it is to be observed, generally 
 supported the administration, affirmed that the 
 motive of Pitt and Dundas was jealousy. Hast- 
 ings was personally a favorite with the King. 
 He was the idol of the East India Company 
 and of its servants. If he were absolved by the 
 Commons, seated among the Lords, admitted 
 to the Board of Control, closely allied with the 
 strong-minded and imperious Thurlow, was it 
 not almost certain that he would soon draw to 
 himself the entire management of Eastern 
 affairs? Was it not possible that he might 
 become a formidable rival in the cabinet ? It 
 had probably got abroad that very singular 
 communications had taken place between Thur- 
 low and Major Scott, and that, if the First Lord 
 of the Treasury was afraid to recommend Hast- 
 ings for a peerage, the Chancellor was ready 
 to take the responsibility of that step on him- 
 self. Of all ministers, Pitt was the least likely to 
 submit with patience to such an encroachment 
 on his functions. If the Commons impeached 
 Hastings, all danger was at an end. The pro- 
 ceeding, however it might terminate, would pro- 
 bably last some years. In the meantime, the 
 accused person would be excluded from honors 
 and public employments, and could scarcely 
 venture even to pay his duty at court. Such 
 were the motives attributed bv a great part of 
 the public to the voting minister, whose ruling 
 passion was generally believed to be avarice of 
 power. 
 
 The prorogation soon interrupted the discus- 
 sions respecting Hastings. In the following 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 267 
 
 year, those discussions were resumed. The 
 charge touching the spoliation of the Begums 
 was brought forward by Sheridan, in a speech 
 which was so imperfectly reported that it may 
 be said to be wholly lost, but which was, with- 
 out doubt, the most elaborately brilliant of all 
 the productions of his ingenious mind. The 
 impression which it produced was such as has 
 never been equalled. He sat down, not merely 
 amidst cheering, but amidst the loud clapping 
 of hands, in which the Lords below the bar 
 and the strangers in the gallery joined. The 
 excitement of the House was such that no 
 other speaker could obtain a hearing ; and the 
 debate was adjourned. The ferment spread 
 fast through the town. Within four and twenty 
 hours, Sheridan was offered a thousand pounds 
 for the copyright of the speech, if he would 
 .himself correct it for the press. The impres- 
 sion made by this remarkable display of elo- 
 quence on severe and experienced critics, 
 whose discernment may be supposed to have 
 been quickened by emulation, was deep and 
 permanent. Mr. Windham, twenty years later, 
 said that the speech deserved all its fame, and 
 was, in spite of some faults of taste, such as 
 were seldom wanting either in literary or in the 
 parliamentary performances of Sheridan, the 
 finest that had been delivered within the 
 memory of man. Mr. Fox, about the same 
 time, being asked by the late Lord Holland 
 what was the best speech ever made in the 
 House of Commons, assigned the first place, 
 without hesitation, to the great oration of 
 Sheridan on the Oude charge. 
 
 When the debate was resumed, the tide ran 
 so strongly against the accused that his friends 
 were coughed and scraped down. Pitt de- 
 clared himself for Sheridan’s motion ; and the 
 question was carried by a hundred and seventy- 
 five votes against sixtv-eight. 
 
 The Opposition, flushed with victory and 
 strongly supported by the public sympathy, 
 
268 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 proceeded to bring forward a succession of 
 charges relating chiefly to pecuniary trans- 
 actions. The friends of Hastings were dis- 
 couraged, and, having now no hope of being 
 able to avert an impeachment, were not very 
 strenuous in their exertions. At length the 
 House, having agreed to twenty articles of 
 charge, directed Burke to go before the Lords, 
 and to impeach the late Governor-General of 
 High Crimes and Misdemeanors. Hastings 
 was at the same time arrested by the Serjeant- 
 at-arms and carried to the bar of the Peers. 
 
 The session was now within ten days of its 
 close. It was, therefore, impossible that any 
 progress could be made in the trial till the 
 next year. Hastings was admitted to bail ; 
 and further proceedings were postponed till the 
 the Houses should re-assemble. 
 
 When Parliament met in the following win- 
 ter, the Commons proceeded to elect a com- 
 mittee for managing the impeachment. Burke 
 stood at the head ; and with him were associated 
 most of the leading members of the Opposition. 
 But when the name of Francis was read a 
 fierce contention arose. It was said that 
 Francis and Hastings were notoriously on bad 
 terms, that they had been at feud during many 
 years, that on one occasion their mutual aver- 
 sion had impelled them to seek each other’s 
 lives, and that it would be improper and indeli- 
 cate to select a private enemy to be a public ac- 
 cuser. It was urged on the other side with great 
 force, particularly by Mr. Windham, that impar- 
 tiality, though the first duty of a judge, had 
 never been reckoned among the qualities of an 
 advocate ; that in the ordinary administration 
 of criminal justice among the English, the ag- 
 grieved party, the very last person who ought 
 to be admitted into the jury-box, is the prose- 
 cutor ; that what was wanted in a manager was, 
 not that he should be free from bias, but that 
 he should be able, well-informed, energetic, 
 and active. The ability and information of 
 
WARREK' HASTINGS. 
 
 269 
 
 Francis was admitted ; and the very animosity 
 with which he was reproached, whether a virtue 
 or a vice, was at least a pledge for his energy 
 and activity. It seems difficult to refute these 
 arguments. But the inveterate hatred borne 
 bv Francis to Hastings had excited general 
 disgust. The House decided that Francis 
 should not be a manager. Pitt voted with the 
 majority, Dundas with the minority. 
 
 In the meantime, the preparations for the 
 trial had proceeded rapidly ; and on the thir- 
 teenth of February, 1788, the sittings of the 
 Court commenced. There have been specta- 
 cles more dazzling to the eye, more gorgeous 
 with jewelry and cloth of gold, more attractive 
 to grown-up children, than that which was then 
 exhibited at Westminster ; but, perhaps, there 
 never was a spectacle so well calculated to 
 strike a highly cultivated, a reflecting, an im- 
 aginative mind. All the various kinds of in- 
 terest which belong to the near and to the dis- 
 tant, to the present and to the past, were col- 
 lected on one spot and in one hour. All the 
 talents and all the accomplishments which are 
 developed by liberty and civilization were now 
 displayed, with every advantage that could be 
 derived both from co-operation and from con- 
 trast. Every step in the proceedings carried 
 the mind either backward, through many 
 troubled centuries, to the days when the foun- 
 dations of our constitution were laid ; or far 
 away, over boundless seas and deserts, to 
 dusky nations living under strange stars, wor- 
 shipping strange gods, and writing strange 
 characters from right to left. The High Court 
 of Parliament was to sit, according to forms 
 handed down from the days of the Plantage- 
 nets, on an Englishman accused of exercising 
 tyranny over the lord of the holy city of Be- 
 nares, and over the ladies of the princely house 
 of Oude. 
 
 The place was worthy of such a trial. It 
 was the great house of William Rufus, the hall 
 
270 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 which had resounded with acclamations at the 
 inauguration of thirty kings, the hall which had 
 witnessed the just sentence of Bacon and the 
 just absolution of Somers, the hall where the 
 eloquence of Strafford had for a moment awed 
 and melted a victorious party inflamed with 
 just resentment, the hall where Charles had 
 confronted the High Court of Justice with the 
 placid courage which has half redeemed his 
 fame. Neither military nor civil pomp was 
 wanting. The avenues were lined with grena- 
 diers. The streets were kept clear by cavalry. 
 The peers, robed in gold and ermine, were 
 marshalled bv the heralds under Garter King- 
 at-arms. The judges in their vestments of 
 state attended to give advice on points of law. 
 Near a hundred and seventy lords, three 
 fourths of the Upper House as the Upper 
 House then was, walked in solemn order from 
 their usual place of assembling to the tribunal. 
 The junior Baron present led the way, George 
 Eliott, Lord Heathfield, recently ennobled for 
 his memorable defence of Gibraltar against the 
 fleets and armies of France and Spain. The 
 long procession was closed by the Duke of 
 Norfolk, Earl Marshal of the realm, by the 
 great dignitaries, and by the brothers and sons 
 of the King. Last of all came the Prince of 
 Wales, conspicuous by his fine person and 
 noble bearing. The gray old walls were hung 
 with scarlet. The long galleries were crowded 
 by an audience such as has rarely excited the 
 fears or the emulations of an orator. There 
 were gathered together, from all parts of a 
 great, free, enlightened, and prosperous em- 
 pire, grace and female loveliness, wit and 
 learning, the representatives of every science 
 and of every art. There were seated round 
 the Queen the fair-haired young daughters of 
 the House of Brunswick. There the Ambas- 
 sadors of great Kings and Commonwealths 
 gazed with admiration on a spectacle which no 
 other country in the world could present. 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 271 
 
 There Siddons, in the prime of her majestic 
 beauty, looked with emotion on a scene sur- 
 passing all the imitations of the stage. There 
 the historian of the Roman Empire thought of 
 the days when Cicero pleaded the cause of 
 Sicily against Verres, and when, before a sen- 
 ate which still retained some show of freedom, 
 Tacitus thundered against the oppressor of 
 Africa. There were seen side by side the 
 greatest painter and the greatest scholar of the 
 age. The spectacle had allured Reynolds from 
 that easel which preserved to us the thoughtful 
 foreheads of so many writers and statesmen, 
 and the sweet smiles of so many noble matrons. 
 It had induced Parr to suspend his labors in 
 that dark and profound mine from which he 
 had extracted a vast treasure of erudition, a 
 treasure too often buried in the earth, too often 
 paraded with injudicious and inelegant ostenta- 
 tion, but still precious, massive, and splendid. 
 There appeared the voluptuous charms of her 
 to whom the heir of the throne had in secret 
 plighted his faith. There too was. she, the 
 beautiful mother of a beautiful race, the Saint 
 Cecilia, whose delicate features, lighted up by 
 love and music, art has rescued from the com- 
 mon decay. There were the members of that 
 brilliant society which o^ioted, criticised, and 
 exchanged repartees, under the rich peacock- 
 hangings of Mrs. Montague. And there the 
 ladies whose lips, more persuasive than those 
 of Fox himself, had carried the Westminster 
 election against palace and treasury, shone 
 around Georgiana Duchess of Devonshire. 
 
 The Serjeants made proclamation. Hast- 
 ings advanced to the bar, and bent his knee. 
 The culprit was indeed not unworthy of that 
 great presence. He had ruled an extensive 
 and populous country, had made laws and trea- 
 ties, had sent forth armies, had set up and 
 pulled down princes. And in his high place 
 he had so borne himself, that all had feared 
 him, that most had loved him, and that hatred 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS . 
 
 273 
 
 itself could deny him no title to glory, except 
 virtue. He looked like a great man, and not 
 like a bad man. A person small and emaciated, 
 yet deriving dignity from a carriage which, 
 while it indicated deference to the court, in- 
 dicated also habitual self-possession and self- 
 respect, a high and intellectual forehead, a brow 
 pensive, but not gloomy, a mouth of inflexible 
 decision, a face pale and worn, but serene, on 
 which was written, as legibly as under the 
 picture in the council-chamber at Calcutta, 
 Mens aqua in arduis ; such was the aspect 
 with which the great Proconsul presented him- 
 self to his judges. 
 
 His council accompanied him, men all of 
 whom were afterwards raised by their talents 
 and learning to the highest posts in their pro- 
 fession, the bold and strong-minded Law, 
 afterwards Chief Justice of the King’s Bench; 
 the more humane and eloquent Dallas, after- 
 wards Chief Justice of the Common Pleas ; 
 and Plomer whom, near twenty years later, 
 successfully conducted in the same high court 
 the defence of Lord Melville, and subsequently 
 became Vice-chancellor and Master of the 
 Rolls. 
 
 But neither the culprit nor his advocates at- 
 tracted so much notice as the accusers. In 
 the midst of the blaze of red drapery, a space 
 had been fitted up with green benches and 
 tables for the Commons. The managers, with 
 Burke at their head, appeared in full dress. 
 The collectors of gossip did not fail to remark 
 that even Fox, generally so regardless of his 
 appearance, had paid to the illustrious tribunal 
 the compliment of wearing a bag and sword. 
 Pitt had refused to be one of the conductors 
 of the impeachment; and his commanding, 
 copious, and sonorous eloquence was wanting 
 to that great muster of various talents. Age 
 and blindness had unfitted Lord North for the 
 duties of a public prosecutor ; and his friends 
 were left without the help of his excellent 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 27 3 
 
 sense, his tact, and his urbanity. But, in spite 
 of the absence of these two distinguished mem- 
 bers of the Lower House, the box in which the 
 managers stood contained an array of speakers 
 such as perhaps had not appeared together 
 since the great age of Athenian eloquence. 
 There were Fox and Sheridan, the English 
 Demosthenes and the English Hyperides. 
 There was Burke, ignorant indeed, or negligent 
 of the art of adapting his reasonings and his 
 style to the capacity and taste of his hearers, 
 but in amplitude of comprehension and rich- 
 ness of imagination superior to every orator, 
 ancient or modern. There, with eyes reveren- 
 tially fixed on Burke, appeared the finest gen- 
 tleman of the age, his form developed by every 
 manly exercise, his face beaming with intelli- 
 gence and spirit, the ingenious, the chivalrous, 
 the high-souled Windham. Nor, though sur- 
 rounded by such men, did the youngest man- 
 ager pass unnoticed. At an age when most of 
 those who distinguish themselves in life are 
 still contending for prizes and fellowships at 
 college, he had won for himself a conspicuous 
 place in pailiament. No advantage of fortune 
 or connection was wanting that could set off to 
 the height his splendid talents and his un- 
 blemished honor. At twenty-three he had 
 been thought worthy to be ranked with the 
 veteran statesmen who appeared as the dele- 
 gates of the British Commons, at the bar of 
 the British nobility. All who stood at that 
 bar, save him alone, are gone, culprit, advo- 
 cates, accusers. To the generation which is 
 now in the vigor of life, he is the sole repre- 
 sentative of a great age which has passed 
 away. But those who, within the last ten years, 
 have listened with delight, till the morning sun 
 shone on the tapestries of the House of Lords, 
 to the lofty and animated eloquence of Charles 
 Earl Grey, are able to form some estimate of 
 the powers of a race of men among whom he 
 was not the foremost. 
 
274 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA VS. 
 
 The charges and the answers of Hastings 
 were first read. The ceremony occupied two 
 whole days, and was rendered less tedious than 
 it would otherwise have been bv the silver voice 
 and just emphasis of Cowper, the Clerk of the 
 court, a near relation of the amiable poet. 
 On the third day Burke rose. Four sittings 
 were occupied by his opening speech, which 
 was intended to be a general introduction to 
 all the charges. With an exuberance of thought 
 and a splendor of diction which more than 
 satisfied the highly raised expectation of the 
 audience, he described the character and in- 
 stitutions of the natives of Indi t. recounted the 
 circumstances in which the Asiatic empire of 
 Britain had originated, and set forth the con- 
 stitution of the Company and of the English 
 presidencies. Having thus attempted to com- 
 municate to his hearers an idea of Eastern 
 society, as vivid as that which existed in his 
 own mind, he proceeded to arraign the admin- 
 istration of Hastings as systematically con- 
 ducted in defiance of morality and public law. 
 The energy and pathos of the great orator ex- 
 torted expressions of unwonted admiration 
 from the stern and hostile Chancellor, and, for 
 a moment, seemed to pierce even the resolute 
 heart of the defendant. The ladies in the 
 galleries, unaccustomed to such displays of 
 eloquence, excited by the solemnity of the oc- 
 casion, and perhaps not unwilling to display 
 their taste and sensibility, were in a state of 
 uncontrollable emotion. Handkerchiefs were 
 pulled out ; smelling bottles were handed 
 round ; hysterical sobs and screams were 
 heard ; and Mrs. Sheridan was carried ont in 
 a fit. At length the orator concluded. Rais- 
 ing his voice till the old arches of Irish oak 
 resounded, “ Therefore,” said he, “ hath it with 
 all confidence been ordered, by the Commons 
 of Great Britain, that I impeach Warren Hast- 
 ings of high crimes and misdemeanors. I im- 
 peach him in the name of the Commons’ 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 2 75 
 
 House of Parliament, whose trust he has be- 
 trayed. I impeach him in the name of the 
 English nation, whose ancient honor he has 
 sullied. I impeach him in the name of the 
 people of India, whose rights he has trodden 
 under foot, and whose country he has turned 
 into a desert. Lastly, in the name of human 
 nature itself, in the name of both sexes, in the 
 name of every age, in the name of every rank, 
 I impeach the common enemy and oppressor 
 of all!” 
 
 When the deep murmur of various emotions 
 had subsided, Mr. Fox rose to address the 
 Lords respecting the course of proceeding to 
 be followed. The wish of the accusers was 
 that the Court would bring to a close the inves- 
 tigation of the first charge before the second 
 was opened. The wish of Hastings and of his 
 counsel was that the managers should open all 
 the charges, and produce all the evidence for 
 the prosecution, before the defence began. The 
 Lords retired to their own House to consider 
 the question. The Chancellor took the side of 
 Hastings. Lord Loughborough, who was now 
 in opposition, supported the demand of the 
 managers. The division showed which way 
 the inclination of the tribunal leaned. A 
 majority of near three to one decided in favor 
 of the course for which Hastings contended. 
 
 When the Court sat again, Mr. Fox, assisted 
 by Mr. Gray, opened the charge respecting 
 Cheyte Sing, an<^ several days were spent in 
 reading papers and hearing witnesses. The 
 next article was that relating to the Princesses 
 of Oude. The conduct of this part of the case 
 was intrusted to Sheridan. The curiosity of 
 the public to hear him was unbounded. His 
 sparkling and highly finished declamation lasted 
 two days ; but the Hall was crowded to suffoca- 
 tion during the whole time. It was said that 
 fifty guineas had been paid for a single ticket. 
 Sheridan, when he concluded, contrived, with 
 a knowledge of stage effect which his father 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 276 
 
 might have envied, to sink back, as if exhausted, 
 into the arms of Burke, who hugged him with 
 the energy of generous admiration. 
 
 June was now far advanced. The session 
 could not last much longer ; and the progress 
 which had been made in the impeachment was 
 not very satisfactory. There were twenty 
 charges. On two only of these had even the 
 case for the prosecution been heard ; and it 
 was now a year since Hastings had been ad- 
 mitted to bail. 
 
 The interest taken by the public in the trial 
 was great when the Court began to sit, and 
 rose to the height when Sheridan spoke on the 
 charge relating to the Begums. From that 
 time the excitement went down fast. The spec- 
 tacle had lost the attraction of novelty. The 
 great displays of rhetoric were over. What 
 was behind was not of a nature to entice men 
 of letters from their books in the morning, or 
 to tempt ladies who had left the masquerade at 
 two to be out of bed before eight. There re- 
 mained examinations and cross-examinations. 
 There remained statements of accounts. There 
 remained the reading of papers, filled with 
 words unintelligible to English ears, with lacs 
 and crores, zemindars andaumils, sunnuds and 
 perwannahs, jaghires and nuzzurs. There re- 
 mained bickerings, not always carried on with 
 the best taste or with the best temper, between 
 the managers of the impeachment and the 
 counsel for the defence, particularly between 
 Mr. Burke and Mr. Law. There remained the 
 endless marches and countermarches of the 
 Peers between their House and the Hall ; for as 
 often as a point of law was to be discussed, 
 their Lordships retired to discuss it apart ; and 
 the consequence was, as a Peer wittily said, 
 that the judges walked and the trial stood still. 
 
 It is to be added that, in the spring of 1788, 
 when the trial commenced, no important ques- 
 tion, either of domestic or foreign policy, 
 occupied the public mind. The proceeding in 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 277 
 
 Westminster Hall, therefore, naturally attracted 
 most of the attention of Parliament and of the 
 countay. It was the one great event of that 
 season. But in the following year the King’s 
 illness, the debates on the Regency, the ex- 
 pectation of a change of ministry, completely 
 diverted public attention from Indian affairs; 
 and within a fortnight after George the Third 
 had returned thanks is St. Paul’s for his re- 
 covery, the States-General of France met at 
 Versailles. In the midst of the agitation pro- 
 duced by these events, the impeachment was 
 for a time almost forgotten. 
 
 The trial in the Hall went on languidly. In 
 the session of 1788, when the proceedings 
 had the interest of novelty, and when the Peers 
 had little other business before them, only 
 thirty-five davs were given to the impeachment. 
 In 1789, the Regency Bill occupied the Upper 
 House till the session was far advanced. 
 When the King recovered the circuits were 
 beginning. The judges left town ; the Lords 
 waited for the return of the oracles of jurispru- 
 dence ; and the consequence was that during 
 the whole year only seventeen days were given 
 to the case of Hastings. It was clear that the 
 matter would be protracted to a length unpre- 
 cedented in the annals of criminal law. 
 
 In truth, it is impossible to deny that 
 impeachment, though it is a fine ceremony, and 
 though it may have been useful in the seven- 
 teenth century, is not a proceeding from which 
 much good can now be expected. Whatever 
 confidence may be placed in the decision of 
 the Peers on an appeal arising out of ordinary 
 litigation it is certain that no man has the least 
 confidence in their impartiality, when a great 
 public functionary, charged with a great state 
 crime, is brought to their bar. They are all 
 politicians. There is hardly one among them 
 whose vote on an impeachment may not be 
 confidently predicted before a wntness has been 
 examined ; and, even if it were possible to rely 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 278 
 
 on their justice, they would still be quite unfit 
 to try such a cause as that of Hastings. They 
 sit only during half the year. They have to 
 transact much legislative and much judicial 
 business. The law-lords, whose advice is re- 
 quired to guide the unlearned majority, are 
 employed daily in administering justice else- 
 where. It is impossible, therefore, that during 
 a busy session, the Upper House should give 
 more than a few days to an impeachment. To 
 expect that their Lordships would give up 
 partridge-shooting, in order to bring the 
 greatest delinquent to speedy justice, or to re- 
 lieve accused innocence by speedy acquittal, 
 would be unreasonable indeed. A well con- 
 stituted tribunal, sitting regularly six days in 
 the week, and nine hours in the day, would 
 h^jve brought the trial of Hastings to a close 
 in less than three months. The Lords had not 
 finished their work in seven years. 
 
