and were it a duty on rice, the dusky, shining face of Hindostan would have been personified and pictured as looking on upon the discussion; and all this would have been so managed, as to rise naturally out of the inferior subject, and to reflect light upon it. Of this Sheridan was incapable. To him, "A primrose by the river's brim He could only have sewed awkwardly certain purpurei panni about the theme, which would have fluttered gaudily around, and made both it and the speaker ridiculous. that more than once Sheridan sacrificed his principles to his interest, and that his conduct to Lords Grey and Grenville was altogether unjustifiable; that Burke withdrew from him in disgust, and that even Fox, towards the end entirely lost confidence in his integrity. His character, in fact, latterly, was that of a political swindler-a miserable tool to the prince who first deserted, and insulted him at last by proffers of help when it was too late. We have much excuse for his circumstances and temperament; but this cannot, and ought not, to blind us to the total want of principle and reckless breach of promise exhibited by him on many occasions; and we cannot but resent indignantly Moore's tenderness to Sheridan's political errors, while he speaks with such unjust harshness of what he calls Burke's "tergiversation." Our last charge against Sheridan's oratory shall be the strongest. He was not deeply in earnest. Every great orator, according to an ancient critic, should be a good man. Sheridan was not a good man-hardly even Looking back from our present point of a fine fellow. He was only a clever actor. view at the French Revolution, which formed He could not say, "I believed, therefore have the point of divergence between Burke and I spoken." He had no profound convictions Windham, and Fox and Sheridan, we cannot on any subject; and hence he was alike in- say that we sympathize entirely with the tellectually and morally a light-horseman. views and conduct of either party. Both What earnest, commanding eloquence could went to extremes, by judging of the great be expected from a man whose most con- experiment ere it was half finished. Burke genial atmosphere was the stage, and much and Windham allowed their ardent temperaof whose oratory consisted of scraps from ment and strong decided opinions to hurry plays? Of religion he seems to have been them into extravagant fears of the tendencies entirely destitute, and many have doubted of democracy-fears partly, indeed, justified even his political sincerity. He was, of course, by the Moloch butcheries of the Reign of capable of spleen, of personal pique, and Terror. Fox and Sheridan, on the contrary, even of a certain patriotic emotion; and all preached little less than resistance and rebelthese he at different times expressed in an elo- lion to the legal and regulated powers of the quent and effective manner. But he had no British monarchy. The first two yoked themdevouring, consuming enthusiasm about any selves as coursers to draw the chariot of thing or person, not even about himself; for, power-the others allowed themselves to be to do him justice, he was the least in the carried in triumph on the shoulders of mobs. world of an egotist. He cared for his grati- As is usually the case, the followers of both fications, but not properly speaking for him-"bettered their instruction," and pushed self. He had no pride, and his vanity was not very excessive. It was far more true of him than of Dr. Johnson, that, "if he had found a field of clover, he would have rolled in it." He was constitutionally a good-natured sensualist; and all his mental efforts, and some of his deeper errors, arose from the necessity of supplying the wants of his sensualism. He wrote the "School for Scandal" to procure means for his extravagance and debauchery, and he betrayed the Whigs, that he might continue to enjoy the good dinners and the rich wines of the Prince Regent's table. This is not the place for entering at large upon his political career. Mr. Moore has elaborately defended it. And yet he admits their views and language ad absurdum. Arthur Young, Horseley, Reeves, and others, openly supported despotic principles, and spoke of the people as having nothing to do with the laws but to obey them, while Thomas Paine, Godwin, and a large host of others, promulgated opinions which, if carried out, would have destroyed the foundation of all civil society. Some, on the other hand, of great mark, stood between the two extremes, and inclined alternately to both. Such was MacIntosh, who, after having answered Burke in his "Vindiciae Gallicæ," came round to his views, and eloquently defended them in his lectures and in his defence of Peltier; but ultimately returned to the Whiggish creed and the Whiggish camp. And such was "And when, to soothe my soul, that fear'd and trembled, The dissonance ceased, and all seem'd calm and bright; When France her front, deep-scarr'd and gory, Her arm made mockery of the warrior's ramp, Redder clouds succeed; showers of blood drown the rays of the sun, and the disappointed poet murmurs out, more in sorrow than in anger, "Forgive