 The result ceased to be matter of doubt, from 
 the time when the Lords resolved that they 
 would be guided by the rules of evidence which 
 are received in the inferior courts of the realm. 
 Those rules, it is well known, exclude much 
 information which would be quite sufficient to 
 determine the conduct of any reasonable man, 
 in the most important transactions of private 
 life. These rules, at every assizes, save scores 
 of culprits whom judges, jury, and spectators, 
 firmly believe to be guilty. But when those 
 rules were rigidly applied to offences committed 
 many years before, at the distance of many 
 thousands of miles, conviction was, of course, 
 out of the question. We do not blame the ac- 
 cused and his counsel for availing themselves 
 of every legal advantage in order to obtain an 
 acquittal. But it is clear that an acquittal so 
 obtained cannot be pleaded in bar of the judg- 
 ment of history. 
 
 Several attempts were made by the friends 
 of Hastings to put a stop to the trial. In 1789 
 they proposed a vote of censure upon Burke, 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 279 
 
 for some violent language which he had used 
 respecting the death of Nuncomar and the 
 connection between Hastings and Impey. 
 Burke was then unpopular in the last degree 
 both with the House and with the country. 
 The asperity and indecency of some expres- 
 sions which he had used during the debates on 
 the Regency had annoyed even his warmest 
 friends. The vote of censure was carried ; and 
 those who had moved it hoped that the mana- 
 gers would resign in disgust. Burke was deep- 
 ly hurt. But his zeal for what he considered 
 as the cause of justice and mercy triumphed 
 over his personal feeiings. He received the 
 censure of the House with dignity and meek- 
 ness, and declared that no personal mortifica- 
 tion or humiliation should induce him to flinch 
 from the sacred duty which he had undertaken. 
 
 In the following year the Parliament was 
 dissolved; and the friends of Hastings enter- 
 tained a hope that the new House of Commons 
 might not be disposed to go on with the im- 
 peachment. They began by maintaining that 
 the whole proceeding was terminated by the 
 dissolution. Defeated on this point, they made 
 a direct motion that the impeachment should 
 be dropped ; but they were defeated by the 
 combined forces of the Government and the 
 Opposition. It was, however, resolved that, 
 for the sake of expedition, many of the articles 
 should be withdrawn. In truth, had not some 
 such measure been adopted, the trial would 
 have lasted till the defendant was in his grave. 
 
 At length, in the spring of 1795, the decision 
 was pronounced, near eight years after Hast- 
 ings had been brought by the Serjeant-at-arms 
 of the Commons to the bar of the Lords. On 
 the last day of this great procedure the public 
 curiosity, long suspended, seemed to be reviv- 
 ed. Anxiety about the judgment there could be 
 none; for it had been fully ascertained that 
 there was a great majority for the defendant. 
 Nevertheless many wished to see the pageant, 
 
280 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 and the Hall was as much crowded as on the 
 first day. But those who, having been present 
 on the first day, now bore a part in the pro 
 ceedings of the last, were few ; and most of 
 those few were altered men. 
 
 As Hastings himself said, the arraignment 
 had taken place before one generation, and 
 the judgment was pronounced by another. 
 The spectator could not look at the woolsack, 
 or at the red benches of the Peers, or at the 
 green benches of the Commons, without seeing 
 something that reminded him of the instability 
 of all human things, of the instability of power 
 and fame and life, of the more lamentable in- 
 stability of friendship. The great seal was 
 borne before Lord Loughborough, who, when 
 the trial commenced, was a fierce opponent of 
 Mr. Pitt’s government, and who was now a 
 member of that government, while Thurlow, 
 who presided in the Court when it first sat, 
 estranged from all his old allies, sat scowling 
 among the junior barons. Of about a hundred 
 and sixty nobles who walked in the procession on 
 the first day, sixty had been laid in their family 
 vaults. Still more affecting must have been 
 the sight of the managers’ box. What had 
 become of that fair fellowship, so closely bound 
 together by public and private ties, so resplen- 
 dent with every talent and accomplishment ? 
 It had been scattered by calamities more bitter 
 than the bitterness of death. The great chiefs 
 were still living, and still in the full vigor of 
 their genius. But their friendship was at an 
 end. It had been violently and publicly dis- 
 solved, with tears and stormy reproaches. If 
 those men, once so dear to each other, were 
 now compelled to meet for the purpose of 
 managing the impeachment, they met as stran- 
 gers whom public business had brought to- 
 gether, and behaved to each other with cold 
 and distant civility. Burke had in his vortex 
 whirled away Windham. Fox had been fol- 
 lowed by Sheridan and Grey. 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 281 
 
 Only twenty-nine Peers voted. Of these 
 only six found Hastings guilty on the charges 
 relating to Cheyte Sing and to the Begums. 
 On other charges, the majority in his favor was 
 still greater. On some he was unanimously 
 absolved. He was then called to the bar, was 
 informed from the woolsack that the Lords 
 had acquitted him, and was solemnly discharged. 
 He bowed respectfully and retired. 
 
 We have said that the decision had been 
 fully expected. It was also generally approved. 
 At the commencement of the trial there had 
 been a strong and indeed unreasonable feeling 
 against Hastings. At the close of the trial 
 there was a feeling equally strong and equally 
 unreasonable in his favor. One cause of the 
 change was, no doubt, what is commonly called 
 the fickleness of the multitude, but what seems 
 to us to be merely the general law of human 
 nature. Both in individuals and in masses vio- 
 lent excitement is always followed by remission 
 and often by reaction. We are all inclined to 
 depreciate whatever we have overpraised, and, 
 on the other hand, to show undue indulgence 
 where we have shown undue rigor. It was 
 thus in the case of Hastings. The length of 
 his trial, moreover, made him an object of 
 compassion. It was thought, and not without 
 reason, that, even if he was guilty, he was still 
 an ill-used man, and that an impeachment of 
 eight years was more than a sufficient punish- 
 ment. It was also felt that, though, in the 
 ordinary course of criminal law, a defendant 
 is not allowed to set off his good actions against 
 his crimes, a great political cause should be 
 tried on different principles, and that a man 
 who had governed an empire during thirteen 
 years might have done some very reprehensible 
 things, and yet might be on the whole deserving 
 of rewards and honors rather than of fine and 
 imprisonment. The press, an instrument neg- 
 lected by the prosecutors, was used by Hast- 
 ings and his friends with great effect. Every 
 
2S2 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 ship, too, that arrived from Madras or Bengal, 
 brought a cuddy full of his admirers. Every 
 gentleman from India spoke of the late Gov- 
 ernor-General as having deserved better, and 
 having been treated worse, than any man living. 
 The effect of this testimony unanimously given 
 by all persons who knew the East was nat- 
 urally very great. Retired members of the 
 Indian services, civil and military, were settled 
 in all corners of the kingdom. Each of them 
 was, of course, in his own little circle, regarded 
 as an oracle on an Indian question, and they 
 were, with scarcely one exception, the zealous 
 advocates of Hastings. It is to be added, that 
 the numerous addresses to the late Governor- 
 General, which his friends in Bengal obtained 
 from the natives and transmitted to England, 
 made a considerable impression. To these 
 addresses we attach little or no importance. 
 That Hastings was beloved by the people 
 whom he governed is true ; but the eulogies of 
 pundits, zemindars, Mahommedan doctors, do 
 not prove it to be true. For an English col- 
 lector or judge would have found it easy to in- 
 duce any native who could write to sign a 
 panegyric on the most odious ruler that ever 
 was in India. It was said that at Benares, 
 the very place at which the acts set forth in 
 the first article of impeachment had been 
 committed, the natives had erected a temple 
 to Hastings, and this story excited a strong 
 sensation in England. Burke’s observations on 
 the apotheosis were admirable. He saw no 
 reason for astonishment, he said, in the inci- 
 dent which had been represented as so striking. 
 He knew something of the mythology of the 
 Brahmins. He knew that as they worshipped 
 some gods from love, so they worshipped others 
 from fear. He knew that they erected shrines, 
 not only to the benignant deities of light and 
 plenty, but also the fiends who preside over 
 small-pox and murder ; nor did he at all dis- 
 pute the claim of Mr. Hastings to be admitted 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 283 
 
 into such a Pantheon. This reply has always 
 struck us as one of the finest that was ever 
 made in Parliament. It is a grave and forci- 
 ble argument, decorated by the most brilliant 
 wit and fancy. 
 
 Hastings was, however, safe. But in every- 
 thing except character, he would have been far 
 better off if, when first impeached, he had at 
 once pleaded guilty, and paid a fine of fifty 
 thousand pounds. He was a ruined man. The 
 legal expenses of his defence had been enor- 
 mous. The expenses which did not appear in 
 his attorney’s bill were perhaps larger still. 
 Great sums had been paid to Major Scott. 
 Great sums had been laid out in bribing news- 
 papers, rewarding pamphleteers, aad circulat- 
 ing tracts. Burke, so early as 1790, declared 
 in the House of Commons that twenty thousand 
 pounds had been employed in corrupting the 
 press. It is certain that no controversial 
 weapon, from the gravest reason to the coarsest 
 ribaldry, was left unemployed. Logan de- 
 fended the accused Governor with great ability 
 in prose. For the lovers of verse, the speeches 
 of the managers were burlesqued in Simpkin’s 
 letters. It is, we are afraid, indisputable that 
 Hastings stooped so low as to court the aid of 
 that malignant and filthy baboon John Williams, 
 who called himself Anthony Pasquin. It was 
 necessary to subsidize such allies largely. The 
 private hoards of Mrs. Hastings had disap- 
 peared. It is said that the banker to whom 
 they had been intrusted had failed. Still if 
 Hastings had practised strict economy, he 
 would, after ail his losses, have had a moder- 
 ate competence ; but in the management of 
 his private affairs he was imprudent. The 
 dearest wish of his heart had always been to 
 regain Daylesford. At length, in the very 
 year in which his trial commenced, the wish 
 was accomplished ; and the domain, alienated 
 more than seventy years before, returned to 
 the descendant of its old lords. But the manor 
 
284 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA YS. 
 
 house was a ruin ; and the grounds around it 
 had, during many years, been utterly neglect- 
 ed. Hastings proceeded to build, to plant, to 
 form a sheet of water, to excavate a grotto ; 
 and, before he was dismissed from the bar of 
 the House of Lords, he had expended more 
 than forty thousand pounds in adorning his 
 seat. 
 
 The general feeling both of the Directors 
 and of the proprietors of the East India Com- 
 pany was that he had great claims on them, 
 that his services to them had been eminent, 
 and that his misfortunes had been the effect of 
 his zeal for their interest. His friends in 
 Leadenhall Street proposed to reimburse him 
 the costs of his trial, and to settle on him an 
 annuity of five thousand pounds a year. But 
 the consent of the Board of Control was nec- 
 essary; and at the head of the Board of Con- 
 trol was Mr. Dundas, who had himself been a 
 party to the impeachment, who had, on that 
 account, been reviled with great bitterness by 
 the adherents of Hastings, and who, therefore, 
 was not in a very complying mood. He re- 
 fused to consent to what the Directors sug- 
 gested. The Directors remonstrated. A long 
 controversy followed. Hastings, in the mean- 
 time, was reduced to such distress, that he 
 could hardly pay his weekly bills. At length 
 a compromise was made. An annuity for life 
 of four thousand pounds was settled on Hast- 
 ings ; and in order to enable him to meet 
 pressing demands, he was to receive ten years’ 
 annuity in advance. The Company was also 
 permitted to lend him fifty thousand pounds, to 
 be repaid by instalments without interest. The 
 relief, though given in the most absurd manner, 
 was sufficient to enable the retired Governor to 
 live in comfort, and even in luxury, if he had 
 been a skilful manager. But he was careless 
 and profuse, and was more than once under 
 the necessity of applying to the Company for 
 assistance, which was liberally given. 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 285 
 
 He had security and affluence, but not the 
 power and dignity which, when he landed from 
 India, he had reason to expect. He had then 
 looked forward to a coronet, a red ribbon, a 
 seat at the Council Board, an office at White- 
 hall. He was then only fifty-two, and might 
 hope for many years of bodily and men- 
 tal vigor. The case was widely different when 
 he left the bar of the Lords. He was now too 
 old a man to turn his mind to a new class of 
 studies and duties. He had no chance of re- 
 ceiving any mark of royal favor while Mr. Pitt 
 remained in power ; and, when Mr. Pitt re- 
 tired, Hastings was approaching his seventieth 
 year. 
 
 Once, and only once, after his acquittal, he 
 interfered in politics ; and that interference 
 was not much to his honor. In 1804 he exert- 
 ed himself strenuously to prevent Mr. Ad- 
 dington, against whom Fox and Pitt had com- 
 bined, from resigning the Treasury. It is dif- 
 ficult to believe that a man so able and ener- 
 getic as Hastings can have thought that, when 
 Bonaparte was at Boulogne with a great army 
 the defence of our island could safely be in- 
 trusted to a ministry which did not contain a 
 single person whom flattery could describe as a 
 great statesman. It is also certain that, on the 
 important question which had raised Mr. Ad- 
 dington to power, and on which he differed from 
 both Fox and Pitt, Hastings, as might have 
 been expected, agreed with Fox and Pitt, and 
 was decidedly opposed to Addington. Religi- 
 ous intolerance has never been the vice of the 
 Indian service, and certainly was not the vice 
 of Hastings. But Mr. Addington had treated 
 him with marked favor. Fox had peen a prin- 
 cipal manager of the impeachment. To Pitt it 
 was owing that there had been an impeach- 
 ment; and Hastings, we fear, was on this oc- 
 casion guided by personal considerations, 
 rather than by a regard to the public interest. 
 
 The last twenty-four years of his life were 
 
286 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 chiefly passed at Daylesford. He. amused him- 
 self with embellishing his grounds, riding fine 
 Arab horses, fattening prize cattle, and trying 
 to rear Indian animals and vegetables in Eng- 
 land. He sent for seeds of a very fine custard 
 apple, from the garden of what had once been his 
 own villa, among the green hedgerows of Alii- 
 pore. He tried also to neutralize in Worcester- 
 shire the delicious leechee, almost the only 
 fruit of Bengal which deserves to be regretted 
 even amidst the plenty of Covent Garden. The 
 Mogul emperors", in the time of their greatness 
 had in vain attempted to introduce into Hindos- 
 tan the goat of the table-land of Thibet, whose 
 down supplies the looms of Cashmere with the 
 materials of the finest shawls. Hastings tried 
 with no better fortune, to rear a breed at Day- 
 lesford ; nor does he seem to have succeeded 
 better with the cattle of Bootan, whose tails 
 are in high esteem as the best fans for brush- 
 ing away the musquitoes. 
 
 Literature divided his attention with his con- 
 servatories and his menagerie. He had always 
 loved books, and they were now necessary to 
 him. Though not a poet, in any high sense of 
 the word, he wrote neat and polished lines with 
 great facility, and was fond of exercising this 
 talent. Indeed, if we must speak out, he seems 
 to have been more of a Trissotin than was to 
 be expected from the powers of his mind, and 
 from the great part which he had played in life. 
 We are assured in these Memoirs that the first 
 thing which he did in the morning was to write 
 a copy of verses. When the family and guests 
 assembled, the poem made its appearance as 
 regularly as the eggs and rolls ; and Mr. Gleig 
 requires us to believe that, if from any accident 
 Hastings came to the breakfast-table without 
 one of his charming performances in his hand, 
 the omission was felt by all as a grievous dis- 
 appointment. Tastes differ widely. For our- 
 selves, we must say that, however good the 
 breakfasts at Daylesford may have been, — and 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 
 
 287 
 
 we are assured that the tea was of the most 
 aromatic flavor, and that neither tongue nor 
 venison-pasty was wanting, — we should have 
 thought the reckoning high if we had been 
 forced to earn our repast by listening every 
 day to a new madrigal or sonnet composed by 
 our host. We are glad, however, that Mr. 
 Gleig has preserved this little feature of char- 
 acter, though we think it by no means a beauty. 
 It is good to be often reminded of the inconsist- 
 ency of human nature, and to learn to look 
 without wonder or disgust on the weaknesses 
 which are found in the strongest minds. 
 Dionysius in old times, Frederic in the last 
 century, with capacity and vigor equal to the 
 conduct of the greatest affairs, united all the 
 little vanities and affectations of provincial 
 blue-stockings. These great examples may 
 console the admirers of Hastings for the afflic- 
 tion of seeing him reduced to the level of the 
 Hayleys and Sewards. 
 
 When Hastings had passed many years in 
 retirement, and had long outlived the common 
 age of men, he again became for a short time 
 an object of general attention. In 1813 the 
 charter of the East India Companv was re- 
 newed ; and much discussion about Indian 
 affairs took place in Parliament. It was de- 
 termined to examine witnesses at the bar of 
 the Commons; and Hastings was ordered to 
 attend. He had appeared at that bar once 
 before. It was when he read his answer to 
 charges which Burke had laid on the table. 
 Since that time twenty-seven years had elapsed ; 
 public feeling had undergone a complete 
 change ; the nation had now forgotten his 
 faults, and remembered only his services. 
 The reappearance, too, of a man who had 
 been among the most distinguished of a gen- 
 eration that had passed away, and now belong- 
 ed to history, and who seemed to have risen 
 from the dead, could not but produce a solemn 
 and pathetic effect, The Commons received 
 
2 88 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 him with acclamations, ordered a chair to be 
 set for him, and, when he retired, rose and 
 uncovered. There were, indeed, a few who 
 did not sympathize with the general feeling. 
 One or two of the managers of the impeach- 
 ment were present. They sate in the same 
 seats which they had occupied when they had 
 been thanked for the services which they had 
 rendered in Westminister Hall : for, by the 
 courtesy of the House, a member who has 
 been thanked in his place is considered as 
 having a right always to occupy that place. 
 These gentlemen were not disposed to admit 
 that they had employed several of the best 
 years of their lives in persecuting an innocent 
 man. They accordingly kept their seats, and 
 pulled their hats over their brows ; but the 
 exceptions only made the prevailing enthusiasm 
 more remarkable. The Lords received the 
 old man with similar tokens of respect. The 
 University of Oxford conferred on him the de- 
 gree of Doctor of Laws ; and, in the Sheldo- 
 nian Theatre, the undergraduates welcomed 
 him with tumultuous cheering. 
 
 These marks of public esteem were soon 
 followed by marks of royal favor. Hastings 
 was sworn of the Privy Council, and was ad- 
 mitted to a long private audience of the Prince 
 Regent, who treated him very graciously. 
 When the Emperor of Russia and the King of 
 Prussia visited England, Hastings appeared 
 in their train both at Oxford and in the Guild- 
 hall of London, and, though surrounded by a 
 crowd of princes and great warriors, was every- 
 where received with marks of respect and ad- 
 miration. He was presented by the Prince 
 Regent both to Alexander and to Frederic 
 William ; and his Royal Highness went so far 
 as to declare in public that honors far higher 
 than a seat in the Privy Council were due, 
 and would soon be paid, to the man who had 
 saved the British dominions in Asia. Hast- 
 ings now confidently expected a peerage ; but, 
 
WARREN HASTINGS. 289 
 
 from some unexplained cause, he was again 
 disappointed. 
 
 He lived about four years longer, in the en- 
 joyment of good spitits, of faculties not im- 
 paired to any painful or degrading extent, and 
 of health such as is rarely enjoyed by those 
 who attain such an age. At length, on the 
 twenty-second of August, 1818, in the eighty- 
 sixth year of his age, he met death with the 
 same tranquil and decorous fortitude which he 
 had opposed to all the trials of his various and 
 eventful life. 
 
 With all his faults, — and they were neither 
 few nor small, — cnly one cemetery was worthy 
 to contain his remains. In that temple of 
 silence and reconciliation where the enmities 
 of twenty generations lie buried, in the Great 
 Abbey which has during many ages afforded a 
 quiet resting-place to those whose minds and 
 bodies have been shattered by the contentions 
 of the Great Hall, the dust of the illustrious 
 accused should have mingled with the dust of 
 the illustrious accusers. This was not to be. 
 Yet the place of interment was not ill-chosen. 
 Behind the chancel of the parish church of 
 Daylesford, in earth which already held the 
 bones of many chiefs of the house of Hastings, 
 was laid the coffin of the greatest man who 
 has ever borne that ancient and widely ex- 
 tended name. On that very spot, probably, 
 fourscore years before, the little Warren, 
 meanlv clad and scantily fed, and played with 
 the children of ploughmen. Even then his 
 young mind had revolved plans which might 
 be called romantic. Yet, however romantic, 
 it is not likely that they had been so strange 
 as the truth. Not only had the poor orphan 
 retrieved the fallen fortunes of his line. Not 
 only had he repurchased the old lands, and 
 rebuilt the old dwelling. He had preserved 
 and extended an empire. He had founded a 
 polity. He had administered government and 
 war with more than the capacity of Richelieu. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 290 
 
 He had patronized learning with the judicious 
 liberality of Cosmo. He had been attacked 
 by the most formidable combination of enemies 
 that ever sought the destruction of a single 
 victim ; and over that combination, after a 
 struggle of ten years, he had triumphed. He 
 had at length gone down to his grave in the 
 fulness of age, in peace, after so many troubles, 
 in honor, after so much obloquy. 
 
 Those who look on his character without 
 favor or malevolence will pronounce that, in 
 the two great elements of all social virtue, in 
 respect for the rights of others, and in sym- 
 pathy for the sufferings of others, he was de- 
 ficient. His principals were somewhat lax. 
 His heart was somewhat hard. But though 
 we .cannot with truth describe him either as a 
 righteous or as a merciful ruler, we cannot re- 
 gard without admiration the amplitude and 
 fertility of his intellect, his rare talents for com- 
 mand, for administration, and for controversy, 
 his dauntless courage, his honorable poverty, 
 his fervent zeal for the interests of the state, his 
 noble equanimity, tried by both extremes of 
 fortune, and never disturbed by either. 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 (Encyclopedia Britannica, January , l8jg.) 
 
 William Pitt, the second son of William 
 Pitt, Earl of Chatham, and of Lady Hester 
 Grenville, daughter of Hester, Countess 
 Temple, was born on the 28th of May, 1759. 
 The child inherited a name which, at the time 
 of his birth, was the most illustrious in the 
 civilized world, and was pronounced by every 
 Englishman with pride, and by every enemy of 
 England with mingled admiration and terror. 
 During the first year of his life, every month 
 had its illuminations and bonfires, and every 
 wind brought some messenger charged with 
 joyful tidings and hostile standards. In West- 
 phalia the English infantry won a great battle 
 which arrested the armies of Louis the Fifteenth 
 in the midst of a career of conquest ; Boscawen 
 defeated one French fleet on the coast of Port- 
 ugal ; Hawke put to flight another in the Bay 
 of Biscay ; Johnson took Niagara ; Amherst took 
 Ticonderoga ; Wolfe died by the most enviable 
 of deaths under the walls of Quebec ; Clive 
 destroyed a Dutch armament in the Hooghly, 
 and established the English supremacy in Ben- 
 gal ; Coote routed Lally at Wandewash, and 
 established the English supremacy in the Car- 
 natic. The nation, while loudly applauding the 
 successful warriors, considered them all, on sea 
 and on land, in Europe, in America, and in 
 Asia, merely as instruments which received 
 their direction from one superor mind. It was 
 
292 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 the great William Pitt, the great commoner, 
 who had vanquished French marshals in Ger- 
 many, and French admirals on the Atlantic ; 
 who had conquered for his country one great 
 empire on the frozen shores of Ontario, and 
 another under the tropical sun near the mouths 
 of the Ganges. It was not in the nature of 
 things that popularity such as he at this time 
 enjoyed should be permanent. That popularity 
 had lost its gloss before his children were old 
 enough to understand that their father was a 
 great man. He was at length placed in situa- 
 tions in which neither his talents for adminis- 
 tration nor his talents for debate appeared to 
 the best advantage. The energy and decision 
 which had eminently fitted him for the direction 
 of war were not needed in time of peace. The 
 lofty and spirit-stirring eloquence which had 
 made him supreme in the House of Commons 
 often fell dead on the House of Lords. A cruel 
 malady racked his joints, and left his joints 
 only to fall on his nerves and on his brain. 
 During the closing years of his life, he was 
 odious to the court, and yet was not on cordial 
 terms with the great body of the Opposition. 
 Chatham was only the ruin of Pitt, but an awful 
 and majestic ruin, not to be contemplated by 
 any man of sense and feeling without emotions 
 resembling those which are excited by the re- 
 mains of the Parthenon and of the Coliseum. 
 In one respect the old statesman was eminently 
 happy. Whatever might be the vicissitudes of 
 his public life, he never failed to find peace and 
 love by his own hearth. He loved all his 
 children, and was loved by them ; and, of all 
 his children, the one of whom he was fondest 
 and proudest was his second son. 
 
 The child’s genius and ambition displayed 
 themselves with a rare and almost unnatural 
 precocity. At seven, the interest which he 
 took in grave subjects, the ardor with which 
 he pursued his studies, and the sense and viva- 
 city of his remarks on books and on events, 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 2 93 
 
 amazed his parents and instructors. One of 
 his sayings of this date was reported to his 
 mother by his tutor. In August, 1766, when 
 the world was agitated by the news that 
 Mr. Pitt had become Earl of Chatham, little 
 Wiliiam exclaimed : “ I am glad that I am not 
 the eldest son. I want to speak in the House 
 of Commons like papa.” A letter is extant in 
 which Lady Chatham, a woman of considerable 
 abilities, remarked to her lord, that their 
 younger son at twelve had left far behind him 
 his elder brother, who was fifteen. “ The 
 fineness,” she wrote, “ of William’s mind 
 makes him enjoy with the greatest pleasure 
 what would be above the reach of any other 
 creature of his small age.” At fourteen the 
 lad was in intellect a man. Hayley, who met 
 him at Lyme in the summer of 1773, was as- 
 tonished, delighted, and somewhat overawed, 
 by hearing wit and wisdom from so young a 
 mouth. The poet, indeed, was afterwards 
 sorry that his shyness had prevented him from 
 submitting the plan of an extensive literary 
 work, which he was then meditating, to the 
 judgment of this extraordinary boy. The boy, 
 indeed, had already written a tragedy, bad of 
 course, but not worse than the tragedies of his 
 friend. This piece is still preserved at Cheven- 
 ing, and is in some respects highly curious. 
 There is no love. The whole plot is political ; 
 and it is remarkable that the interest, such as 
 it is, turns on a contest about a regency. On 
 one side is a faithful servant of the Crown, on 
 the other an ambitious and unprincipled con- 
 spirator. At length the King, who had been 
 missing, reappears, resumes his power, and 
 rewards the faithful defender of his rights. A 
 reader who should judge only by internal evi- 
 dence would have no hesitation in pronouncing 
 that the play was written by some Pittite 
 poetaster at the time of the rejoicings for the 
 recovery of George the Third in 1789. 
 
 The pleasure with which William’s parents 
 
294 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESS A YS. 
 
 observed the rapid development of his intel- 
 lectual powers was alloyed by apprehensions 
 about his health. He shot up alarmingly 
 fast ; he was often ill, and always weak ; it 
 was feared that it w'ould be impossible to rear 
 a stripling so tall, so slender, and so feeble. 
 Port wine was prescribed by his medical ad- 
 visers : and it is said that he was, at fourteen, 
 accustomed to take this agreeable physic in 
 quantities which would, in our abstemious age, 
 be thought much more than sufficient for any 
 full-grown man. This regimen, though it 
 would probably have killed ninety-nine boys 
 out of a hundred, seems to have been well 
 fitted to the peculiarities of William’s constitu- 
 tion ; for at fifteen he ceased to be molested 
 by disease, and, though never a strong man, 
 continued, during many years of labor and 
 anxiety, of nights passed in debate and of 
 summers passed in London, to be a tolerably 
 healthy one. It was probably on account of 
 the delicacy of his frame that he was not edu- 
 cated like other boys of the same rank. Al- 
 most all the eminent English statesmen and 
 orators to whom he was afterwards opposed or 
 allied, North, Fox, Shelburne, Windham, Grey, 
 Wellesley, Grenville, Sheridan, Canning, went 
 through the training of great public schools. 
 Lord Chatham had himself been a distin- 
 guished Etonian ; and it is seldom that a dis- 
 tinguished Etonian forgets his obligations to 
 Eton. But William’s infirmities required a 
 vigilance and tenderness such as could be 
 found only at home. He was therefore bred 
 under the paternal roof. His studies were 
 superintended by a clergyman named Wilson ; 
 and those studies, though often interrupted by 
 illness, were prosecuted with extraordinary 
 success. Before the lad had completed his 
 fifteenth year, his knowledge both of the an- 
 cient languages and of mathematics was such 
 as very few men of eighteen then earned up to 
 college, He was therefore sent, towards the 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 2 95 
 
 close of the year 1773, to Pembroke Hall, in 
 the University of Cambridge. So young a 
 student required much more than the ordinary 
 care which a college tutor bestows on under- 
 graduates. The governor, to whom the direc- 
 tion of William’s academical life was confided, 
 was a bachelor of arts named Pretyman, who 
 had been senior wrangler in the preceding 
 year, and who, though not a man of prepos- 
 sessing appearance or brilliant parts, was emi- 
 nently acute and laborious, a sound scholar, 
 and an excellent geometrician. At Cambridge 
 Pretyman was, during more than two years, the 
 inseparable companion, and indeed almost the 
 only companion, of his pupil. A close and 
 lasting friendship sprang up between the pair. 
 The disciple was able, before he completed his 
 twenty-eighth year, to make his preceptor 
 Bishop of Lincoln and Dean of St. Paul's; and 
 the preceptor showed his gratitude by writing 
 a life of the disciple, which enjoys the distinc- 
 tion of being the worst biographical work of its 
 size in the world. 
 
 Pitt, till he graduated, had scarcely one ac- 
 quaintance, attended chapel regularly morning 
 and evening, dined everyday in hall, and never 
 went to a single evening party. At seventeen, 
 he was admitted, after the bad fashion of those 
 times, by right of birth, without any examina- 
 tion, to the degree of Master of Arts. But he 
 continued during some years to reside at col- 
 lege, and to apply himself vigorously, under 
 Pretyman’s direction, to the studies of the 
 place, while mixing freely in the best academic 
 society. 
 
 The stock of learning which Pitt laid in 
 during this part of his life was certainly very 
 extraordinary. In fact, it was all that he ever 
 possessed ; for he very early became too busy 
 to have any spare time for books. The work 
 in which he took the greatest delight was New- 
 ton’s Principia. His liking for mathematics, 
 indeed, amounted to a passion, which, ip the 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 296 
 
 opinion of his instructors, themselves distin- 
 guished mathematicians, required to be checked 
 rather than encouraged. The acuteness and 
 readiness with which he solved problems was 
 pronounced by one of the ablest of the mod- 
 erators, who in those days presided over the 
 disputations in the schools, and conducted ex- 
 aminations of the Senate House, to be unri- 
 valled in the University. Nor was the youth’s 
 proficiency in classical learning less remarka- 
 ble. In one respect, indeed, he appeared to 
 disadvantage when compared with even second- 
 rate and third-rate men from public schools. He 
 had never, while under Wilson’s care, been in 
 the habit of composing in the ancient languages ; 
 and he therefore never acquired that knack of 
 versification which is sometimes possessed by 
 clever boys, whose knowledge of the language 
 and literature of Greece and Rome is very su- 
 perficial. It would have been utterly out of 
 his power to produce such charming elegiac 
 lines as those in which Wellesley bade farewell 
 to Eton, or such Virgilian hexameters as those 
 in which Canning described the pilgrimage to 
 Mecca. But it may be doubted whether any 
 scholar has ever, at twenty, had a more solid 
 and profound knowledge of the two great 
 tongues of the old civilized world. The facil- 
 ity with which he penetrated the meaning of 
 the most intricate sentences in the Attic writ- 
 ers astonished veteran critics. He had set 
 his heart on being intimately acquainted with 
 all the extant poetry of Greece, and was not 
 satisfied till he had mastered Lycophron’s Cas- 
 sandra, the most obscure work in the whole 
 range of ancient literature. This strange rhap- 
 sody, the difficulties of which have perplexed 
 and repelled many excellent scholars, “ he 
 read,” says his perceptor, “ with an ease at 
 first sight, which, if I had not witnessed it, I 
 should have thought beyond the compass of 
 human intellect.” 
 
 To modern literature Pitt paid comparatively 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 297 
 
 little attention. He knew no living language ex- 
 cept French; and French he knew very imper- 
 fectly. With a few of the best English writers 
 he was intimate, particularly with Shakspeare 
 and Milton. The debate in Pandemonium, 
 was, as it well deserved to be, one of his favor- 
 ite passages ; and his early friends used to 
 talk, long after his death, of the just emphasis 
 and the melodious cadence with which they had 
 heard him recite the incomparable speech of 
 Belial. He had indeed been carefully trained 
 from infancy in the art of managing his voice, 
 a voice naturally clear and deep-toned. His 
 father, whose oratory owed no small part of its 
 effect to that art, had been a most skilful and 
 judicious instructor. At a later period, the 
 wits of Brookes’s, irritated by observing, night 
 after night, how powerfully Pitt’s sonorous elo- 
 cution fascinated the rows of country gentle- 
 men, reproached him with having been “ taught 
 by his dad on a stool.” 
 
 His education, indeed, was well adapted to 
 form a great parliamentary speaker. One 
 argument often urged against those classical 
 studies which occupy so large a part of the 
 early life of every gentleman bred in the south 
 of our island is, that they prevent him from ac- 
 quiring a command of his mother tongue, and 
 that it is not unusual to meet with a youth of 
 excellent parts, who writes Ciceronian Latin 
 prose and Horatian Latin Alcaics, but who 
 would find it impossible to express his thoughts 
 in pure, perspicuous, and forcible English. 
 There may perhaps be some truth in this ob- 
 servation. But the classical studies of Pitt 
 were carried on in a peculiar manner, and had 
 the effect of enriching his English vocabulary, 
 and of making him wonderfully expert in the 
 art of constructing correct English sentences. 
 His practice was to look over a page or two of 
 a Greek or Latin author, to make himself 
 master of the meaning, and then to read the 
 passage straight-forward into his own language. 
 
2 yS BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 This practice, begun under his first teacher 
 Wilson, was continued under Pretvman. It is 
 not strange that a young man of great abilities 
 who had been exercised daily in this way during 
 ten years, should have acquired an almost un- 
 rivalled power of putting his thoughts, without 
 premeditation, into words well selected and 
 well arranged. 
 
 Of all the remains of antiquity, the orations 
 were those on which he bestowed the most 
 minute examination. His favorite employment 
 was to compare harangues on opposite sides of 
 the same question, to analyze them, and to 
 observe which of the arguments of the first 
 speaker were refuted by the second, which 
 were evaded, and which were left untouched. 
 Nor was it only in books that he at this time 
 studied the art of parliamentary fencing. When 
 he was at home, he had frequent opportunities 
 of hearing important debates at Westminster ; 
 and he heard them, not only with interest and 
 enjoyment, but with a close scientific attention 
 resembling that with which a diligent pupil at 
 Guy’s Hospital watches every turn of the hand 
 of a great surgeon through a difficult operation. 
 On one of these occasions, Pitt, a youth whose 
 abilities were as yet known only to his own 
 family and to a small knot of college friends, 
 was introduced on the steps of the throne in 
 the House of Lords to Fox, who was his senior 
 by eleven years, and who was already the 
 greatest debater, and one of the greatest 
 orators, that had appeared in England. Fox 
 used afterwards to relate that, as the discussion 
 proceeded, Pitt repeatedly turned to him and 
 said, “ But surely, Mr. Fox, that might be met 
 thus;” or, “Yes; but he lays himself open to 
 this retort.” What the particular criticisms 
 were Fox had forgotten ; but he said that he 
 was much struck at the time by the precocity 
 of a lad who through the whole sitting, seemed 
 to be thinking only how all the speeches on 
 both sides could be answered. 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 2 99 
 
 One of the young man’s visits to the House 
 of Lords was a sad memorable era in his life. 
 He had not quite completed his nineteenth 
 year, when, on the 7th of April, 1778, he at- 
 tended his father to Westminster. A great 
 debate was expected. It was known that 
 France had recognized the independence of 
 the United States. The Duke of Richmond 
 was about to declare his opinion that all 
 thought of subjugating those states ought to be 
 relinquished. Chatham had always maintained 
 that the resistance of the colonies to the mother 
 country w'as justifiable. But he conceived, 
 very erroneously, that on the day on u'hich their 
 independence should be acknowledged the 
 greatness of England w'ould be at an end. 
 Though sinking under the weight of years and 
 infirmities, he determined, in spite of the en- 
 treaties of his family, to be in his place. His 
 son supported him to a seat. The excitement 
 and exertion were too much for the old man. 
 In the very act of addressing the peers, he fell 
 back in convulsions. A few weeks later his 
 corpse was borne, with gloomy pomp from the 
 Painted Chamber to the Abbey. The favorite 
 child and namesake of the deceased statesman 
 followed the coffin as chief mourner, and saw 
 it deposited in the transept where his own was 
 destined to lie. 
 
 His elder brother, now Earl of Chatham, 
 had means sufficient, and barely sufficient, to 
 support the dignity of the peerage. The other 
 members of the family were poorly provided 
 for. William had little more than three hun- 
 dred a year. It was necessary for him to 
 follow a profession. He had already begun to 
 eat his terms. In the spring of 1780 he came 
 of age. He then quitted Cambridge, was 
 called to the bar, took chambers in Lincoln’s 
 Inn, and joined the western circuit. In the 
 autumn of that year a general election took 
 place ; and he offered himself as a candidate 
 for the university ; but he was at the bottom, 
 
3 °° 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 of the poll. It is said that the grave doctors 
 who then sate, robed in scarlet, on the benches 
 of Golgotha, thought it great presumption in 
 so young a man to solicit so high a distinction. 
 He was, however, at the request of a hereditary 
 friend, the Duke of Rutland, brought into 
 Parliament by Sir James Lowther for the 
 borough of Appleby. 
 
 The dangers of the country were at that 
 time such as might well have disturbed even a 
 constant mind. Army after army had been 
 sent in vain against the rebellious colonists of 
 North America. On pitched fields of battle 
 the advantage had been with the disciplined 
 troops of the mother country. But it was not 
 on pitched fields of battle that the event of 
 such a contest could be decided. An armed 
 nation, with hunger and the Atlantic for auxil- 
 iaries, was not to be subjugated. Meanwhile the 
 House of Bourbon, humbled to the dust a few 
 years before by the genius and vigor of Chat- 
 ham, had seized the opportunity of revenge. 
 France and Spain were united against us, and 
 had recently been joined by Holland. The 
 command of the Mediterranean had been for 
 a time lost. The British flag had been scarcely 
 able to maintain itself in the British Channel. 
 The northern powers professed neutrality ; but 
 their neutrality had a menacing aspect. In 
 the East, Hyder had descended on the Carnatic 
 had destroyed the little army of Baillie, and 
 had spread terror even to the the ramparts of 
 Fort St. George. The discontents of Ireland 
 threatened nothing less than civil war. In 
 England the authority of the government had 
 sunk to the lowest point. The King and the 
 House of Commons were alike unpopular. The 
 cry for parliamentary reform was scarcely less 
 loud and vehement than in the autumn of 1830. 
 Formidable associations, headed, not by ordi- 
 nary demagogues, but by men of high rank, 
 stainless character, and distinguished ability, 
 demanded a revision of the representative 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 3°x 
 
 system. The populace, emboldened by the 
 impotence and irresolution of the government, 
 had recently broken loose from all restraint, 
 besieged the chambers of the legislature, hus- 
 tled peers, hunted bishops, attacked the resi- 
 dences of ambassadors, opened prisons, burned 
 and pulled down houses. London had pre- 
 sented during some days the aspect of a city 
 taken by storm and it had been necessary to 
 form a camp among the trees of Saint James’s 
 Park. 
 
 In spite of dangers and difficulties abroad 
 and at home, George the Third, with a firmness 
 which had little affinity with virtue or with wis- 
 dom, persisted in his determination to put down 
 the American rebels by force of arms ; and 
 his ministers submitted their judgment to his. 
 Some of them were probably actuated merely 
 by selfish cupidity ; but their chief, Lord North, 
 a man of high honor, amiable temper, winning 
 manners, lively wit, and excellent talents both 
 for business and for debate, must be. acquitted 
 of all sordid motives. He remained at a post 
 from which he had long wished and had re- 
 peatedly tried to escape, only because he had 
 not sufficient fortitude to resist the entreaties 
 and reproaches of the King, who silenced all 
 arguments by passionately asking whether any 
 gentleman, any man of spirit, could have the 
 heart to desert kind master in the hour of 
 extremity. 
 
 The opposition consisted of two parties 
 which had once been hostile to each other, and 
 which had been very slowly, and, as it soon ap- 
 peared, very imperfectly reconciled, but which 
 at this conjuncture seemed to act together with 
 cordiality. The larger of these parties consisted 
 of the great body of the Whig aristocracy. Its 
 head was Charles, Marquis of Rockingham, a 
 man of sense and virtue, and in wealth and 
 parliamentary interest equalled by very few of 
 the English nobles, but afflicted with a nervous 
 timidity which prevented him from taking a 
 
302 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 prominent part in debate. In the House of 
 Commons, the adherents of Rockingham were 
 led by Fox, whose dissipated habits and ruined 
 fortunes were the talk of the whole town, but 
 whose commanding genius, and whose sweet, 
 generous, and affectionate disposition, extorted 
 the admiration and love of those who most 
 lamented the errors of his private life. Burke, 
 superior to Fox in largeness of comprehen- 
 sion, in extent of knowledge, and splendor 
 of imagination, but less skilled in that kind of 
 logic and in that kind of rhetoric which con- 
 vince and persuade great assemblies, was will- 
 ing to be the lieutenant of a young chief who 
 might have been his son. 
 
 A smaller section of the opposition was com- 
 posed of the old followers of Chatham. At 
 their head was William, Earl of Shelburne, 
 distinguished both as a statesman and as a 
 lover of science and letters. With him were 
 leagued Lord Camden, who had formerly held 
 the Great Seal, and whose integrity, ability, 
 and constitutional knowledge commanded the 
 public respect ; Barrd, an eloquent and acri- 
 monious declaimer ; and Dunning, who had 
 long held the first place at the English Bar. 
 It was to this party that Pitt was naturally 
 attracted. 
 
 On the 26th of February, 1781, he made his 
 first speech, in favor of Burke’s plan of econ- 
 omical reform. Fox stood up at the same 
 moment, but instantly gave away. The lofty 
 yet animated deportment of the young mem- 
 ber, his perfect self-possession, the readiness 
 with which he replied to the orators who had 
 preceded him, the silver tones of his voice, the 
 perfect structure of his unpremeditated sen- 
 tences, astonished and delighted his hearers, 
 Burke, moved even to tears, exclaimed, “ It 
 is not a chip of the old block ; it is the old 
 block itself.” “ Pitt will be one of the first 
 men in Parliament,” said a member of the 
 opposition to Fox. “ He is so already,” an- 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 3°3 
 
 swered Fox, in whose nature envy had no place. 
 It is a curious fact, well remembered by some 
 who were very recently living, that soon after 
 this debate Pitt’s name was put up by Fox at 
 Brookes’s 
 
 On two subsequent occasions during that 
 session Pitt addressed the House, and on both 
 fully sustained the reputation which he had 
 acquired on his first appearance. In the sum- 
 mer, after the prorogation, he again went the 
 western circuit, held several briefs, and ac- 
 quitted himself in such a manner that he was 
 highly complimented by Buller from the bench, 
 and by Dunning at the bar. 
 