me, Freedom, oh, forgive I hear thy voice. I hear thy loud lament these And, as the conclusion of this whole matter, he returns to his sublime and solitary seclusion again, and says, "The sensual and the dark rebel in vain; power. | Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee, And THERE I felt thee; on that sea-cliff's verge, Where pines, scarce travell'd by the breeze above, We make no apology for quoting these noble lines. They describe a process, through which not only Coleridge's mind, but many others at that wondrous "juncture of eras," hurried in a rapid circle. He Moore, in his "Life of Sheridan," is, as we have hinted above, grossly unjust to Burke, burnt-offering at Sheridan's shrine. and has sought to offer him up as a whole speaks, indeed, of Burke's genius with suitable enthusiasm, and in terms as just as they are eloquent. But he belongs to the class of critics exposed in our last paper, who have conjoined loud encomiums of that wonderful man's genius with ignorant or malicious depreciation of his judgment. He accuses him also of jealousy of Sheridan, and of grievous political inconsistency. Let us rapidly review these charges. Moore avers, that Burke, with boundless genius, wanted "judgment," and was greatly the slave of his temper and passions. And yet, rather inconsistently, he speaks of Burke as, in the magnificent letter he wrote for the Prince of Wales to Pitt, during the pending dispute about the regency, "exhibiting a triumph of mind over temper, forgetfulness of self, the true transmigrating power of genius," &c. We venture to ask, in which of Burke's works, or at what period of his life, did he not prove himself capable of the same triumph of mind over temper? When publicly rebuked for some informal proceeding and unguarded language, during Hastings' trial, in circumstances which would have made nineteen men out of twenty resign the thankless office of manager which he held, he bowed submissively to the decision, and said, "that nothing of a personal kind should ever be permitted to interfere with the discharge of his duty." And so in all his later works, which party malignity has so much misrepresented, although there are passages of stern and almost fierce invective, as well as of glowing poetic heat, the general tone is calm to coolness, and the spirit of the philosopher is always at hand to reduce to method, and to point into emphasis, the utterances of the bard. The prophet and his interpreter are seldom separated from each other. If Burke's genius was often comparable to a rushing chariot, it had always a drag along with it, in its defiles of danger and its precipices of fear. We might upon more general grounds contest the common notion, that the genius of a great man is generally in the inverse ratio of his judgment. What is genius but a swifter, sublimer judgment? It is often, to be sure, exercised upon singular and unearthly topics; but the same power which can swim in the ether as if it were water, can walk in the water as if it were earth. Mind -genuine, powerful mind-is the same all around, being simply insight working in an atmosphere of fire; and it matters not to what subject that clear, burning intuition be applied. Burke's genius was eminently of this wide and expansive kind; and besides, with a fancy little inferior to that of Shelley, he had a slow, patient, painstaking sagacity, and a knowledge of small facts, equal to those of Joseph Hume. Moore, propped up by Dr. Samuel Parr, pretends. The old pedant, in a letter to Mrs. Sheridan, says " It is not merely French politics that produced this dispute; no, no, there is jealousy lurking underneath; jealousy of Mr. Sheridan's eloquence; jealousy of his popularity; jealousy of his influence with Mr. Fox; jealousy, perhaps, of his connection with the Prince." Now, that Burke saw through Sheridan, sounded his shallow wit, shallower intellect, and shallowest heart, is evident, and probably he did so from the first. That he naturally felt indignant scorn that such a (comparatively) ignorant and worthless charlatan should measure lances with himself the soul of honor, and the mould of intellectual form, the highest and most sure-footed intellect then extant-is exceedingly likely. But that this feeling was "jealousy," we dare to deny. Jealousy implies fear and doubt, and also an approach to equality on the side of the party towards whom the feeling is entertained. But does the sun fear, or doubt, or dream himself unequal to one of Jupiter's satellites? Or, if Burke did entertain any such feeling towards Sheridan, it was connected with the remorse of remembering that he, as well as the object of his contempt and disgust, had appealed to the same tribunal, and that the bubble had been more successful in the appeal than the bard. Well does Dr. Johnson say, allud terminated-" Shadwell and Dryden had both put their faith in the claps of multitudes." We think, however, most decidedly, that, if jealousy there was between the parties, the larger portion, as is generally the case, appertained to the weaker and the worst party. We alluded a little above to debating societies and