 On the 27th of November the Parliament 
 reassembled. Only forty-eight hours before 
 had arrived tidings of the surrender of Corn- 
 wallis and his army ; and it had consequently 
 been necessary to rewrite the royal speech. 
 Every man in the kingdom, except the King, 
 was now convinced that it was mere madness 
 to think of conquering the United States. In 
 the debate on the report of the address, Pitt 
 spoke with even more energy and brilliancy 
 than on any former occasion. He was warmly 
 applauded by his allies ; but it was remarked 
 that no person on his own side of the house 
 was so loud in eulogy as Henry Dundas, the 
 Lord Advocate of Scotland, who spoke from 
 the ministerial ranks. That able and versatile 
 politician distinctly foresaw the approaching 
 downfall of the government with which he was 
 connected, and was preparing to make his own 
 escape from the ruin. From that night dates 
 his connection with Pitt, a connection which 
 soon became a close intimacy, and which 
 lasted till it was dissolved by death. 
 
 About a fortnight later, Pitt spoke in the 
 committee of supply on the army estimates. 
 Symptoms of dissension had begun to appear 
 on the Treasury bench. Lord George Ger- 
 maine, the Secretary of State who was espe- 
 cially charged with the direction of the war in 
 
3°4 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 America, had held language not easily to be 
 reconciled with declarations made by the 
 First Lord of the Treasury. Pitt noticed the 
 discrepancy with much force and keenness. 
 Lord George and Lord North began to whisper 
 together : and Welbore Ellis, an ancient place- 
 man who had been drawing salary almost every 
 quarter since the days of Henry Pelham, bent 
 down between them to put in a word. Such 
 interruptions sometimes discompose veteran 
 speakers. Pitt stopped, and, looking at the 
 group, said, with admirable readiness, “ I shall 
 wait till Nestor has composed the dispute be- 
 tween Agamemnon and Achilles.” 
 
 After several defeats, or victories hardly to 
 be distinguished from defeats, the ministry re- 
 signed. The King, reluctantly and ungraciously 
 consented to accept Rockingham as first 
 minister. Fox and Shelburne became Secre- 
 taries of State. Lord John Cavendish, one of 
 the most upright and honorable of men, was 
 made Chancellor of the Exchequer. Thurlow, 
 whose abilities and force of character had made 
 him the dictator of the House of Lords, con- 
 tinued to hold the great seal. 
 
 To Pitt was offered, through Shelburne, the 
 Vice-Treasurership of Ireland, one of the 
 easiest and most highly paid places in the gift 
 of the Crown ; but the offer was, without hesi- 
 tation, declined. The young statesman had re- 
 solved to accept no post which did not entitle 
 him to a seat in the cabinet : and, a few days 
 later he announced that resolution in the 
 House of Commons. It must be remembered 
 that the cabinet was then a much smaller and 
 more select body than at present. We have 
 seen cabinets of sixteen. In the time of our 
 grandfathers a cabinet of ten or eleven was 
 thought inconveniently large. Seven was an 
 usual number. Even Burke, who had taken 
 the lucrative office of paymaster, was not in 
 the cabinet. Many therefore thought Pitt’s 
 declaration indecent He himself was sorry 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 305 
 
 that he had made it. The words, he said in 
 private, had escaped him in the heat of speak- 
 ing ; and he had no sooner uttered them than 
 he would have given the world to recall them. 
 They, however, did him no harm with the pub- 
 lic. The second William Pitt, it was said, had 
 shown that he had inherited the spirit, as well 
 as the genius, of the first. In the son, as in 
 the father, there might perhaps be too much 
 pride ; but there was nothing low or sordid. 
 It might be called arrogance in a young bar- 
 rister, living in chambers on three hundred a 
 year, to refuse a salary of five thousand a year, 
 merely because he did not choose to bind him- 
 self to speak or vote for plans which he had no 
 share in framing ; but surely such arrogance 
 was not very far removed from virtue. 
 
 Pitt gave a general support to the adminis- 
 tration of Rockingham, but omitted, in the 
 mean time, no opportunity of courting that 
 Ultra-Whig party which the persecution of 
 Wilkes and the Middlesex election had called 
 into existence, and which the disastrous events 
 of the war, and the triumph of republican prin- 
 ciples in America, had made formidable both 
 in numbers and in temper. He supported a 
 motion for shortening the duration of Parlia- 
 ments. He made a motion for a committee to 
 examine into the state of the representation, 
 and, in the speech by which that motion was 
 introduced, avowed himself the enemy of the 
 close boroughs, the strongholds of that corrup- 
 tion to which he attributed all the calamities 
 of the nation, and which, as he phrased it in 
 one of those exact and sonorous sentences of 
 which he had a boundless command, had 
 grown with the growth of England and strength- 
 ened with her strength, but had not diminished 
 with her diminution or decayed with her decay. 
 On this occasion he was supported by Fox. 
 The motion was lost by only twenty votes in a 
 house of more than three hundred members. 
 
306 biographical essays. 
 
 The reformers never again had so good a divis- 
 ion till the year 1831. 
 
 The new administration was strong in abili- 
 ties, and was more popular than any adminis- 
 tration which had held office since the first 
 year of George the Third, but was hated by 
 the King, hesitatingly supported by the Parlia- 
 ment, and torn by internal dissensions. The 
 Chancellor was disliked and distrusted by al- 
 most all his colleagues. The two Secretaries 
 of State regarded each other with no friendly 
 feeling. The line between their departments 
 had not been traced with precision ; and there 
 were consequently jealousies, encroachments 
 and complaints. It was all that Rockingham 
 could do to keep the peace in his cabinet ; 
 and before the cabinet had existed three 
 months, Rockingham died. 
 
 In an instant all was confusion. The ad- 
 herents of the deceased statesman looked on 
 the Duke of Portland as their chief. The 
 King placed Shelburne at the head of the 
 Treasury. Fox, Lord John Cavendish, and 
 Burke, immediately resigned their offices; and 
 the new prime minister was left to constitute a 
 government out of very defective materials. 
 His own parliamentary talents were great ; 
 but he could not be in the place where parlia- 
 mentary talents were most needed. It was 
 necessary to find some member of the House 
 of Commons who could confront the great 
 orators of the opposition ; and Pitt alone had 
 the eloquence and the courage which were re- 
 quired. He was offered the great place of 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer ; and he accepted 
 it. He had scarcely completed his twenty- 
 third year. 
 
 The Parliament was speedily prorogued. 
 During the recess, a negotiation for peace 
 which had been commenced under Rocking- 
 ham was brought to a successful termination. 
 England acknowledged the independence of 
 her revolted colonies; and she ceded to her 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 3 °7 
 
 European enemies some places in the Medi- 
 terranean and in the Gulf of Mexico. But the 
 terms which she obtained were quite as ad- 
 vantageous and honorable as the events of the 
 war entitled her to expect, or as she was likely 
 to obtain by persevering in a contest against 
 immense odds. All her vital parts, all the 
 real sources of her power, remained uninjured. 
 She preserved even her dignity; for she ceded 
 to the House of Bourbon only part of what she 
 had won from that House in previous wars. 
 She retained her Indian empire undiminished ; 
 and, in spite of the mightiest efforts of two 
 great monarchies, her flag still waved on the 
 rock of Gibraltar. There is not the slightest 
 reason to believe that Fox, if he had remained 
 in office, would have hesitated one moment 
 about concluding a treaty on such conditions. 
 Unhappily that great and most amiable man 
 was, at this crisis, hurried by his passions into 
 an error which made his genius and his virtues, 
 during a long course of years, almost useless 
 to his country. 
 
 He saw that the great body of the House of 
 Commons was divided into three parties, his 
 own, that of North, and that of Shelburne ; that 
 none of those three parties was large enough 
 to stand alone ; that, therefore, unless two of 
 them united, there must be a miserablv feeble 
 administration, or, more probably, a rapid suc- 
 cession of miserably feeble administrations, 
 and this at a time when a strong government 
 was essential to the prosperity and respecta- 
 bility of the nation. It was then necessary and 
 right that there should be a coalition. To 
 every possible coalition there were objections. 
 But, of all possible coalitions, that to which 
 there were the fewest objections was undoubt- 
 edly a coalition between Shelburne and Fox. 
 Itwould have been generally applauded by the 
 followers of both. It might have been made 
 without any sacrifice of public principle on the 
 part of either. Unhappily, recent bickerings 
 
308 biographical essays. 
 
 had left in the mind of Fox a profound dislike 
 and distrust of Shelburne. Pitt attempted to 
 mediate, and was authorized to invite Fox to 
 return to the service of the Crown. “ Is Lord 
 Shelburne,” said Fox, “ to remain prime min- 
 ister ? ” Pitt answered in the affirmative. “ It 
 is impossible that I can act under him,” said 
 Fox. “ Then negotiation is at an end,” said 
 Pitt ; “ for I cannot betray him.” Thus the 
 two statesmen parted. They were never again 
 in a private room together. 
 
 As Fox and his friends would not treat with 
 Shelburne, nothing remained to them but to 
 treat with North. That fatal coalition which 
 is emphatically called “ The Coalition ” was 
 formed. Not three-quarters of a year had 
 elapsed since Fox and Burke had threat- 
 ened North with impeachment, and had de- 
 scribed him, night after night, as the most 
 arbitrary, the most corrupt, the most incapable 
 of ministers. They now allied themselves with 
 him for the purpose of driving from office a 
 statesman with whom they cannot be said to 
 have differed as to any important question. Nor 
 had they even the prudence and the patience 
 to wait for some occasion on which they might, 
 without inconsistency, have combined with 
 their old enemies in opposition to the govern- 
 ment. That nothing might be wanting to the 
 scandal, the great orators, who had, during 
 seven years, thundered against the war, deter- 
 mined to join with the authors of that war in 
 passing a vote of censure on the peace. 
 
 The Parliament met before Christmas, 1782, 
 But it was not till January, 1783, that the pre- 
 liminary treaties were signed. On the 17th 
 of February they were taken into consideration 
 by the House of Commons. There had been, 
 during some days, floating rumors that Fox 
 and North had coalesced ; and the debate in- 
 dicated but too clearly that these rumors were 
 not unfounded. Pitt was suffering from indis- 
 position ; he did not rise till his own strength 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 3°9 
 
 and that cf £ his hearers were exhausted ; and 
 he was consequently less successful than on 
 any former occasion. His admirers owned 
 that his speech was feeble and petulant. He 
 so far forgot himself as to advise Sheridan to 
 confine himself to amusing theatrical andiences. 
 This ignoble sarcasm gave Sheridan an oppor- 
 tunity of retorting with great felicity. “ After 
 what I have seen and heard to-night,” he said, 
 “ I really feel strongly tempted to venture on 
 a competition with so great an artist as Ben 
 Jonson, and to bring on the stage a second 
 Angry Boy.” On a division, the address pro- 
 posed by the supporters of the government 
 was rejected by a majority of sixteen. 
 
 But Pitt was not a man to be disheartened 
 by a single failure, or to be put down by the 
 most lively repartee. When, a few days later, 
 the opposition proposed a resolution directly 
 censuring the treaties, he spoke with an elo- 
 quence, energy, and dignity, which raised his 
 fame and popularity higher than ever. To the 
 coalition of Fox and North he alluded in lan- 
 guage which drew forth tumultuous applause 
 from his followers. “ If,” he said, “ this ill- 
 omened and unnatural marriage be not yet con- 
 summated, I know of a just and lawful im- 
 pediment ; and, in the name of the' public weal, 
 I forbid the banns.” 
 
 The ministers were again left in a minority ; 
 and Shelburne consequently tendered his re- 
 signation. It was accepted ; but the King 
 struggled long and hard before he submitted 
 to the terms dictated by Fox, whose faults he 
 detested, and whose high spirit and powerful in- 
 tellect he detested still more. The first place at 
 the board of Treasury was repeatedly offered 
 to Pitt ; but the offer, though tempting, was 
 steadfastly declined. The young man, whose 
 judgment was as precocious as his eloquence, 
 saw that his time was coming, but was not 
 come, was deaf to royal importunities and re- 
 proaches. His Majesty, bitterly complaining 
 
3io 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 of Pitt’s faintheartedness, tried to break the 
 coalition. Every art of seduction was practised 
 on North, but in vain. During several weeks 
 the country remained without a government. 
 It was not till all devices had failed, and till 
 the aspect of the House of Commons became 
 threatening, that the King gave way. The Duke 
 of Portland was declared First Lord of the 
 Treasury. Thurlow was dismissed. Fox and 
 North became Secretaries of State with power 
 ostensibly equal. But Fox was the real prime 
 minister. 
 
 The year was far advanced before the new 
 arrangements were completed; and nothing 
 very important was done during the remainder 
 of the session. Pitt, now seated on the op- 
 position bench, brought the question of parlia- 
 mentary reform a second time under the con- 
 sideration of the Commons. He proposed to 
 add to the House at once a hundred county 
 members and several members for metropolitan 
 districts, and to enact that every borough of 
 which an election committee should report that 
 the majority of voters appeared to be corrupt 
 should lose the franchise. The motion was 
 rejected by 293 votes to 149. 
 
 After the prorogation, Pitt visit the Continent 
 for the first and last time. His travelling com- 
 panion was one of his most intimate friends, a 
 young man of his own age, who had already 
 distinguished himself in Parliament by an en- 
 gaging and natural eloquence, set off by the 
 sweetest and most exquisitely modulated of 
 human voices, and whose affectionate heart, 
 caressing manners, and brilliant wit, made him 
 the most delightful of companions, William 
 Wilberforce. That was the time of Anglomania 
 in France ; and at Paris the son of the great 
 Chatham was absolutely hunted by men of 
 letters and women of fashion, and forced, much 
 against his will, into political disputation. One 
 remarkable saying which dropped from him 
 during this tour has been preserved. A French 
 
WILLIAM PLTT. 
 
 
 gentleman expressed some surprise at the im- 
 mense influence which Fox, a man of pleasure, 
 ruined by the dice-box and the turf, exercised 
 over the English nation. “ You have not,” 
 said Pitt, “ been under the wand of the magi- 
 cian.” 
 
 In November, 1783, the Parliament met again. 
 The government had irresistible strength in the 
 House of Commons, and seemed to be scarcely 
 less strong in the House of Lords, but was, in 
 truth, surrounded on every side by dangers. 
 The King was impatiently waiting for the mo- 
 ment at which he could emancipate himself 
 from a yoke which galled him so severely that 
 he had more than once seriously thought of 
 retiring to Hanover ; and the King was scarcely 
 more eager for a change than the nation. Fox 
 and North had committed a fatal error. They 
 ought to have known that coalitions between 
 parties which have long been hostile can succeed 
 only when the wish for coalition pervades the 
 lower ranks of both. If the leaders unite 
 before there is any disposition to union among 
 the followers, the probability is that there will 
 be a mutiny in both camps, and that the two 
 revolted armies will make a truce with each 
 other, in order to be revenged on those by 
 whom they think that they have been betrayed. 
 Thus it was in 1783. At the beginning of that 
 eventful year, North had been the recognized 
 head of the old Tory party, which though for a 
 moment prostrated by the disastrous issue of 
 the American war, was still a great power in 
 the state. To him the clergy, the universities, 
 and that large body of country gentlemen whose 
 rallying cry was “ Church and King,” had long 
 looked up with respect and confidence. Fox 
 had, on the other hand, been the idol of the 
 Whigs, and of the whole body of Protestant 
 dissenters. The coalition at once alienated 
 the most zealous Tories from North, and the 
 most zealous Whigs from Fox. The University 
 of Oxford, which had marked its opprobation 
 
3 12 
 
 biogra /v//< i r, r.ssA i 'S. 
 
 of North’s orthodoxy by electing him chancellor, 
 the City of London, which had been during two 
 and twenty years at war with the Court, were 
 equally disgusted. Squires and rectors who 
 had inherited the principles of the cavaliers of 
 the preceding century, could not forgive their 
 old leader for combining with disloyal subjects 
 in order to put a force on the sovereign. The 
 members of the Bill of Rights Society and 
 of the Reform Associations were enraged by 
 learning that their favorite orator now called 
 the great champion of tyranny and corruption 
 his noble friend. Two great multitudes were at 
 once left without any head, and both at once 
 turned their eyes on Pitt. One party saw in 
 him the only man who could rescue the King; 
 the other saw in him the only man who could' 
 purify the Parliament. He was supported on; 
 one side by Archbishop Markham, the preacher 
 of divine right, and by Jenkinson the captain 
 of the Praetorian band of the King’s friends ; 
 on the other side by Jebb and Priestley, Saw- 
 bridge and Cartwright, Jack Wilkes and Horne 
 Tooke. On the benches of the House of 
 Commons, however, the ranks of the ministerial 
 majority were unbroken ; and that any states- 
 man would venture to brave such a majority 
 was thought impossible. No prince of the 
 Hanoverian line had ever, under any provoca- 
 tion, ventured to appeal from the representative 
 body to the constituent body. The ministers, 
 therefore, notwithstanding the sullen looks and 
 muttered words of displeasure with which their 
 suggestions were received in the closet, not- 
 withstanding the roar of obloquy which was 
 rising louder and louder every day from every 
 corner of the island, thought themselves secure. 
 
 Such was their confidence in their strength 
 that, as soon as the Parliament had met, they 
 brought forward a singularly bold and original 
 plan for the government of the British terri- 
 tories in India. What was proposed was that 
 the whole authority, which till that time had 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 313 
 
 been exercised over those territories by the 
 East India Company, should be transferred to 
 seven Commissioners who were to be named 
 by Parliament, and were not to be removable 
 at the pleasure of the Crown. Earl Fitzwilliam, 
 the most intimate personal friend of Fox, was 
 to be chairman of this board ; and the eldest 
 son of North was to be one of the members. 
 
 As soon as the outlines of the scheme were 
 known, all the hatred which the coalition had 
 excited burst forth with an astounding ex- 
 plosion. The question which ought undoubtedly 
 to have been considered as paramount to every 
 other was, whether the proposed change was 
 likely to be beneficial or injurious to the thirty 
 millions of people who were subject to the 
 Company. But that question cannot be said to 
 have been even seriously discussed. Burke, 
 who, whether right or wrong in the conclusions 
 to which he came, had at least the merit of look- 
 ing at the subject in the right point of view, 
 vainly reminded his hearers of that mighty 
 population whose daily rice might depend on a 
 vote of the British Parliament. He spoke, 
 with even more than his wonted power of 
 thought and language, about the desolation of 
 Rohlicund, about the spoliation of Benares, 
 about the evil policy which had suffered the 
 tanks of the Carnatic to go to ruin ; but he 
 could scarcely obtain a hearing. The contend- 
 ing parties, to their shame it must be said, 
 would listen to none but English topics. Out 
 of doors the cry against the ministry was 
 almost universal. Town and country were 
 united. Corporations exclaimed against the 
 violation of the charter of the greatest corpora- 
 tion in the realm. Tories and democrats 
 joined in pronouncing the proposed board an 
 unconstitutional body. It was to consist of 
 Fox’s nominees. The effect of this bill was to 
 give, not to the Crown, but to him personally, 
 whether in office or in opposition, an enormous 
 power, a patronage sufficient to counterbalance 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 3*4 
 
 the patronage of the Treasury and of the 
 Admiralty, and to decide the elections for fifty 
 boroughs. He knew, it was said, he was hate- 
 ful alike to King and people ; and he had 
 devised a plan which would make him indepen- 
 dent of both. Some nicknamed him Cromwell, 
 and some Carlo Khan. Wilberforce, with his 
 usual felicity of expression, and with very 
 unusual bitterness of feeling, described the 
 scheme as the genuine offspring of the coalition, 
 as marked with the features of both its parents, 
 the corruption of one and the violence of the 
 other. In spite of all opposition, however, the 
 bill was supported in every stage by great 
 majorities, was rapidly passed and was sent 
 up to the Lords. To the general astonish- 
 ment, when the second reading was moved in 
 the Upper House, the opposition proposed an 
 adjournment, and carried it by eighty-seven 
 votes to seventy-nine. The cause of this 
 strange turn of fortune was soon known. Pitt’s 
 cousin, Earl Temple, had been in the royal 
 closet, and had there been authorized to let it 
 be known that His Majesty would consider all 
 who voted for the bill as his enemies. The 
 ignominious commission was performed ; and 
 instantly a troop of Lords of the Bedchamber, 
 of Bishops who wished to be translated, and of 
 Scotch peers who wished to be re-elected, made 
 haste to change sides. On a later day, the 
 Lords rejected the bill. Fox and North were 
 immediately directed to send their seals to the 
 palace by their Under Secretaries; and Pitt 
 was appointed First Lord of the Treasury and 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer. 
 
 The general opinion was, that there would 
 be immediate dissolution. But Pitt wisely 
 determined to give the public feeling time to 
 gather strength. On this point he differed 
 from his kinsman Temple. The consequence 
 was, that Temple, who had been appointed one 
 of the Secretaries of State, resigned his office 
 forty-eight hours after he had accepted it, and 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 3*5 
 
 thus relieved the new government from a great 
 load of unpopularity ; for all men of sense and 
 honor, however strong might be their dislike of 
 the India bill, disapproved of the manner in 
 which that bill had been thrown out. Temple 
 carried away with him the scandal which the 
 best friends of the new government could not 
 but lament. The fame of the young prime 
 minister preserved its whiteness. He could 
 declare with perfect truth that, if unconstitu- 
 tional machinations had been employed, he had 
 been no party to them. 
 
 He was, however, surrounded by difficulties 
 and dangers. In the House of Lords, indeed, 
 he had a majority ; nor could any orator of the 
 opposition in that assembly be considered a 
 match for Thurlow, who was now again Chan- 
 cellor, or for Camden, who cordially supported 
 the son of his old friend Chatham. But in the 
 other House there was not a single eminent 
 speaker among the official men who sate round 
 Pitt. His most useful assistant was Dundas, 
 who, though he had not eloquence, had sense, 
 knowledge, readiness, and boldness. On the 
 opposite benches was a powerful majority, led 
 by Fox, who was supported by Burke, North 
 and Sheridan. The heart of the young minister, 
 stout at it was, almost died within him. He 
 could not once close his eyes on the night 
 which followed Temple’s resignation. But, 
 whatever his internal emotions might be, his 
 language and deportment indicated nothing 
 but unconquerable firmness and haughty con- 
 fidence in his own powers. His contest against 
 the House of Commons lasted from the 17th of 
 December, 1783, to the 8th of March, 1784. 
 In sixteen divisions the opposition triumphed. 
 Again and again the King was requested to 
 dismiss his ministers. Bnt he was determined 
 to go to Germany rather than yield. Pitt’s res- 
 olution never wavered. The cry of the nation 
 in his favor became vehement and almost 
 furious. Addresses assuring him of public 
 
3 1 6 BIOGRAPHICAL ESS A KS. 
 
 support came up daily from every part of the 
 kingdom. The freedom of the city of London 
 was presented to him in a gold box. He went 
 in state to receive this mark of distinction. He 
 was sumptuously feasted in Grocers’ Hall ; 
 and the shopkeepers of the Strand and Fleet 
 street illuminated their houses in his honor. 
 These things could not but produce an effect 
 within the walls of Parliament. The ranks of 
 the majority began to waver ; a few passed 
 over to the enemy ; some skulked away ; many 
 were for capitulating while it was still possible 
 to capitulate with the honors of war. Negoti- 
 ations were opened with the view of forming an 
 administration on a wide basis ; but they had 
 scarcely been opened when they were closed. 
 The opposition demanded, as a preliminary 
 article of the treaty, that Pitt should resign the 
 Treasury ; and with this demand Pitt steadfastly 
 refused to comply. While the contest was 
 raging, the Clerkship of the Pells, a sinecure 
 place for life, worth three thousand a year, and 
 tenable with a seat in the House of Commons, 
 became vacant. The appointment was with the 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer : nobody doubted 
 that he would appoint himself, and nobody 
 could have blamed him if he had done so : for 
 such sinecure offices had always been defended 
 on the ground that they enabled a few men of 
 eminent abilities and small incomes to live 
 without any profession, and to devote them- 
 selves to the service of the state. Pitt, in spite 
 of the remonstrances of his friends, gave the 
 Pells to his father’s old adherent, Colonel 
 Barrb, a man distinguished by talent and elo- 
 quence, but poor and afflicted with blindness. 
 By this arrangement a pension which the 
 Rockingham administration had granted to 
 Barrd was saved to the public. Never was 
 there a happier stroke of policy. About treaties, 
 wars, expeditions, tariffs, budgets, there will 
 always be room for dispute. The policy which 
 is applauded by half the nation may be con- 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 3 1 7 
 
 demned by the other half. But pecuniary dis- 
 interestedness everybody comprehends. It is 
 a great thing for a man who has only three 
 hundred a year to be able to show that he con- 
 siders three thousand a year as mere dirt be- 
 neath his feet, when compared with the public 
 interest and the public esteem. Pitt had his 
 reward. No minister was ever more rancor- 
 ously libelled ; but, even when he was known 
 to be overwhelmed with debt, when millions 
 were passing through his hands, when the 
 wealthiest magnates of the realm were solicit- 
 ing him for marquisates and garters, his 
 bitterest enemies did not dare to accuse him 
 of touching unlawful gain. 
 
 At length the hard fought battle ended. A 
 final remonstrance, drawn up by Burke with 
 admirable skill, was carried on the 8th of 
 March by a single vote in a full House. Had 
 the experiment been repeated, the supporters 
 of the coalition would probably have been in a 
 minority. But the supplies had been voted ; 
 the Mutiny Bill had been passed ; and the 
 Parliament was dissolved. 
 
 The popular constituent bodies all over the 
 country were in general enthusiastic on the 
 side of the new government. A hundred and 
 sixty supporters of the coalition lost their seats. 
 The First Lord of the Treasury himself came 
 in at the head of the poll for the University of 
 Cambridge. His young friend, Wilberforce, 
 was elected knight of the great shire of York, 
 in opposition to the whole influence of the 
 Fitzwilliams, Cavendishes, Dundases, and Sav- 
 iles. In the midst of such triumphs Pitt 
 completed his twenty-fifth year. He was now 
 the greatest subject that England had seen 
 during many generations. He domineered ab- 
 solutely over the cabinet, and was the favorite 
 at once of the Sovereign, of the Parliament, 
 and of the nation. His father had never been 
 so powerful, nor Walpole, nor Marlborough. 
 
 This narrative has now reached a point, be- 
 
318 biographical essays. 
 
 yoncl which a full history of the life of Pitt 
 would be a history of England, or rather of the 
 whole civilized world ; and for such a history 
 this is not the proper place. Here a very 
 slight sketch must suffice ; and in that sketch 
 prominence will be given to such points as may 
 enable a reader who is already acquainted with 
 the general course of events to form a just 
 notion of the character of the man on whom 
 so much depended. 
 
 If we wish to arrive at a correct judgment of 
 Pitt’s merits and defects, we must never forget 
 that he belonged to a peculiar class of states- 
 men, and that he must be tried by a peculiar 
 standard. It is not easy to compare him fairly 
 with such men as Ximenes and Sully, Richelieu 
 and Oxenstiern, John de Witt and Warren 
 Hastings. The means by which those politicians 
 governed great communities were of quite a 
 different kind from those which Pitt was under 
 the necessity of employing. Some talents, 
 which they never had any opportunity of show- 
 ing that they possessed, were developed in him 
 to an extraordinary degree. In some qualities, 
 on the other hand, to which they owe a large 
 part of their fame, he was decidedly their in- 
 ferior. They transacted business in their 
 closets, or at boards where a few confidential 
 councillors sate. It was his lot to be born in 
 an age and in a country in which parliamentary 
 government was completely established ; his 
 whole training from infancy was such as fitted 
 him to bear a part in parliamentary govern- 
 ment; and from the prime of his manhood to 
 his death, all the powers of his vigorous mind 
 were almost constantly exerted in the work of 
 parliamentary government. He accordingly 
 became the greatest master of the whole art 
 of parlimentary government that has ever ex- 
 isted, a greater than Montague or Walpole, a 
 greater than his father Chatham or his rival 
 Fox, a greater than either of his illustrious 
 successors, Canning and Peel, 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 319 
 
 Parliamentary government, like every other 
 contrivance of man, has its advantages and 
 its disadvantages. On the advantages there 
 is no need to dilate. The history of England 
 during the hundred and seventy years which 
 have elapsed since the House of Commons be- 
 came the most powerful body in the state, her 
 immense and still growing prosperity, her 
 freedom, her tranquillity, her greatness in arts, 
 in sciences, and in arms, her maritime ascen- 
 dency, the marvels of her public credit, her 
 American, her African, her Australian, her 
 Asiatic empires, sufficiently prove the excel- 
 lence of her institutions. But those institutions, 
 though excellent, are assuredly not perfect. 
 Parliamentary government is government by 
 speaking. In such a government, the power 
 of speaking is the most highly prized of all the 
 qualities which a politician can possess ; and 
 that power may exist, in the highest degree, 
 without judgment, without fortitude, without 
 skill in reading the characters of men or the 
 signs of the times, without any knowledge of 
 the principles of legislation or political economy 
 and without any skill in diplomacy or in the 
 administration of war. Nay, it may well happen 
 that those very intellectual qualities which give 
 a peculiar charm to the speeches of a public 
 man may be incompatible with the qualities 
 which would fit him to meet a pressing emer- 
 gency with promptitude and firmness. It was 
 thus with Charles Townshend. It was thus 
 with Windham. It was a privilege to listen to 
 those accomplished and ingenious orators. 
 But in a perilous crisis they would have been 
 found far inferior in all the qualities of rulers 
 to such a man as Oliver Cromwell, who talked 
 nonsense, or as William the Silent, who did 
 not talk at all. When parliamentary govern- 
 ment is established, a Charles Townshend or a 
 Windham will almost always exercise much 
 greater influence than such men as the great 
 Protector of England, or as the founder of the 
 
3 20 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 Batavian commonwealth. In such a govern- 
 ment, parliamentary talent, though quite dis- 
 tinct from the talents of a good executive or 
 judicial officer, will be a chief qualification for 
 executive and judicial office. From the Book of 
 Dignities a curious list might be made out of 
 Chancellors ignorant of the principles of equity, 
 and First Lords of the Admiralty ignorant of the 
 principles of navigation, of Colonial ministers 
 who could not repeat the names of the Colonies, 
 of Lords of the Treasury who did not know the 
 difference between funded and unfunded debt, 
 and of Secretaries of the India Board who did 
 not know whether the Mahrattas were Ma- 
 hometans or Hindoos. On these grounds, 
 some persons, incapable of seeing more than 
 one side of a question, have pronounced par- 
 liamentary government a positive evil, and 
 have maintained that the administration would 
 be greatly improved if the power, now exercised 
 by a large assembly, were transferred to a 
 single person. Men of sense will probably 
 think the remedy very much worse than the 
 disease, and will be of opinion that there would 
 be small gain in exchanging Charles Towns- 
 hend and Windham for the Prince of the Peace, 
 or the poor slave and dog Steenie. 
 
 Pitt was emphatically the man of parliamen- 
 tary government, the type of his class, the 
 minion, the child, the spoiled child, of the 
 House of Commons. For the House of Com- 
 mons he had a hereditary, an infantine love. 
 Through his whole boyhood, the House of Com- 
 mons was never out of his thoughts, or out of 
 the thoughts of his instructors. Reciting at 
 his father’s knee, reading Thucydides and 
 Cicero into English, analyzing the great Attic 
 speeches on the Embassy and on the Crown, 
 he was constantly in training for the conflicts 
 of the House of Commons. He was a dis- 
 tinguished member of the House of Commons 
 at twenty-one. The ability which he had dis- 
 played in the House of Commons made him 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 321 
 
 the most powerful subject in Europe before he 
 was twenty-five. It would have been happy 
 for himself and for his country if his elevation 
 had been deferred. Eight or ten years, during 
 which he would have had leisure and oppor- 
 tunity for reading and reflection, for foreign 
 travel, for social intercourse and free exchange 
 of thought on equal terms with a great variety 
 of companions, would have supplied what, 
 without any fault on his part, was wanting to 
 his powerful intellect. He had all the knowl- 
 edge that he could be expected to have ; that 
 is to say, all the knowledge that a man can ac- 
 quire while he is a student at Cambridge, and 
 all the knowledge that a man can acquire When 
 he is First Lord of the Treasury and Chancel- 
 lor of the Exchequer. But the stock of general 
 information which he brought from college, 
 extraordinary for a boy, was far inferior to what 
 Fox possessed, and beggarly when compared 
 with the massy, the splendid, the various 
 treasures laid up in the large mind of Burke. 
 After Pitt became minister, he had no leisure 
 to learn more than was necessary for the pur- 
 poses of the day which was passing over him. 
 What was necessary for those purposes such a 
 man could learn with little difficulty. He 
 was surrounded by experienced and able public 
 servants. He could at any moment command 
 their best assistance. From the stores which 
 they produced his vigorous mind rapidly col- 
 lected the materials for a good parliamentary 
 case : and that was enough. Legislation and 
 administration were with him secondary mat- 
 ters. To the work of framing statutes, of 
 negotiating treaties, of organizing fleets and 
 armies, of sending forth expeditions, he gave 
 only the leavings of his time and the dregs of 
 his fine intellect. The strength and sap of his 
 mind were all drawn in a different direction. 
 It was when the House of Commons was to be 
 convinced and persuaded that he put forth all 
 his powers. 
 
322 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 Of those powers we must form our estimate 
 chiefly from tradition ; for of all the eminent 
 speakers of the last age Pitt has suffered most 
 from the reporters. Even while he was still 
 living, critics remarked that his eloquence could 
 not be preserved, that he must be heard to be 
 appreciated. They more than once applied 
 to him the sentence in which Tacitus describes 
 the fate of a senator whose rhetoric was ad- 
 mired in the Augustan age : “ Haterii canorum 
 illud et profluens cum ipso simul exstinctum 
 est.” There is, however, abundant evidence 
 that nature had bestowed on Pitt the talents 
 of a great orator; and those talents had been 
 developed in a very peculiar manner, first by 
 his education, and secondly by the high official 
 position to which he rose early, and in which 
 he passed the greater part of his public life. 
 
 At his first appearance in Parliament he 
 showed himself superior to all his contempo- 
 raries in command of language. He could 
 pour forth a long succession of round and 
 stately periods without premeditation, without 
 ever pausing for a word, without ever repeating 
 a word, in a voice of silver clearness, and with 
 a pronunciation so articulate that not a letter 
 was slurred over. He had less amplitude of 
 mind and less richness of imagination than 
 Burke, less ingenuity than Windham, less wit 
 than Sheridan, less perfect mastery of dialecti- 
 cal fence, and less of that highest sort of 
 eloquence which consists of reason and passion 
 fused together, than Fox. Yet the almost un- 
 animous judgment of those who were in the 
 habit of listening to that remarkable race of 
 men placed Pitt, as a speaker, above Burke, 
 above Windham, above Sheridan, and not be- 
 low Fox. His declamation was copious, 
 polished, and splendid. In power of sarcasm 
 he was probably not surpassed by any speaker, 
 ancient or modern ; and of this formidable 
 weapon he made merciless use. In two parts 
 of the ora.orical art which are of the highest 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 323 
 
 value to a minister of state he was singularly 
 expert. No man knew better how to be 
 luminous or how to be obscure. When he 
 wished to be understood, he never failed to 
 make himself understood, He could with ease 
 present to his audience, not perhaps an exact 
 or profound, but a clear, popular, and plausi- 
 ble view of the most extensive and compli- 
 cated subject. Nothing was out of place ; 
 nothing was forgotten ; minute details, dates, 
 sums of money, -were all faithfully preserved 
 in his memory. Even intricate questions of 
 finance, when explained by him, seemed clear 
 to the plainest man among his hearers. On 
 the other hand, when he did not wish to be 
 explicit, — and no man who is at the head of 
 affairs always wishes to be explicit, — he had a 
 marvellous power of saying nothing in language 
 which left on his audience the impression that 
 he had said a great deal. He was at once 
 the only man who could open a budget without 
 notes, and the only man who, as Windham 
 said, could speak that most elaborately evasive 
 and unmeaning of human compositions, a 
 King’s speech, without premeditation. 
 
 The effect of oratory will always to a great 
 extent depend on the character of the orator. 
 There perhaps never were two speakers whose 
 eloquence had more of what may be called the 
 race, more of the flavor imparted by moral 
 qualities, than Fox and Pitt. The speeches of 
 Fox owe a great part of their charm to that 
 warmth and softness of heart, that sympathy 
 with human suffering, that admiration for 
 everything great and beautiful, and that hatred 
 of cruelty and injustice, which interest and 
 delight us even in the most defective reports. 
 No person, on the other hand, could hear Pitt 
 without perceiving him to be a man of high, 
 intrepid, and commanding spirit, proudly con- 
 scious of his own rectitude and of his own intel- 
 lectual superiority, incapable of the low vices 
 of fear and envy, but too prone to feel and to. 
 
324 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 show disdain. Pride, indeed, pervaded the 
 whole man, was written in the harsh, rigid 
 lines of his face, was marked by the way in 
 which he walked, in which he sate, in which he 
 stood, and, above all, in which he bowed. 
 Such pride, of course, inflicted many wounds. 
 It may confidently be affirmed that there can- 
 not be found, in all the ten thousand invectives 
 written against Fox, a word indicating that his 
 demeanor had ever made a single personal 
 enemy. On the other hand, several men of 
 note who had been partial to Pitt, and who to 
 the last continued to approve his public con- 
 duct and to support his administration, Cum- 
 berland, for example, Boswell, and Matthias, 
 were so much irritated, by the contempt with 
 which he treated them, that they complained 
 in print of their wrongs. But his pride, 
 though it made him bitterly disliked by individ- 
 uals, inspired the great body of 'his followers 
 in Parliament and throughout the country with 
 respect and confidence. They took him at 
 his own valuation. They saw that his self- 
 esteem was not that of an upstart, who was 
 drunk with good luck and with applause, and 
 who, if fortune turned, wonld sink from arro- 
 gance into abject humility. It was that of the 
 magnanimous man so finely described by Aris- 
 totle in the Ethics, of the man who thinks him- 
 self worthy of great things, being in truth wor- 
 thy. It sprang from a consciousness of great 
 powers and great virtues, and was never so 
 conspicuously displayed as in the midst of 
 difficulties and dangers which would have un- 
 nerved and bowed bown any ordinary mind. 
 It was closely connected, too, with an ambi- 
 tion which had no mixture of low cupidity. 
 There was something noble in the cynical dis- 
 dain with which the mighty minister scattered 
 riches and titles to right and left among those 
 who valued them, while he spurned them out 
 of his own way. Poor himself, he was sur- 
 rounded by friends on whom he had bestowed 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 3 2 5 
 
 three thousand, six thousand, ten thousand a 
 year. Plain Mister himself, he had made 
 more lords than any three ministers that had 
 preceded him. The garter, for which the 
 first dukes in the kingdom were contending, 
 was repeatedly offered to him, and offered in 
 vain. 
 
 The correctness of his private life added 
 much to the dignity of his public character. 
 In the relations of son, brother, uncle, master, 
 friend, his conduct was exemplary. In the 
 small circle of his intimate associates, he was 
 amiable, affectionate, even playful. They 
 loved him sincerely ; they regretted him long 
 and they would hardly admit that he who was 
 so kind and gentle with them could be stern 
 and haughty with others. He indulged, indeed, 
 somewhat too freely in wine, which he had 
 early been directed to take as a medicine, and 
 which use had made a necessary of life to him. 
 But it was very seldom that any indication of 
 undue excess could be detected in his tones or 
 gestures ; and, in truth, two bottles of port were 
 little more to him than two dishes of tea. He 
 had, when he was first introduced into the 
 clubs of Saint James’s Street, shown a strong 
 taste for play ; but he had the prudence and 
 the resolution to stop before this taste had ac- 
 quired the strength of habit. From the passion 
 which generally exercises the most tyrannical 
 dominion over the young he possessed an im- 
 munity, which is probably to be ascribed partly to 
 his temperament and partly to his situation. His 
 constitution was feeble ; he was very shy ; and 
 he was very busy. The strictness of his mor- 
 als furnished such buffoons as Peter Pindar 
 and Captain Morris with an inexhaustible theme 
 for merriment of no very delicate kind. But 
 the great body of the middle class of English- 
 men could not see the joke. They warmly 
 praised the young statesman for commanding 
 his passions, and for covering his frailties, 
 if he had frailties, with decorous obscurity, 
 
BIO G BA miC A L ESSAYS. 
 
 326 
 
 and would have been very far indeed from 
 thinking better of him if he had vindicated 
 himself from the taunts of his enemies by tak- 
 ing under his protection a Nancy Parsons or a 
 Marianne Clark. 
 
 No part of the immense popularity which 
 Pitt long enjoyed is to be attributed to the 
 eulogies of wits and poets. It might have been 
 naturally expected that a man of genius, of 
 learning, of taste, an orator whose diction was 
 often compared to that of Tully, the repre- 
 sentative, too, of a great university, would have 
 taken a peculiar pleasure in befriending emi- 
 nent writers, to whatever political party they 
 might have belonged. The love of literature 
 had induced Augustus to heap benefits on 
 Pompeians, Somers to be the protector of non- 
 jurors, Harley to make the fortunes of Whigs. 
 But it could not move Pitt to show any favor 
 even to Pittites. He was doubtless right in 
 thinking that, in general, poetry, history and 
 philosophy ought to be suffered, like calico 
 and cutlery, to find their proper price in the 
 market, and that to teach men of letters 
 to look habitually to the state for their 
 recompense is bad for the state and bad 
 for letters. Assuredly nothing can be more 
 absurd or mischievous than to waste the public 
 money in bounties for the purpose of inducing 
 people who ought to be weighing out grocery 
 or measuring out drapery to write bad or mid- 
 dling books. But, though the sound rule is 
 that authors should be left to be remunerated 
 by their readers, there will, in every genera- 
 tion, be a few exceptions to this rule. To dis- 
 tinguish these special cases from the mass is 
 an employment well worthy of the faculties of 
 a great and accomplished ruler ; and Pitt would 
 assuredly have had little difficulty in finding 
 such cases. While he was in power, the great- 
 est philologist of the age, his own contemporary 
 at Cambridge, was reduced to earn a livelihood 
 by the lowest literary drudgery, and spend in 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 327 
 
 writing squibs for the Morning Chronicle years 
 to which we might have owed an all but perfect 
 text of the whole tragic and comic drama of 
 Athens. The greatest historian of the age, 
 forced by poverty to leave his country, com- 
 pleted his immortal work on the shores of Lake 
 Leman. The political heterodoxy of Porson, 
 and the religious heterodoxy of Gibbon, may 
 perhaps be pleaded in defence of the minister 
 by whom those eminent men were neglected. 
 But there were other cases in which no such ex- 
 cuse could be set up. Scarcely had Pitt obtained 
 possession of unbounded power when an aged 
 writer of the highest eminence, who had made 
 very little by his writings, and who was sinking 
 into the grave under a load of infirmities and 
 sorrows, wanted five or six hundred pounds to 
 enable him, during the winter or two which 
 might still remain to him, to draw his breath 
 more easily in the soft climate of Italy. Not a 
 farthing was to be obtained ; and before Christ- 
 mas the author of the English Dictionary and 
 of the Lives of the Poets had gasped his last in 
 the river fog and coal smoke of Fleet Street. 
 A few months after the death of Johnson ap- 
 peared the Task, incomparably the best poem 
 that any Englishman then living had produced 
 — a poem, too, which could hardly fail to excite 
 in a well constituted mind a feeling of esteem 
 and compassion for the poet, a man of genius 
 and virtue, whose means were scanty, and 
 whom the most cruel of all the calamities inci- 
 dent to humanity had made incapable of sup- 
 porting himself by vigorous and sustained ex- 
 ertion. Nowhere had Chatham been praised 
 with more enthusiasm, or in verse more worthy 
 of the subject, than in the Task. The son of 
 Chatham, however, contented himself with 
 reading and admiring the book, and left the 
 author to starve. The pension which, long 
 after, enabled poor Cowper to close his melan- 
 choly life, unmolested by duns and bailiffs, 
 was obtained for him by the strenuous kindness 
 
32 g BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 of Lord Spencer. What a contrast between 
 the way in which Pitt acted towards Johnson 
 and the way in which Lord Grey acted towards 
 his political enemy Scott, when Scott, worn out 
 by misfortune and disease, was advised to try 
 the effect of the Italian air! What a contrast 
 between the way in which Pitt acted towards 
 Cowper and the way in which Burke, a poor 
 man and out of place, acted towards Crabbe ! 
 Even Dundas, who made no pretensions to lit- 
 erary taste, and was content to be considered 
 as a hard-headed and somewhat coarse man of 
 business, was, when compared with his eloquent 
 and classically educated friend, a Maecenas or 
 a Leo. Dundas made Burns an exciseman, 
 with seventy pounds a year ; and this was more 
 than Pitt, during his long tenure of power, did 
 for the encouragement of letters. Even those 
 who may think that it is, in general, no part of 
 the duty of a government to reward literary 
 merit will hardly deny that a government, which 
 has much lucrative church preferment in its gift, 
 is bound, in distributing that preferment, not to 
 overlook divines whose writings have rendered 
 great service to the cause of religion. But it 
 seems never to have occurred to Pitt that he 
 lay under any such obligation. All the theo- 
 logical works of all the numerous bishops 
 whom he made and translated are not, when 
 put together, worth fifty pages of the Horae 
 Paulinas, of the Natural Theology, or of the 
 View of the Evidences of Christianity. But on 
 Paley the all-powerful minister never bestowed 
 the smallest benefice. Artists Pitt treated as 
 contemptuously as writers. For painting he 
 did simply nothing. Sculptors, who had been 
 selected to execute monuments voted by Par- 
 liament, had to haunt the ante-chambers of the 
 Treasury during many years before they could 
 obtain a farthing from him. One of them, 
 after vainly soliciting the minister for payment 
 during fourteen years, had the courage to pre- 
 sent a memorial to the King, and thus obtained 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 3 29 
 
 tardy and ungracious justice. Architects it 
 was absolutely necessary to employ ; and the 
 worst that could be found seem to have been 
 employed. Not a single fine public building of 
 any kind or in any style was erected during his 
 long administration. It may be confidently 
 affirmed that no ruler whose abilities and at- 
 tainments would bear any comparison with his 
 has ever shown such cold disdain for what is 
 excellent in arts and letters. 
 