college associations. In these we have noticed that there is often some one man who, to a knowledge and genius incoming to a similar strife, similarly for the time parably superior to that of all the rest of his associates, adds a minor, but still distinct and remarkable power of eloquence. This man, having first furnished in private the most of the stores, and occasionally some of the speeches, of the flashy orators around him, sits silent in the debate, watching the procession of his own thought-the germination of his own seed, till at some critical point in the discussion he is tempted to rise and to show to the startled consciousness of many of his hearers that he can speak as well as write and think. This was precisely the position of Burke in the House of Commons. His written instructions, given beforehand to Fox and Sheridan, (see Disraeli,) constituted the spirit and genius of the debate; but occasionally, too, he rose himself, and while the uninitiated hooted or slept, the better informed heard in his harsh accents, and read in his odd gesticulations, the codicil to the will the strong amen to the object contemplated by the party in whose behalf he had committed his whole mind, and heart, and strength. But Burke was jealous of Sheridan! As to Burke's political inconsistency, we find in Moore a very sufficient answer to his own charge. He says that "there was, in truth, nothing democratic about him but his origin; his tastes were all on the side of the splendid and the arbitrary. Though doomed to make Whiggism his habitual haunt, he took his perch at all times on its loftiest branches, and upon most questions he adopted a sort of baronial view of liberty." And yet in the next page he speaks of Burke's versatility in politics, and want of moral identity." If his tastes had been "always on the side of the splendid and the arbitrary," what wonder that the French Revolution, "hurling at the kings of Europe, as gage of battle, the head of a king," should excite his hatred and terror? Burke never supported So | Parliamentary reform. He held the strongest notions on the subject of the succession to the crown. The only topic on which he showed the genuine Whiggish spirit was the American War. On every other, he was a moderate Conservative; the French Revolution only made him an immoderate one, and had he lived till its ferment had subsided, he would have returned to his moderation once more. What comparison between his slight change and that of Pitt, who crossed the whole hemisphere of politics, and from a supporter of radical reform, became a bitter persecutor of the reformers! Moore says, "Burke's mind, indeed, lies parted asunder in his works, like some vast continent severed by a convulsion of nature, each portion peopled by its own giant race of opinions, differing altogether in features and language, and committed in eternal hostility with each other." This is a fine figure, but entirely misapplied. The spirit, the tone, the leading principles, not less certainly than the style and genius of Burke's works, prove them one, and give them, indeed, a completeness and harmony which, considering their fugitive form, are amazing, and prove not more his exquisite faculty as an artist, than the "identity of his moral nature." His latter writings are richer and more powerful; but, even as to fire and eloquence, there are passages in his "Vindication of Natural Society," which was among his first productions, equal to any in his "Regicide Peace," which was his last. We have, perhaps, dwelt too long on this subject, but we must plead our deep interest in it as our excuse. A critic lately accused 66 us of making Burke our temporary idol," and seemed to predict that in our future papers we would stultify ourselves by praising all the orators as much. This paper will show him that he was mistaken. Burke we have always admired to enthusiasm; shall always continue to do so; and our conviction of his unmeasurable superiority to all the men of his time is not likely soon to be altered. That such a man was driven to sacrifice all his past principles and professions by petty jealousies and spites towards persons so far inferior to him as Sheridan and Fox, is not very likely. It has been often asserted, but never proved; and we are justified in trampling on it as a foul calumny against the character of one of the greatest, best, and warmest-hearted men that ever lived. Perhaps our tone towards Sheridan in the previous remarks may appear rather harsh. And when we remember his melancholy end, we are tempted to think so ourselves. "Poor fellow he had many things to wound him; It was a trying moment, that which found him It was a very sad tragedy that of Saville Row. There was to be seen the man on whose lips senators and vast multitudes had hung, whose jests had shaken Old Drury from top to bottom, till it was one mass of loosened laughter, lying in bed, broken in constitution and in heart, deriving his chief consolation and strength from the potion which had degraded and ruined him; deserted by his noble friends, ministered to indeed by his wife, whose early love, much tried and long