 His first administration lasted seventeen 
 years. That long period is divided by a 
 strongly marked line into two almost exactly 
 equal parts. The first part ended and the sec- 
 ond began in the autumn of 1792. Through- 
 out both parts Pitt displayed in the highest 
 degree the talents of a parliamentary leader. 
 During the first part he was a fortunate and, 
 in many respects, a skilful administrator. 
 With the difficulties which he had to encounter 
 during the second part he was altogether inca- 
 pable of contending ; but his eloquence and his 
 perfect mastery of the tactics of the House of 
 Commons concealed his incapacity from the 
 multitude. 
 
 The eight years which followed the general 
 election of 1784 were as tranquil and prosper- 
 ous as any eight years in the whole history of 
 England. Neighboring nations which had lately 
 been in arms against her, and which had flat- 
 tered themselves that in losing her American 
 colonies, she had lost a chief source of her 
 wealth and of her power, saw with wonder and 
 vexation, that she was more wealthy and more 
 powerful than ever. Her trade increased. 
 Her manufactures flourished. Her exchequer 
 was full to overflowing. Very idle apprehen- 
 sions were generally entertained, that the pub- 
 lic debt, though much less than a third of the 
 debt which we now bear with ease, would be 
 found too heavy for the strength of the nation. 
 Those apprehensions might not perhaps have 
 been easily quieted by reason. But Pitt qui- 
 
33 ° 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 eted them by a juggle. He succeeded in per* 
 suading first himself, and then the whole na- 
 tion, his opponents included, that a new sink- 
 ing fund, which, so far as it differed from 
 former sinking funds, differed for the worse, 
 would, by virtue of some mysterious power of 
 propagation belonging to money, put into the 
 pocket of the public creditor great sums not 
 taken out of the pocket of the tax-payer. The 
 country, terrified by a danger which was no 
 danger, hailed with delight and boundless con- 
 fidence a remedy which was no remedy. The 
 minister was almost universally extolled as the 
 greatest of financiers. Meanwhile both the 
 branches of the House of Bourbon found that 
 England was as formidable an antagonist as 
 she had ever been. France had formed a plan 
 for reducing Holland to vassalage. But Eng- 
 land interposed ; and France receded. Spain 
 interrupted by violence the trade of our mer- 
 chants with the regions near the Oregon. But 
 England armed ; and Spain receded. Within 
 the island there was profound tranquillity. 
 The King was, for the first time, popular. 
 During the twenty-three years which had fol- 
 lowed his accession he had not been loved by 
 his subjects. His domestic virtues were ac- 
 knowledged. But it was generally thought 
 that the good qualities by which he was dis- 
 tinguished in private life were wanting to his 
 political character. As a Sovereign, he was 
 resentful, unforgiving, stubborn, cunning. Un- 
 der his rule the country had sustained cruel 
 disgraces and disasters; and every one of 
 those disgraces and disasters was imputed to 
 his strong antipathies, and to his perverse ob- 
 stinacy in the wrong. One statesman after 
 another complained that he had been induced 
 by royal caresses, entreaties, and promises, to 
 undertake the direction of affairs at a difficult 
 conjuncture, and that, as soon as he had, not 
 without sullying his fame and alienating his 
 best friends, served the turn for which he was 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 33 1 
 
 wanted, his ungrateful master began to in- 
 trigue against him, and to canvass against him. 
 Grenville, Rockingham, Chatham, men of 
 widely different characters, but all three up- 
 right and high-spirited, agreed in thinking that 
 the Prince under whom they had successively 
 held the highest place in the government was 
 one of the most insincere of mankind. His 
 confidence was reposed, they said, not in those 
 known and responsible counsellors to whom he 
 had delivered the seals of office, but in secret 
 advisers who stole up the back stairs into his 
 closet. In Parliament, his ministers, while de- 
 fending themselves against the attacks of the 
 opposition in front, were perpetually, at his in- 
 stigation, assailed on the flank or in the rear 
 by a vile band of mercenaries who called 
 themselves his friends. These men constantly, 
 while in possession of lucrative places in his 
 service, spoke and voted against bills which he 
 had authorized the First Lord of the Treasury 
 or the Secretary of State to bring in. Eut 
 from the day on which Pitt was placed at the 
 head of affairs there was an end of secret in- 
 fluence. His haughty and aspiring spirit was 
 not to be satisfied with the mere show of 
 power. Any attempt to undermine him at 
 Court, any mutinous movement among his fol- 
 lowers in the House of Commons, was certain 
 to be at once put doum. He had only to ten- 
 der his resignation ; and he could dictate his 
 own terms. For he, and he alone, stood be- 
 tween the King and the Coalition. He w-as 
 therefore little less than Mayor of the Palace. 
 The nation loudly applauded the King for 
 having the wdsdom to repose entire confidence 
 in so excellent a minister. His majesty’s pri- 
 vate virtues now began to produce their full 
 effect. He v’as generally regarded as the 
 model of a respectable country gentleman, 
 honest, good-natured, sober, religious. He 
 rose early; he dined temperately; he was 
 strictly faithful to his wife ; he never missed 
 
33 2 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 church ; and at church he never missed a re- 
 sponse. His people heartily prayed that he 
 might long reign over them ; and they prayed 
 the more heartily because his virtues were set 
 off to the best advantage by the vices and fol- 
 lies of the Prince of Wales, who lived in close 
 intimacy with the chiefs of the opposition. 
 
 How strong this feeling was in the public 
 mind appeared signally on one great occasion. 
 In the autumn of 1788 the King became in- 
 sane. The opposition, eager for office, com- 
 mitted the great indiscretion of asserting that 
 the heir apparent had, by the fundamental 
 laws of England a right to be Regent with the 
 full powers of royalty. Pitt on the other hand, 
 maintained it to be the constitutional doctrine 
 that, when a Sovereign is, by reason of infancy, 
 disease, or absence, incapable of exercising 
 the regal functions, it belongs to the estates 
 of the realm to determine who shall be the 
 vicegerent, and with what portion of the execu- 
 tive authority such vicegerent shall be entrust- 
 ed. A long and violent contest followed, in 
 which Pitt was supported by the great body of 
 the people with as much enthusiasm as during 
 the first months of his adminstration. Tories 
 with one voice applauded him for defending 
 the sick-bed of a virtuous and unhappy 
 Sovereign against a disloyal faction and an 
 undutiful son. Not a few Whigs applauded 
 him for asserting the authority of Parliaments 
 and the principles of the Revolution, in opposi- 
 tion to a doctrine which seemed to have too 
 much affinity with the servile theory of inde- 
 feasible hereditary right. The middle class, 
 always zealous on the side of decency and the 
 domestic virtues, looked forward with dismay 
 to a reign resembling that of Charles II. The 
 palace, which had now been, during thirty 
 years, the pattern of an English home, would 
 be a public nuisance, a school of profligacy. 
 To the good King’s repast of mutton and 
 lemonade, despatched at three o’clock, would 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 333 
 
 succeed midnight banquets, from which the 
 guests would be carried home speechless. To 
 the backgammon board at which the good 
 King played for a little silver with his equerries, 
 would succeed faro tables from which young 
 patricians who had sate down rich would rise 
 up beggars. The drawing-room, from which 
 the frown of the Queen had repelled a whole 
 generation of frail beauties, would now be 
 again what it had been in the days of Barbara 
 Palmer and Louisa de Querouaille. Nay, 
 severely as the public reprobated the Prince’s 
 many illicit attachments, his one virtuous at- 
 tachment was reprobated more severely still. 
 Even in grave and pious circles his Protestant 
 mistresses gave less scandal than his Popish 
 wife. That he must be Regent nobody ventured 
 to deny. But he and his friends were so un- 
 popular that Pitt could, with general approba- 
 tion, propose to limit the powers of the Regent 
 by restrictions which it would have been im- 
 possible to subject a Prince beloved and 
 trusted by the country. Some interested men, 
 fully expecting a change of administration, 
 went over to the opposition. But the majority, 
 purified by these desertions, closed its ranks, 
 and presented a more firm array then ever to 
 the enemy. In every division Pitt was victo- 
 rious. When at length, after a stormy inter- 
 regnum of three months, it was announced, on 
 the very eve of the inauguration of the Regent, 
 that the King was himself again, the nation 
 was wild with delight. On the evening of the 
 day on which His Majesty resumed his func- 
 tions, a spontaneous illumination, the most 
 general that had ever been seen in England, 
 brightened the whole vast space from High- 
 gate to Tooting, and from Hammersmith to 
 Greenwich. On the day on which he returned 
 thanks in the cathedral of his capital, all the 
 horses and carriages within a hundred miles 
 of London were too few for the multitudes 
 which flocked to see him pass through thf 
 
334 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 streets. A second illumination followed, which 
 was even superior to the first magnificence. 
 Pitt with difficulty escaped from the tumultuous 
 kindness of an innumerable multitude which 
 insisted on drawing his coach from Saint 
 Paul’s Churchyard to Downing Street. This 
 was the moment at which his fame and for- 
 tune may be said to have reached the zenith. 
 His influence in the closet was as great as 
 that of Carr or Villiers had been. His domin- 
 ion over the Parliament was more absolute 
 than that of Walpole or Pelham had been. 
 He was at the same time as high in the favor 
 of the populace as ever Wilkes or Sacheverell 
 had been. Nothing did more to raise his 
 character than his noble poverty. It was well 
 known that, if he had been dismissed from 
 office after more than five years of boundless 
 power, he would hardly have carried out with 
 him a sum sufficient to furnish the set of cham- 
 ber in which, as he cheerfully declared, he 
 meant to resume the practice of the law. His 
 admirers, however, were by no means dis- 
 posed to suffer him to depend on daily toil for 
 his daily bread. The voluntary contributions 
 which were awaiting his acceptance in the city 
 of London alone would have sufficed to make 
 him a rich man. But it may be doubted 
 whether his haughty spirit would have stooped 
 to accept a provision so honorably earned and 
 so honorably bestowed. 
 
 To such a height of power and glory had 
 this extraordinary man risen at twenty-nine 
 years of age. And now the tide was on the 
 turn. Only ten days after the triumphant pro- 
 cession to Saint Paul’s, the States-General of 
 France, after an interval of a hundred and 
 seventy-four years, met at Versailles. 
 
 The nature of the great Revolution which 
 followed was long very imperfectly understood 
 in this country. Burke saw much further than 
 any of his contemporaries : but whatever his 
 sagacity descried was refracted and discolored 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 335 
 
 by his passions and his imagination. More 
 than three years elapsed before the principles 
 of the English administration underwent any 
 material change. Nothing could as yet be 
 milder or more strictly constitutional than the 
 minister’s domestic policy. Not a single act 
 indicating an arbitrary temper or a jealousy of 
 the people could be imputed to him. He had 
 never applied to Parliament for any extraordi- 
 nary powers. He had never used with harsh- 
 ness the ordinary powers entrusted by the con- 
 stitution to the executive government. Not a 
 single state prosecution which would even now 
 be called oppressive had been instituted by 
 him. Indeed, the only oppressive state prose- 
 cution instituted during the first eight years of 
 his administration was that of Stockdale, which 
 is to be attributed, not to the "government, but 
 to the chiefs of the opposition. In office, Pitt 
 had redeemed the pledges which he had, at 
 his entrance into public life, given to the sup- 
 porters of parliamentary reform. He had, in 
 1785, brought forward a judicious plan for the 
 improvement of the representative system, and 
 had prevailed on the King, not only to refrain 
 from talking against that plan, but to recom- 
 mend it to the Houses in a speech from the 
 throne.* This attempt failed ; but there can 
 be little doubt that, if the French Revolution 
 had not produced a violent reaction of public 
 feeling, Pitt would have performed, with little 
 difficulty and no danger, that great work which, 
 at a later period, Lord Grey could accomplish 
 only by means which for a time loosened the 
 very foundations of the commonwealth. When 
 the atrocities of the slave trade were first 
 brought under the consideration of Parliament, 
 
 ‘The speech with which the King opened the ses- 
 sion of 1785 concluded with an assurance that His 
 Majesty would heartily concur in every measure which 
 could tend to secure the true principles of the consti- 
 tution. These words were at the time understood to 
 refer to Pitt’s Reform Bill. 
 
336 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 no abolitionist was more zealous than Pitt. 
 When sickness prevented Wilberforce from ap- 
 pearing in public, his place was most efficiently 
 supplied by his friend the minister. A humane 
 bill, which mitigated the horrors of the middle 
 passage, was, in 1788, carried by the eloquence 
 and determined spirit of Pitt, in spite of the 
 opposition of some of his own colleagues ; 
 and it ought always to be remembered to his 
 honor that, in order to carry that bill, he kept 
 the Houses sitting, in spite of many murmurs, 
 long after the business of the government had 
 been done, and the Appropriation Act passed. 
 In 1791 he cordially concurred with Fox in 
 maintaining the sound constitutional doctrine, 
 that an impeachment is not terminated by a 
 dissolution. In the course of the same year 
 the two great rivals contended side by side in 
 a far more important cause. They are fairly 
 entitled to divide the high honor of having 
 added to our statute-book the inestimable law 
 which places the liberty of the press under the 
 protection of juries. On one occasion, and 
 one alone, Pitt, during the first half of his long 
 administration, acted in a manner unworthy of 
 an enlightened Whig. In the debate on the 
 Test Act, he stooped to gratify the master 
 whom he served, the university which he rep- 
 resented, and the great body of clergymen 
 and country gentlemen on whose support he 
 rested, by talking, with little heartiness, indeed, 
 and no asperity, the language of a Tory. With 
 this single exception, his conduct from the end 
 of 1783 to the middle of 1792 was that of an 
 honest friend of civil and religious liberty. 
 
 Nor did anything, during that period, indicate 
 that he loved war, or harbored any malevolent 
 feeling against any neighboring nation. Those 
 French writers who have represented him as a 
 Hannibal sworn in childhood by his father to 
 bear eternal hatred to France, as having, by 
 mysterious intrigues and lavish bribes, insti- 
 gated the leading Jacobins to commit those 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 337 
 
 excesses which dishonored the Revolution, as 
 having been the real author of the first coali- 
 tion, know nothing of his character or of his 
 history. So far was he from being a deadly 
 enemy to France, that his laudible attempts to 
 bring about a closer conncection with that 
 country by means of a wise and liberal treaty 
 of commerce brought on him the severe censure 
 of the opposition. He was told in the House 
 of Commons that he was a degenerate son, and 
 that his partiality for the hereditary foes of our 
 island was enough to make his great father’s 
 bones stir under the pavement of the Abbey. 
 
 And this man, whose name, if he had been 
 so fortunate as to die in 1792, would now have 
 been associated with peace, with freedom, with 
 philanthropy, with temperate reform, with mild 
 and constitutional administration, lived to as- 
 sociate his name with arbitrary government, 
 with harsh laws harshly executed, with alien 
 bills, with gagging bills, with suspension of the 
 Habeas Corpus Act, with cruel punishments 
 inflicted on some political agitators, with un- 
 justifiable prosecutions instituted against others 
 and with the most costly and most sanguinary 
 wars of modern times. He lived to be held up 
 to obloquy as the stern oppressor of England, 
 and the indefatigable disturber of Europe. 
 Poets, contrasting his earlier with his later 
 years, likened him sometimes to the apostle 
 who kissed in order to betray, and sometimes 
 to the evil angels who kept not their first 
 estate. A satirist of great genius introduced 
 the fiends of Famine, Slaughter, and Fire, pro- 
 claiming that they had received their commis- 
 sion from One whose name was formed of four 
 letters, and promising to give their employer 
 ample proofs of gratitude. Famine would 
 gnaw the multitude till they should rise against 
 him in madness. The demon of Slaughter 
 would impel them to tear him limb from limb. 
 But Fire boasted that she alone could reward 
 him as he deserved, and that she would cling 
 
biographical essays. 
 
 33 8 
 
 round him to all eternity. By the French press 
 and the French tribune every crime that dis- 
 graced and every calamity that afflicted France 
 was ascribed to the monster Pitt and his 
 guineas. While the Jacobins were dominant, 
 it was he who had corrupted the Gironde, who 
 had raised Lyons and Bordeaux against the 
 Convention, who had suborned Paris to as- 
 sassinate Lepelletier, and Cecilia Regnault 
 to assassinate Robespierre. When the Ther- 
 midorian reaction came, all the atrocities 
 of the Reign of Terror were imputed to him. 
 Collot D’Herbois and Fouquier Tinville had 
 been his pensioners. It was he who had 
 hired the murderers of September, who had 
 dictated the pamphlets of Marat and the 
 Carmagnoles of Barere, w'ho had paid Lebon 
 to deluge Arras with blood, and Carrier to 
 choke the Loire with corpses. 
 
 The truth is that he liked neither war nor 
 arbitrary government He was a lover of peace 
 and freedom, driven, by a stress against which 
 it w'as hardly possible for any will or any intel- 
 lect to struggle, out of the course to wfflich his 
 inclinations pointed, and for which his abilities 
 and acquirements fitted him, and forced into a 
 policy repugnant to his feelings and unsuited 
 to his talents. 
 
 The charge of apostasy is grossly unjust. A 
 man ought no more to be called an apostate 
 because his opinions alter with the opinions 
 of the great body of his contemporaries than 
 he ought to be called an oriental traveller be- 
 cause he is always going round from west to 
 east with the globe and everything that is upon 
 it. Between the spring of 1789 and the close 
 of 1792, the public mind of England under- 
 went a great change. If the change of Pitt’s 
 sentiments attracted peculiar notice, it was not 
 because he changed more than his neighbors ; 
 for in fact he changed less than most of them ; 
 but because his position was far more con- 
 spicuous than theirs ; because he w'as, till Bona- 
 
 1 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 339 
 
 parte appeared, the individual who filled the 
 greatest space in the eyes of the inhabitants of 
 the civilized world. During a short time the 
 nation, and Pitt, as one of the nation, looked 
 with interest and approbation on the French 
 Revolution. But soon vast confiscations, the 
 violent sweeping away of ancient institutions, 
 the domination of clubs, the barbarities of 
 mobs maddened by famine and hatred, pro- 
 duced a reaction here. The court, the nobility, 
 the gentry, the clergy, the manufacturers, the 
 merchants, in short, nineteen twentieths of 
 those who had good roofs over their heads and 
 good coats on their backs, became eager and 
 intolerant Anti-jacobins. This feeling was at 
 least as strong among the minister’s adversa- 
 ries as among his supporters. Fox in vain at- 
 tempted to restrain his followers. All his 
 genius, all his vast personal influence, could 
 not prevent them from rising up against him in 
 general mutiny. Burke set the example of re- 
 volt ; and Burke was in no long time joined by 
 Portland, Spencer, Fitzwilliam, Loughborough, 
 Carlisle, Malmesbury, Windham, Elliot. In 
 the House of Commons, the followers of the 
 great Whig statesman and orator diminished 
 from about a hundred and sixty to fifty. In 
 the House of Lords he had but ten or twelve 
 adherents left. There can be no doubt that 
 there would have been a similar mutiny on the 
 ministerial benches if Pitt had obstinately re- 
 sisted the general wish. Pressed at once by 
 his master and by his colleagues, by old friends 
 and by old opponents, he abandoned slowly 
 and reluctantly, the policy which was dear to 
 his heart. He labored hard to avert the Euro- 
 pean war. When the European war broke out, 
 he still flattered himself that it would not be 
 necessary for this country to take either side. 
 In the spring of 1792 he congratulated the 
 Parliament on the prospect of long and pro- 
 found peace, and proved his sincerity by pro- 
 posing large remissions of taxation. Down to 
 
340 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 the end of that year he continued to cherish 
 the hope that England might be able to pre- 
 serve neutrality. But the passions which raged 
 on both sides of the channel were not to be 
 restrained. The republicans who ruled France 
 were inflamed by a fanaticism resembling that 
 of the Mussulmans, who, with the Koran in one 
 hand and the sword in the other, went forth, 
 conquering and converting, eastward to the 
 Bay of Bengal, and westward to the Pillars of 
 Hercules. The higher and middle classes of 
 England were animated by zeal not less fiery 
 than that of the Crusaders who raised the cry 
 of Dens vult at Clermont. The impulse which 
 drove the two nations to a collision was not to 
 be arrested by the abilities or by the authority 
 of any single man. As Pitt was in front of his 
 fellows, and towered high above them, he 
 seemed to lead them. But in fact he was 
 violently pushed on by them, and, had he held 
 back but a little more than he did, would have 
 been thrust out of their way or trampled under 
 their feet. 
 
 He yielded to the current : and from that 
 day his misfortunes began. The truth is that 
 there were only two consistent courses before 
 him. Since he did not choose to oppose him- 
 self, side by side with Fox, to the public feel- 
 ing, he should have taken the advice of Burke, 
 and should have availed himself of that feeling 
 to the full extent. If it was impossible to 
 preserve peace, he should have adopted the 
 only policy which could lead to victory. He 
 should have proclaimed a Holy War for relig- 
 ion, morality, property, order, public law, and 
 should have thus opposed to the Jacobins an 
 energy equal to their own. Unhappily he tried 
 to find a middle path ; and he found one which 
 united all that was worst in both extremes. 
 He went to war ; but he would not understand 
 the peculiar character of that war. He was 
 obstinately blind to the plain fact, that he was 
 contending against a state which was also a 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 341 
 
 sect, and that the new quarrel between England 
 and France was of quite a different kind from 
 the old quarrels about colonies in America and 
 fortresses in the Netherlands. He had to com- 
 bat frantic enthusiasm, boundless ambition, 
 restless activity, the wildest and most audacious 
 spirit of innovation; and he acted as 'if he had 
 to deal with the harlots and fops of the old 
 Court of Versailles, with Madame de Pompa- 
 dour and the Abbe de Bernis. It was pitiable 
 to hear him, year after year, proving to an ad- 
 miring audience that the wicked Republic was 
 exhausted, that she could not hold out, that 
 her credit was gone, and her assignats were 
 not worth more than the paper of which they 
 were made ; as if credit was necessary to a 
 government of which tljp principle was rapine, 
 as if Alboin could not turn Italy into a desert 
 till he had negotiated a loan at five per cent., 
 as if the exchequer bills of Attila had been at 
 par. It was impossible that a man who so com- 
 pletely mistook the nature of a contest could 
 carry on that contest successfully. Great as 
 Pitt’s abilities were, his military administration 
 was that of a driveller. He was at the head of 
 a nation engaged in a struggle for life and 
 death, of a nation eminently distinguished by 
 all the physical and all the moral qualities 
 which make excellent soldiers. The resources 
 at his command were unlimited. The Parlia- 
 ment was even more ready to grant him men 
 and money than he was to ask for them. In 
 such an emergency, and with such means, such 
 a statesman as Richelieu, as Louvois, as Chat- 
 ham, as Wellesley, would have created in a few 
 months one of the finest armies in the world, 
 and would soon have discovered and brought 
 forward generals worthy to command such an 
 army. Germany might have been saved by 
 another Blenheim ; Flanders recovered by 
 another Ramilies ; another Poitiers might have 
 delivered the Royalist and Catholic provinces 
 of France from a yoke which they abhorred, 
 
342 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 and might have spread terror even to the bar- 
 riers of Paris. But the fact is, that, after eight 
 years of war, after a vast destruction of life, 
 after an expenditure of wealth far exceeding 
 the expenditure of the American War, of the 
 Seven Years’ War, of the war of the Austrian 
 Succession, and of the war of the Spanish 
 Succession, united, the English army, under 
 Pitt, was the laughing-stock of all Europe. It 
 could not boast of one single brilliant exploit. 
 It had never shown itself on the Continent but 
 to be beaten, chased, forced to re-embark, 
 or forced to capitulate. To take some sugar 
 island in the West Indies, to scatter some mob 
 of half-naked Irish peasants, such were the 
 most splendid victories won by the British 
 troops under Pitt’s auspices. 
 
 The English navy no mismanagement could 
 ruin. But during a long period whatever mis- 
 management could do was done. The Earl of 
 Chatham, without a single qualification for 
 high public trust, was made, by fraternal par- 
 tiality, First Lord of the Admiralty, and was 
 kept in that great post during two years of a 
 war in which the very existence of the state 
 depended on the efficiency of the fleet. He 
 continued to doze away and trifle away the 
 time which ought to have been devoted to the 
 public service, till the whole mercantile body, 
 though generally disposed to support the gov- 
 ernment, complained bitterly that our flag gave 
 no protection to our trade. Fortunately he 
 was succeeded by George Earl Spencer, one 
 of those chiefs of the Whig party who, in the 
 great schism caused by the French Revolu- 
 tion, had followed Burke. Lord Spencer 
 though inferior to many of his colleagues as an 
 orator, was decidedly the best administrator 
 among them. To him it was owing that along 
 and gloomy succession of days of fasting, and, 
 most emphatically, of humiliation, was inter- 
 rupted, twice in the short space of eleven 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 343 
 
 months, by days of thanksgiving for great 
 victories. 
 
 It may seem paradoxical to say that the in- 
 capacity which Pitt showed in all that related 
 to the conduct of the war is, in some sense, 
 the most decisive proof that he was a man of 
 very extraordinary abilities. Yet this is the 
 simple truth. For assuredly one-tenth part of 
 his errors and disasters would have been fatal 
 to the power and influence of any minister 
 who had not possessed, in the highest degree, 
 the talents of a parliamentary leader. While 
 his schemes were confounded, while his pre- 
 dictions were falsified, while the coalitions 
 which he had labored to form were falling to 
 pieces, while the expeditions which he had 
 sent forth at enormous cost were ending in 
 route and disgrace, while the enemy against 
 whom he was feebly contending was subjugat- 
 ing Flanders and Brabant, the Electorate of 
 Mentz, and the Electorate of Treves, Holland, 
 Piedmont, Liguria, Lombardy, his authority 
 over the House of Commons was constantly 
 becoming more and more absolute. There 
 was his empire, there were his victories, his 
 Lodi and his Areola, his Rivoli and his Ma- 
 rengo. If some great misfortune, a pitched 
 battle lost by the allies, the annexation of a 
 new department to the French Republic, a 
 sanguinary insurrection in Ireland, a mutiny in 
 the fleet, a panic in the city, a run on the bank, 
 had spread dismay through the ranks of his 
 majority, that dismay lasted only till he rose 
 from the Treasury bench, drew up his haughty 
 head, stretched his arm with commanding 
 gesture, and poured forth, in deep and sono- 
 rous tones, the lofty language of inextinguish- 
 able hope and inflexible resolution. Thus, 
 through a long and calamitous period, every 
 disaster that happened without the walls of 
 Parliament was regularly followed by a tri- 
 umph within them. At length he had no 
 longer an opposition to encounter. Of the 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 344 
 
 great party which had contended against him 
 during the first eight years of his administra- 
 tion more than one-half now inarched under his 
 standard, with his old competitor the Duke of 
 Portland at their head ; and the rest had, 
 after many vain struggles, quitted the field in 
 despair. Fox had retired to the shades of St. 
 Anne’s Hill, and had there found, in the society 
 of friends whom no vicissitude could estrange 
 from him, of a woman whom he tenderly loved, 
 and of the illustrious dead of Athens, of Rome, 
 and of Florence, ample compensation for all 
 the misfortunes of his public life. Session 
 followed session with scarcely a single division. 
 In the eventful year 1799, the largest minority 
 that could be mustered against the government 
 was twenty-five. 
 
 In Pitt’s domestic policy there was at this 
 time assuredly no want of vigor. While he 
 offered to French Jacobinism a resistance so* 
 feeble that it only encouraged the evil which 
 he wished to suppress, he put down English 
 Jacobinism with a strong hand. The Habeas 
 Corpus Act was repeatedly suspended. Public 
 meetings were placed under severe restraints. 
 The government obtained from Parliament 
 power to sent out of the country aliens who were 
 suspected of evil designs ; and that power was 
 not suffered to be idle. Writers who pro- 
 pounded doctrines adverse to monarchy and 
 aristocracy were proscribed and punished with- 
 out mercy. It was hardly safe for a republican 
 to avow his political creed over his beefsteak 
 and his bottle of port at a chop-house. The 
 old laws of Scotland against sedition, laws 
 which were considered by Englishmen as bar- 
 barous, and which a succession of governments 
 had suffered to rust, were now furbished up and 
 sharpened anew. Men of cultivated minds 
 and polished manners were, for offences which 
 at Westminster would have been treated as 
 mere misdemeanors, sent to herd with felons 
 at Botany Bay. Some reformers, whose opin- 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 345 
 
 ions were extravagant, and whose language 
 was intemperate, but who had never dreamed 
 of subverting the government with physical 
 force, were indicted for high treason, and were 
 saved from the gallows only by the righteous 
 verdicts of juries. This severity was at the 
 time loudly applauded by alarmists whom fear 
 had made cruel, but will be seen in a very 
 different light by posterity The truth is, that 
 the Englishmen who wished for a revolution 
 were, even in number, not formidable, and, in 
 everything but number, a faction utterly con- 
 temptible, without arms, or funds, or plans, or 
 organization, or leader. There can be no 
 doubt that Pitt, strong as he was in the support 
 of the great body of the nation, might easily 
 have repressed the turbulence of the discon- 
 tented minority by firmly yet temperately en- 
 forcing the ordinary law. Whatever vigor he 
 showed during this unfortunate part of his life 
 was vigor out of place and season. He was 
 all feebleness and languor in his conflict with 
 the foreign enemy who was really to be dreaded, 
 and reserved all his energy and resolution for 
 the domestic enemy who might safely have 
 been despised. 
 
 One part only of Pitt’s conduct during the 
 last eight years of the eighteenth century de- 
 serves high praise. He was the first English 
 minister who formed great designs for the 
 benefit of Ireland. The manner in which the 
 Roman Catholic population of that unfortunate 
 country had been kept down during many 
 generations seemed to him unjust and cruel ; 
 and it was scarcely possible for a man of his 
 abilities not to perceive that, in a contest 
 against the Jacobins, the Roman Catholics 
 were his natural allies. Had he been able to 
 do all that he wished, it is probable that a wise 
 and liberal policy would have averted the re- 
 bellion of 1798. But the difficulties which he 
 encountered were great, perhaps insurmount- 
 able ; and the Roman Catholics were, rather 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 346 
 
 by his misfortune than by his fault, thrown 
 into the hands of the Jacobins. There was a 
 third great rising of the Irishry against the 
 Englishry, a rising not less formidable than 
 the rising of 1641 and 1689. The Englishry 
 remained victorious; and it was necessary for 
 Pitt, as it had been necessary for Oliver Crom- 
 well and William of Orange before him, to con- 
 sider how the victory should be used. It is 
 only just to his memory to say that he formed 
 a scheme of policy, so grand and so simple, so 
 righteous and so humane, that it would alone 
 entitle him to a high place among statesmen. 
 He determined to make Ireland one kingdom 
 with England, and, at the same time, to relieve 
 the Roman Catholic laity from civil disabilities, 
 and to grant a public maintenance to the 
 Roman Catholic clergy. Had he been able to 
 to carry these noble designs into effect, the 
 Union would have been an Union indeed. It 
 would have been inseparably associated in the 
 minds of the great majority of Irishmen with 
 civil and religious freedom ; and the old Parlia- 
 ment in College Green would have been re- 
 gretted only by a small knot of discarded 
 jobbers and oppressors, and would have been 
 remembered by the body of the nation with 
 the loathing and contempt due to the most 
 tyrannical and the most corrupt assembly that 
 ever sate in Europe. But Pitt could execute 
 only one half of what he had projected. He 
 succeeded in obtaining the consent of the Par- 
 liaments of both kingdoms to the Union ; but 
 that reconciliation of races and sects, without 
 which the Union could exist only in name, was 
 not accomplished. He was well aware that he 
 was likely to find difficulties in the closet. But 
 he flattered himself that, by cautious and 
 dexterous management, those difficulties might 
 be overcome. Unhappily, there were traitors 
 and sycophants in high place who did not 
 suffer him to take his own time and his own 
 way, but prematurely disclosed his scheme to 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 347 
 
 the King, and disclosed it in the manner most 
 likely to irritate and alarm a weak and diseased 
 mind. His Majesty absurdly imagined that 
 his Coronation oath bound him to refuse his 
 assent to any bill for relieving Roman Catholics 
 from civil disabilities. To argue with him was 
 impossible. Dundas tried to explain the 
 matter, but was told to keep his Scotch meta- 
 physics to himself. Pitt, and Pitt’s ablest 
 colleagues, resigned their offices. It was 
 necessary that the King should make a new 
 arrangement. But by this time his anger and 
 distress had brought back the malady which 
 had, many years before, incapacitated him for 
 the discharge of his functions. He actually 
 assembled his family, read the Coronation oath 
 to them, and told them that, if he broke it, the 
 Crown would immediately pass to the House 
 of Savoy. It was not until after an interregnum 
 of several weeks that he regained the full use 
 of his small faculties, and that a ministry after 
 his own heart was at length formed. 
 
 The materials out of which he had to con- 
 struct a government were neither solid nor 
 splendid. To that party, weak in numbers, 
 but strong in every kind of talent, which was 
 hostile to the domestic and foreign policy of 
 his late advisers, he could not have recourse. 
 For that party, while it differed from his late 
 advisers on every point on which they had been 
 honored with his approbation, cordially agreed 
 with them as to the single matter which had 
 brought on them his displeasure. All that was 
 left to him was to call up the rear ranks of the 
 old ministry to form the front rank of a new 
 ministry. In an age pre-eminently fruitful of 
 parliamentary talents, a cabinet was formed 
 containing hardly a single man who, in parlia- 
 mentary talents, could be considered as even 
 the second rate. The most important offices 
 in the state were bestowed on decorous and 
 laborious mediocrity, Henry Addington was 
 at the head of the Treasury. He had been an 
 
348 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 early, indeed a hereditary, friend of Pitt, and 
 had by Pitt’s influence been placed, while still 
 a young man, in the chair of the House of 
 Commons. He was universally admitted to 
 have been the best speaker that had sate in that 
 chair since the retirement of Onslow. But 
 nature had not bestowed on him very vigorous 
 faculties ; and the highly respectable situation 
 which he had long occupied with honor had 
 rather unfitted than fitted him for the discharge 
 of his new duties. His business had been 
 to bear himself evenly between contending 
 factions. He had taken no part in the war of 
 words ; and he had always been addressed 
 with marked deference by the great orators 
 who thundered against each other from his 
 right and from his left. It was not strange, 
 that, when, for the first time, he had to en- 
 counter keen and vigorous antagonists, who 
 deal hard blows without the smallest cere- 
 mony, he should have been awkward and un- 
 ready, or that the air of dignity and authority 
 which he had acquired in his former post, and 
 of which he had not divested himself, should 
 have made his helplessness laughable and piti- 
 able. Nevertheless, during many months, his 
 power seemed to stand firm. He was a favor- 
 ite with the King, whom he resembled in 
 narrowness of mind, and to whom he was more 
 obsequious than Pitt had ever been. The 
 nation was put into high good humor by peace 
 with France. The enthusiasm with which the 
 upper and middle classes had rushed into the 
 war spent itself. Jacobinism was no longer 
 formidable. Everywhere there was a strong 
 reaction against what was called the atheistical 
 and anarchical philosophy of the eighteenth 
 century. Bonaparte, now First Consul, was 
 busied in constructing out of the ruins of old 
 institutions a new ecclesiastical establishment 
 and a new order of knighthood. That nothing 
 less than the dominion of the whole civilized 
 world would satisfy his selfish ambition was not 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 349 
 
 yet suspected ; nor did even wise men see any 
 reason to doubt that he might be as safe a 
 neighbor as any prince of the House of Bourbon 
 had been. The treaty of Amiens was there- 
 fore hailed by the great body of the English 
 people with extravagant joy. The popularity 
 of the minister was for the moment immense. 
 His want of parliamentary ability was, as yet, 
 of little consequence ; for he had scarcely any 
 adversary to encounter. The old opposition 
 delighted by the peace, regarded him with 
 favor. A new opposition had indeed been 
 formed by some of the late ministers, and was 
 led by Grenville in the House of Lords, and 
 by Windham in the House of Commons. But 
 the new opposition could scarcely muster ten 
 votes and was regarded with no favor by the 
 country. On Pitt the ministers relied as on 
 their firmest support. He had not, like some 
 of his colleagues, retired in anger. He had 
 expressed the greatest respect for the con- 
 scientious scruple which had taken possession 
 of the royal mind ; and he had promised his 
 successors all the help in his power. In private 
 his advice was at their service. In Parliament 
 he took his seat on the bench behind them ; 
 and, in more than one debate, defended them 
 with powers far superior to their own. The 
 King perfectly understood the value of such 
 assistance. On one occasion, at the palace, he 
 took the old minister and the new minister 
 aside. “ If we three,” he said, “ keep together, 
 all will go well.” 
 
 But it was hardly possible, human nature 
 being what it is, and, more especially, Pitt and 
 Addington being what they were, that this 
 union should be durable. Pitt, conscious of su- 
 perior powers, imagined that the place which 
 he had quitted was now occupied by a mere 
 puppet which he had set up, which he was to 
 govern while he suffered it to remain, and 
 which he was to fling aside as soon as he wish- 
 ed to resume his old position. Nor was it long 
 
35 ° 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 before he began to pine for the power which 
 he had relinquished. He had been so early 
 raised to supreme authority in the state, and 
 had enjoyed that authority so long, that it had 
 become necessary to him. In retirement his 
 days passed heavily. He could not, like Fox, 
 forget the pleasures and cares of ambition in 
 the company of Euripides or Herodotus. Pride 
 restrained him from intimating, even to his 
 dearest friends, that he wished to be again 
 minister. But he thought it strange, almost 
 ungrateful, that his wish had not been divined, 
 that it had not been anticipated, by one whom 
 he regarded as his deputy. 
 
 Addington, on the other hand, was by no 
 means inclined to descend from his high posi- 
 tion. He was, indeed, under a delusion much 
 resembling that of Abon Hassan in the Arabi- 
 an tale. His brain was turned by his short 
 and unreal Caliphate. He took his elevation 
 quite seriously, attributed it to his own merit, 
 and considered himself as one of the great tri- 
 umvirate of English statesmen, as worthy to 
 make a third with Pitt and Fox. 
 
 Such being the feeling of the late minister 
 and of the present minister, a rupture was in- 
 evitable ; and there was no want of persons 
 bent on making that rupture speedy and vio- 
 lent. Some of these persons wounded Adding- 
 ton’s pride by representing him as a lackey, 
 sent to keep a place on the Treasury bench till 
 his master should find it convenient to come. 
 Others took every opportunity of praising him 
 at Pitt’s expense. Pitt had waged a long, a 
 bloody, a costly, an unsuccessful war. Ad- 
 dington had made peace. Pitt had suspended 
 the constitutional liberties of Englishmen. 
 Under Addington those liberties were again 
 enjoyed. Pitt had wasted the public re- 
 sources. Addington was carefully nursing them. 
 It was sometimes but too evident that these 
 compliments were not unpleasing to Adding- 
 ton, Fitt became cold and reserved, During 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 3Si 
 
 many months he remained at a distance from 
 London. Meanwhile his most intimate friends, 
 in spite of his declarations that he made no 
 complaint, and that he had no wish for office, 
 exerted themselves to effect a change of min- 
 istry. His favorite disciple, George Canning, 
 young, ardent, ambitious, with great powers 
 and great virtues, but with a temper too rest- 
 less and a wit too satirical for his own happi- 
 ness, was indefatigable. He spoke ; he wrote ; 
 he intrigued ; he tried to induce a large num- 
 ber of the supporters of the government to 
 sign a round robin desiring a change ; he made 
 game of Addington and of Addington’s rela- 
 tions in a succession of lively pasquinades. 
 The minister’s partisans retorted with equal ac- 
 rimony, if not with equal vivacity. Pitt could 
 keep out of the affray only by keeping out of 
 politics altogether ; and this it soon became 
 impossible for him to do. Had Napoleon, 
 content with the first place among the sover- 
 eigns of the Continent, and with a military 
 reputation surpassing that of Marlborough or 
 of Turenne, devoted himself to the noble task 
 of making France happy by mild administra- 
 tion and wise legislation, our country might 
 have long continued to tolerate a government 
 of fair intentions and feeble abilities. Unhap- 
 pily, the treaty of Amiens had scarcely been 
 signed, when the restless ambition and the in- 
 supportable insolence of the First Consul con- 
 vinced the great body of the English people 
 that the peace, so eagerly welcomed, was only 
 a precarious armistice. As it became clearer 
 and clearer that a war for the dignity, the in- 
 dependence, the very existence of the nation 
 was at hand, men looked with increasing un- 
 easiness on the weak and languid cabinet 
 which would have to contend against an enemy 
 who united more than the power of Louis the 
 Great to more than the genius of Frederic the 
 Great. It is true that Addington might easily 
 have been a better war minister than .Pitt, and 
 
35 2 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 could not possibly have been a worse. But 
 Pitt had cast a spell on the public mind. The 
 eloquence, the judgment, the calm and disdain- 
 ful firmness, which he had, during many years, 
 displayed in Parliament, deluded the world in- 
 to the belief that he must be eminently qualified 
 to superintend every department of politics ; 
 and they imagined, even after the miserable 
 failures of Dunkirk, of Quiberon, and of the 
 Helder, that he was the only statesman who 
 could cope with Bonaparte. This feeling was 
 nowhere stronger than among Addington’s own 
 colleagues. The pressure put on him was so 
 strong that he could not help yielding to it ; 
 yet, even in yielding, he showed how far he 
 was from knowing his own place. His first 
 proposition was, that some insignificant noble- 
 man should be First Lord of the Treasury and 
 nominal head of the administration, and that 
 the real power should be divided between Pitt 
 and himself, who were to be secretaries of 
 state. Pitt, as might have been expected, re- 
 fused even to discuss such a scheme, and talked 
 of it with bitter mirth. “ Which secretary- 
 ship was offered to you ? ” his friend Wilber- 
 force asked. “ Really,” said Pitt, “ I had not 
 the curiosity to enquire.” Addington was 
 frightened into bidding higher. He offered to 
 resign the Treasury to Pitt, on condition that 
 there should be no extensive change in the 
 government. But Pitt would listen to no such 
 terms. Then came a dispute such as often 
 arises after negotiations orally conducted, even 
 when the negotiators are men of strict honor. 
 Pitt gave one account of what had passed; 
 Addington gave another : and, though the dis- 
 crepancies were not such as necessarily im- 
 plied any intentional violation of truth on 
 either side, both were greatly exasperated. 
 