cooled, had revived in its original strength for this hour of darkness and distress, but with no hope on earth, and with but a cold and dim prospect beyond the grave; surrounded by duns, and with diffito a sponging-house-behold the end of the culty saved from being carried in his blankets admired, flattered, overrated, underrated, spoiled, and murdered Sheridan! And yet, in six days, what spectacle is it that we see darkening the streets of London? It is a funeral, and certainly it must be a royal personage whom they are bearing to the grave, for royal dukes, and belted earls, and lord and orators, are crowding there. No! it is bishops, and celebrated statesmen, and wits, the funeral of that very same shivering, starving wretch-of the wreck that was once Sheridan! Surely that funeral was the mockery of hell! Let us shut the disgusting scene by quoting the indignant lines of his biographer: "Oh! it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow, And friendship so false in the great and highborn; To think what a long line of titles may follow sorrow! How bailiffs may seize his last blankets to-day, Whose pall shall be held up by nobles to-mor row!" This is all very true and all very deplorable, and yet we cannot close this paper without drawing the strong moral, that had Sheridan been true to himself, neither the insult of noble neglect nor the deeper insult of Had he noble patronage had befallen him. lost his seat in Parliament on account of his political integrity, and not on account of his want of it; had he hurt his constitu tion, as Burke did, by incessant labor, and not by habitual excess; had he been less of a parasite, a better, a rake, and a liar; had he put less faith in the favor and false smiles of a worthless prince; had he known and acted on the noble lines "Know prudent, cautious self-control Is wisdom's root," then what a different life had he led, what a different death had he died, and what a different memory had he left to his country and his kind! From the Quarterly Review. THE MURDER OF THOMAS A BECKET.* EVERY one is familiar with the reversal of popular judgments respecting individuals or events of our own time. It would be an easy though perhaps an invidious task, to point out the changes from obloquy to applause, and from applause to obloquy, which the present generation has witnessed; and it would be instructive to examine in each case, how far these changes have been justified by the facts. What thoughtful observers may thus notice in the passing opinions of the day, it is the privilege of history to track through the course of centuries. Of such vicissitudes in the judgment of successive ages, one of the most striking is to be found in the conflicting feelings with which different epochs have regarded the contest of Becket with Henry II. During its continuance, the public opinion of England and of Europe was, if not unfavorable to the Archbishop, at least strongly divided. After its tragical close, the change from indifference or hostility to unbounded veneration was instantaneous and universal. This veneration, after a duration of more than three centuries, was superseded, at least in England, by a contempt as general and profound as had been the previous admiration. And now, after three centuries more, the revolution of the wheel of fortune has again brought up, both at home and abroad, worshippers of the memory of St. Thomas of Canterbury, who rival the most undoubting devotee that ever knelt at his shrine in the credulous reigns of * Vita S. Thome Cantuariensis. Ed. Giles. London. the Plantagenet kings. It is not our intention to attempt the adjustment of these various verdicts, and indeed there appears less need of an arbitrator than there might have been some years since. Indications are not wanting, that the pendulum which has been so violently swung to and fro, is at last about to settle into its proper place; and we may trust that on this, as on many other controverted historical points, a judgment will be pronounced in our own times, which, if not irreversible, is less likely to be reversed than those which have gone before. But it may contribute to the decision upon the merits and defects of Becket if we endeavor to present more complete picture than has hitherto been drawn of that passage of his career which has left by far the most indelible impression-its terrible close. Even though the famous catastrophe had not turned the course of events for generations to come, and exercised an influence which is not exhausted yet, it would still deserve to be minutely described, from its connection with the stateliest of English cathedrals, and with the first great poem of the English language. The labor of Dr. Giles has collected no less than nineteen biographies, or fragments of One author, the Rev. J. C. Robertson, of Bekesbourne, may be especially selected as having already taken, in two articles in the British Review of 1846, an impartial survey of the whole struggle, in which he will no doubt be imitated by Dr. Pauli, already known as the learned biographer of Alfred, in his continuation of Lappenberg's History of England. |