 Meanwhile the quarrel with the First Consul 
 had come to a crisis. On the 1 6th of May, 1803, 
 the King sent a message calling on the House 
 pf Commons to support him in withstanding th§ 
 
0 
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 353 
 
 ambitious and encroaching policy of France; 
 and, on the 22d, the House took the message 
 into consideration. 
 
 Pitt had now been living some months in re- 
 tirement. There had been a general election 
 since he had spoken in Parliament ; and there 
 were two hundred members who had never 
 heard him. It was known that on this occasion 
 he would be in his place ; and curiosity was 
 wound up to the highest point. Unfortunately, 
 the short-hand writers were, in consequence of 
 some mistake, shut out on that day from the 
 gallery, so that the newspapers contained only 
 a very meagre report of the proceedings. But 
 several accounts of what passed are extant; 
 and of those accounts the most interesting is 
 contained in an unpublished letter written by a 
 very young member, John William Ward, after- 
 wards Earl of Dudley. When Pitt rose, he was 
 received with loud cheering. At every pause 
 in his speech there was a burst of applause. 
 The peroration is said to have been one of the 
 most animated and magnificent ever heard in 
 Parliament. “ Pitt’s speech,” Fox wrote a few 
 days later, “ was admired very much, and very 
 justly. I think it was the best he ever made 
 in that style.” The debate was adjourned ; 
 and on the second night Fox replied in an ora- 
 tion which, as the most zealous Pittites were 
 forced to acknowledge, left the palm of elo- 
 quence doubtful. Addington made a pitiable 
 appearance between the two great rivals ; and 
 it was observed that Pitt, while exhorting the 
 Commons to stand resolutely by the executive 
 government against France, said not a word 
 indicating esteem or friendship for the Prime 
 Minister. 
 
 . War was speedily declared. The First Con- 
 sul threatened to invade England at the head 
 of the conquerors of Belgium and Italy, and 
 formed a great camp near the Straits of Dover. 
 On the other side of those Straits the whole 
 population of our island was ready to rise up 
 
354 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 as one man in defence of the soil. At this 
 conjuncture, as at some other great conjunct- 
 ures in our history, the conjuncture of 1660, 
 for example, and the conjuncture of 1688, there 
 was a general disposition among honest and 
 patriotic men to forget old quarrels, and to re- 
 gard as a friend every person who was ready, 
 in the existing emergency, to do his part towards 
 the saving of the state. A coalition of all the 
 first men in the country would, at that moment, 
 have been as popular as the coalition of 1783 
 had been unpopular. Alone in the kingdom 
 the King looked with perfect complacency on 
 a cabinet in which no man superior to himself 
 in genius was to be found, and was so far from 
 being willing to admit all his ablest subjects to 
 office that he was bent on excluding them all. 
 
 A few months passed before the different 
 parties which agreed in regarding the govern- 
 ment with dislike and contempt came to an un- 
 derstanding with each other. But in the spring 
 of 1804 it became evident that the weakest of 
 ministries would have to defend itself against 
 the strongest of oppositions, an opposition 
 made up of three oppositions, each of which 
 would, separately, have been formidable from 
 ability, and which, when united, were also for- 
 midable from number. The party which had 
 opposed the peace, headed by Grenville and 
 Windham, and the party which had opposed 
 the renewal of the war, headed by Fox, con- 
 curred in thinking that the men now in power 
 were incapable of either making a good peace 
 or waging a vigorous war. Pitt had, in 1802, 
 spoken for peace against the party of Grenville, 
 and had, in 1803, spoken for war against the 
 party of Fox. But of the capacity of the cab- 
 inet, and especially of its chief, for the conduct 
 of great affairs, he thought as meanly as either 
 Fox or Grenville. Questions were easily found 
 on which all the enemies of the government 
 could act cordially together. The unfortunate 
 First Lord of the Treasury, who had, during 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 355 
 
 the earlier months of his administration, been 
 supported by Pitt on one side, and by Fox on 
 the other, now had to answer Pitt, and to be 
 answered by Fox. Two sharp debates, fol- 
 lowed by close divisions, made him weary of 
 his post. It was known, too, that the Upper 
 House was even more hostile to him than the 
 Lower, that the Scotch representative peers 
 wavered, that there were signs of mutiny among 
 the bishops. In the cabinet itself there was 
 discord, and worse than discord, treachery. 
 It was necessary to give way : the ministry was 
 dissolved ; and the task of forming a govern- 
 ment was entrusted to Pitt. 
 
 Pitt was of opinion that there was now an 
 opportunity, such as had never before offered 
 itself, and such as might never offer itself 
 again, of uniting in the public service, on hon- 
 orable terms, all the eminent talents of the 
 kingdom. The passions to which the French 
 Revolution had given birth were extinct. The 
 madness of the innovater and the madness of 
 the alarmist had alike had their day. Jaco- 
 binism and Anti-Jacobinism had gone out of 
 fashion together. The most liberal statesman 
 did not think that season propitious for schemes 
 of parliamentary reform ; and the most conser- 
 vative statesman could not pretend that there 
 was any occasion for gagging bills and suspen- 
 sions of the Habeas Corpus Act. The great 
 struggle for independence and national honor 
 occupied all minds ; and those ■who were agreed 
 as to the duty of maintaining that struggle 
 with vigor might well postpone to a more con- 
 venient time all disputes about matters com- 
 paratively unimportant. Strongly impressed 
 by these considerations, Pitt wished to form a 
 ministry including all the first men in the coun- 
 try. The Treasury he reserved for himself; 
 and to Fox he proposed to assign a share of 
 power little inferior to his own. 
 
 The plan was excellent; but the king would 
 pot hear of it, Dull, obstinate, unforgiving, 
 
356 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 and, at that time, half mad, he positively refus- 
 ed to admit Fox into his service. Anybody 
 else, even men who had gone as far as Fox, or 
 further than Fox, in what his Majesty consid- 
 ered as Jacobinism, Sheridan, Grey, Erskine, 
 should be graciously received ; but Fox never. 
 During several hours Pitt labored in vain to 
 reason down this senseless antipathy. That 
 he was perfectly sincere there can be no 
 doubt: but it was not enough to be sincere; 
 he should have been resolute. Had he declar- 
 ed himself determined not to take office with- 
 out Fox, the royal obstinacy would have given 
 way, as it gave way, a few months later, when 
 opposed to the immutable resolution of Lord 
 Grenville. In an evil hour Pitt yielded. He 
 flattered himself with the hope that, though he 
 consented to forego the aid of his illustrious 
 rival, there would still remain ample materials 
 for the formation of an efficient ministry. 
 That hope was cruelly disappointed. Fox en- 
 treated his friends to leave personal considera- 
 tions out of the question, and declared that he 
 would support, with the utmost cordiality, an 
 efficient and patriotic ministry from which he 
 should be himself excluded. Not only his 
 friends, however, but Grenville, and Grenville’s 
 adherents, answered, with one voice, that the 
 question was not personal, that a great consti- 
 tutional principle was at stake, and that they 
 would not take office while a man eminently 
 qualified to render service to the commonwealth 
 was placed under ban merely because he was 
 disliked at court. All that was left to Pitt was 
 to construct a government out of the wreck of 
 Addington’s feeble administration. The small 
 circle of his personal retainers furnished him 
 with a very few useful assistants, particularly 
 Dundas, who had been created Viscount Mel- 
 ville, Lord Harrowby, and Canning. 
 
 Such was the inauspicious manner in which 
 Pitt entered on his second administration. 
 The whole history of that administration was 
 
WILLIAM PITT i 
 
 357 
 
 of a piece with the commencement. Almost 
 every month brought some new disaster or dis- 
 grace. To the war with France was soon add- 
 ed a war with Spain. The opponents of the 
 minister were numerous, able, and active. 
 His most useful coadjutors he soon lost. Sick- 
 ness deprived him of the help of Lord Har- 
 rowby. It was discovered that Lord Melville 
 had been guilty of highly culpable laxity in 
 transactions relating to public money. He 
 was censured by the House of Commons, driven 
 from office, ejected from the Privy Council, 
 and impeached of high crimes and misdemean- 
 ors. The blow fell heavily on Pitt. It gave 
 him, he said in Parliament, a deep pang; and, 
 as he uttered the word pang, his lip quivered, 
 his voice shook, he paused, and his hearers 
 thought that he was about to burst into tears. 
 Such tears shed by Eldon would have moved 
 nothing but laughter. Shed by the warm-heart- 
 ed and open-hearted Fox, they would have 
 moved sympathy, but would have caused no 
 surprise. But a tear from Pitt would have 
 been something portentous. He suppressed 
 his emotion, however, and proceeded with his 
 usual majestic self-possession. 
 
 His difficulties compelled him to resort to 
 various expedients. At one time Addington 
 was persuaded to accept office with a peerage ; 
 but he brought no additional strength to the 
 government. Though he went through the 
 form of reconciliation, it was impossible for 
 him to forget the past. While he remained in 
 place he was jealous and punctilious ; and he 
 soon retired again. At another time Pitt re- 
 newed his efforts to overcome his master’s 
 aversion to Fox ; and it was rumored that the 
 King's obstinacy was gradually giving way. 
 But meanwhile, it was impossible for the min- 
 ister to conceal from the public eye the decay 
 of his health, and the constant anxiety which 
 gnawed at his heart. His sleep was broken. 
 His food ceased to nourish him, All who 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSA VS. 
 
 358 
 
 passed him in the Park all, who had interviews 
 with him in Downing Street, saw misery writ- 
 ten in his face. The peculiar look which he 
 wore during the last months of his life was 
 often pathetically described by Wilberforce, 
 who used to call it the Austerlitz look, 
 
 Still the vigor of Pitt’s intellectual faculties, 
 and the intrepid haughtiness of his spirit, re- 
 mained unaltered. He had staked everything 
 on a great venture. He had succeeded in 
 forming another mighty coalition against the 
 French ascendency. The united forces of Aus- 
 tria, Russia and England might, he hoped, op- 
 pose an insurmountable barrier to the ambition 
 of the common enemy. But the genius and 
 energy of Napoleon prevailed. While the 
 English troops were preparing to embark for 
 Germany, while the Russian troops were slow- 
 ly coming up from Poland, he, with rapidity 
 unprecedented in modern war, moved a hun- 
 dred thousand men from the shores of the Ocean 
 to the Black Forest, and compelled a great 
 Austrian army to surrender at Ulm. To the 
 first faint rumors of this calamity Pitt would 
 give no credit. He was irritated by the alarms 
 of those around him. “ Do not believe a word 
 of it,” he said : “ it is all a fiction.” The next 
 day he received a Dutch newspaper containing 
 the capitulation. He knew no Dutch. It was 
 Sunday ; and the public offices were shut. He 
 carried the paper to Lord Malmesbury, who 
 had been minister in Holland ; and Lord 
 Malmesbury translated it. Pitt tried to bear 
 up ; but the shock was too great ; and he went 
 away with death in his face. 
 
 The news of the battle of Trafalgar arrived 
 four days later, and seemed for a moment to 
 revive him. Forty-eight hours after that most 
 glorious and most mournful of victories had 
 been announced to the country came the Lord 
 Mayor’s day ; and Pitt dined at Guildhall. 
 His popularity had declined. But on this oc- 
 casion the multitude, greatly excited by the re- 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 359 
 
 cent tidings, welcomed him enthusiastically, 
 took off his horses in Cheapside, and drew his 
 carriage up King Street. When his health 
 was drunk, he returned thanks in two or three 
 of those stately sentences of which he had a 
 boundless command. Several of those who 
 heard him laid up his words in their hearts ; 
 for they were the last words that he ever utter- 
 ed in public : “ Let us hope that England, hav- 
 ing saved herself by her energy, may save 
 Europe by her example.” 
 
 This was but a momentary rally. Austerlitz 
 soon completed what Ulm had begun. Early 
 in December Pitt had retired to Bath, in the 
 hope that he might there gather strength for 
 the approaching session. While he was lan- 
 guishing there on his sofa arrived the news that 
 a decisive battle had been fought and lost in 
 Moravia, that the coalition was dissolved, that 
 the Continent was at the feet of France. He 
 sank down under the blow. Ten days later, 
 he was so emaciated that his most intimate 
 friends hardly knew him. He came up from 
 Bath by slow journeys, and, on the nth of 
 January, 1806, reached his villa at Putney. 
 Parliament was to meet on the 21st. On the 
 20th was to be the parliamentary dinner at the 
 house of the First Lord of the Treasury in 
 Downing Street ; and the cards were already 
 issued. But the days of the great minister 
 were numbered. The only chance for his life, 
 and that a very slight chance, was, that he 
 should resign his office, and pass some months 
 in profound repose. His colleagues paid him 
 very short visits, and carefully avoided politi- 
 cal conversation. But his spirit, long accus- 
 tomed to dominion, could not, even in that ex- 
 tremity, relinquish hopes which everybody but 
 himself perceived to be vain. On the day 
 on which he was carried into his bed-room at 
 Putney, the Marquess Wellesley, whom he had 
 long loved, whom he had sent to govern India, 
 and whose administration had been eminently 
 
360 biographical essays. 
 
 able, energetic, and successful, arrived in Lon 
 don after an absence of eight years. The 
 friends saw each other once more. There was 
 an affectionate meeting and a last parting. 
 That it was the last parting Pitt did not seem 
 to be aware. He fancied himself to be recov- 
 ering, talked on various subjects cheerfully, 
 and with an unclouded mind, and pronounced 
 a warm and discerning eulogium on the Mar- 
 quess’s brother Arthur. “I never,” he said, 
 “met with any military man with whom it was 
 so satisfactory to converse.” The excitement 
 and exertion of this interview were too much 
 for the sick man. He fainted away ; and Lord 
 Wellesley left the house, convinced that the 
 close was fast approaching. 
 
 And now members of Parliament were fast 
 coming up to London. The chiefs of the op- 
 position met for the purpose of considering 
 the course to be taken on the first day of the 
 session. It was easy to guess what would be 
 the language of the King’s speech, and of the 
 address which would be moved in answer to 
 that speech. An amendment condemning the 
 policy of the government had been prepared, 
 and was to have been proposed in the House 
 of Commons by Lord Henry Petty, a young 
 nobleman who had already won for himself 
 that place in the esteem of his country which, 
 after the lapse of more than half a century, he 
 still retains. He was unwilling, however, to 
 come forward as the accuser of one who was 
 incapable of defending himself. Lord Gren- 
 ville, who had been informed of Pitt’s state by 
 Lord Wellesley, and had been deeply affected 
 by it, earnestly recommended forbearance ; 
 and Fox, with characteristic generosity and 
 good nature, gave his voice against attacking 
 his now helpless rival. “ Sunt lacrymae re- 
 rum,” he said, “ et mentem mortalia tangunt.” 
 On the first day, therefore, there was no de- 
 bate. It was rumored that evening that Pitt 
 was better. But on the following morning his 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 361 
 
 physicians, pronounced that there were no 
 hopes. The commanding faculties of which 
 he had been too proud were beginning to fail. 
 His old tutor and friend, the Bishop of Lin- 
 coln, informed him of his danger, and gave 
 such religious advice and consolation as a con- 
 fused and obscured mind could receive. Sto- 
 ries were told of devout sentiments fervently 
 uttered by the dying man. But these stories 
 found no credit with any body who knew him. 
 Wilberforce pronounced it impossible that 
 they could be true. “ Pitt,” he added, “was a 
 man who always said less than he thought on 
 such topics.” It was asserted in many after- 
 dinner speeches, Grub Street elegies, and ac- 
 ademic prize poems and prize declamations, 
 that the great minister died exclaiming, “ Oh 
 my country ! ” This is a fable : but it is true 
 that the last words which he uttered, while he 
 knew what he said, were broken exclamations 
 about the alarming state of public affairs. He 
 ceased to breathe on the morning of the 23d of 
 January, 1806, the twenty-fifth anniversary of 
 the day on which he first took his seat in Par- 
 liament. He was in his forty-seventh year, 
 and had been, during near nineteen years, 
 First Lord of the Treasury, and undisputed 
 chief of the administration. Since parliamen- 
 tary government was established in England, 
 no English statesman has held supreme power 
 so long. Walpole, it is true, was First Lord 
 of the Treasury during more than twenty 
 years : but it was not till Walpole had been 
 some time First Lord of the Treasury that he 
 could be properly called Prime Minister. 
 
 It was moved in the House of Commons 
 that Pitt should be honored with a public 
 funeral and a monument. The motion was op- 
 posed by Fox in a speech which deserves to 
 be studied as a model of good taste and good 
 feeling. The task was the most invidious that 
 ever an orator undertook ; but it was perform- 
 ed with a humanity and delicacy which were 
 
362 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 warmly acknowledged by the mourning friends 
 of him who was gone. The motion was car- 
 ried by 288 votes to 89. 
 
 The 22d of February was fixed for the fune- 
 ral. The corpse, having lain in state during 
 two days in the Painted Chamber, was borne 
 with great pomp to the northern transept of 
 the Abbey. A splendid train of princes, no- 
 bles, bishops, and privy councillors followed. 
 The grave of Pitt had been made near to the 
 spot where his great father lay, near also to the 
 spot where his great rival was soon to lie. 
 The sadness of the assistants was beyond that 
 of ordinary mourners. For he whom they 
 were committing to the dust had died of sor- 
 rows and anxieties of which none of the sur- 
 vivors could be altogether without a share. 
 Wilberforce, who carried the banner before the 
 hearse, described the awful ceremony with deep 
 feeling. As the coffin descended into the 
 earth, he said, the eagle face of Chatham from 
 above seemed to look down with consternation 
 into the dark house which w r as receiving all 
 that remained of so much power and glory. 
 
 All parties in the House of Commons readi- 
 ly concurred in voting forty thousand pounds 
 to satisfy the demands of Pitt’s creditors. Some 
 of his admirers seemed to consider the magni- 
 tude of his embarrassments as a circumstance 
 highly honorable to him ; but men of sense 
 will probably be of a different opinion. It is 
 far better, no doubt, that a great minister 
 should carry his contempt of money to excess 
 than that he should contaminate his hands with 
 unlawful gain. But it is neither right nor be- 
 coming in a man to whom the public has given 
 an income more than sufficient for his comfort 
 and dignity to bequeath to that public a great 
 debt, the effect of mere negligence and profu- 
 sion. As First Lord of the Treasury and 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer, Pitt never had 
 less than six thousand a year, besides an ex- 
 cellent house. In 1792 he was forced by his 
 
WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 363 
 
 royal master’s friendly importunity to accept for 
 life the office of Warden of the Cinque Ports, 
 with near four thousand a year more. He had 
 neither wife nor child : he had no needy rela- 
 tions : he had no expensive tastes : he had no 
 long election bills. Had he given but a quar- 
 ter of an hour a week to the regulation of his 
 household, he would have kept his expenditure 
 within bounds. Or, if he could not spare even 
 a quarter of an hour a week for that purpose, 
 he had numerous friends, excellent men of 
 business, who would have been proud to act as 
 his stewards. One of those friends, the chief 
 of a great commercial house in the city, made 
 an attempt to put the establishment in Down- 
 ing Street to rights ; but in vain. He found 
 that the waste of the servants’ hall was almost 
 fabulous. The quantity of butcher’s meat 
 charged in the bills was nine hundredweight a 
 week. The consumption of poultry, of fish, 
 and of tea was in proportion. The character 
 of Pitt would have stood higher if, with the dis- 
 interestedness of Pericles and of De Witt, he 
 had united their dignified frugality. 
 
 The memory of Pitt has been assailed, times 
 innumerable, often justly, often unjustly ; but 
 it has suffered much less from his assailants 
 than from his eulogists. For, during many 
 years, his name was the rallying cry of a class 
 of men with whom, at one of those terrible con- 
 junctures which confound all ordinary distinc- 
 tions, he was accidentally and temporarily con- 
 nected, but to whom, on almost all great ques- 
 tions of principle, he was diametrically oppos- 
 ed. The haters of parliamentary reform called 
 themselves Pittites, not choosing to remember 
 that Pitt made three motions for parliamentary 
 reform, and that, though he thought that such 
 a reform could not safely be made while the 
 passions excited by the French revolution were 
 raging, he never uttered a word indicating that 
 he should not be prepared at a more conven- 
 ient season to bring the question forward a 
 
364 BIOGRAPHICAL ESS A VS. 
 
 fourth time. The toast of Protestant ascen- 
 dency was drunk on Pitt’s birthday by a set of 
 Pittites who could not but be aware that Pitt 
 had resigned his office because he could not 
 carry Catholic emancipation. The defenders 
 of the Test Act called themselves Pittites, 
 though they could not be ignorant that Pitt 
 had laid before George the Third unanswera- 
 ble reasons for abolishing the Test Act. The 
 enemies of free trade called themselves Pittites, 
 though Pitt was far more deeply imbued with 
 the doctrines of Adam Smith than either Fox 
 or Grey. The very negro-drivers invoked the 
 name of Pitt, whose eloquence was nevermore 
 conspicuously displayed than when he spoke 
 of the wrongs of the negro. This mythical 
 Pitt, who resembles the genuine Pitt as little 
 as the Charlemagne of Ariosto resembles the 
 Charlemagne of Eginhard, has had his day. 
 History will vindicate the real man from cal- 
 umny disguised under the semblance of adula- 
 tion, and will exhibit him as what he was, a 
 minister of great talents, honest intentions, 
 and liberal opinions, pre-eminently qualified, 
 intellectually and morally, for the part of a 
 parliamentary leader, and capable of adminis- 
 tering, with prudence and moderation, the 
 government of a prosperous and tranquil 'coun- 
 try, but unequal to surprising and terrible em- 
 ergences, and liable, in such emergences, to 
 err grievously, both on the side of weakness 
 and on the side of violence.